Spring Melt

The wind tells me

there's snow on the grey hills

behind the misty morning fog

it's brisk and ever so fresh

out where the mountain daisies are pushing up from the crags.

Close your eyes,

listen;

there's wind in the snow in the crags on the mountains

calling,

past the ocean's divide

past the Canterbury plains

up the perilous slopes -

to the top of the world

where spring

struggles

against the wind and the snow in the crags on the mountains -

listen well

before spring dies

in the warm winds

of change.

A.J. Ponder

It's been a busy week.  Lots of writing.  Lots of walking out by the waterfront and feeling spring in the air.  Of course it's always nice to the mountain peaks of the South island, especially when there's a bit of snow on them - but that isn't always possible.  Even so - I can see them in my mind's eye - calling out across the harbour.  I hope everybody is enjoying the change of season.  

For more poetry why not check out the Tuesday blog here - and its fantastic blog roll on the side bar.  So many wonderful poems.   So many awesome writers - it's always such a joy to drop by and see what they've all been up to. 

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Alicia's World of Warcraft Poem

It seems a certain game

requires

you bring my poem

past the dangers

of war

through death and

through danger

to complete your quest

in a world

unreal.

This is not the truth.

I require

only that

you wend your way

through my reality

along the stony path

past the troll

of misunderstandings

to the mountain of disbelief.

If you stand there

upon the tip of your toes

you'll see the world

as it never was.

This is not the truth

For in my world realities sail

bright as ships on a shining sea -

only slightly beyond the pixelated

blood, sweat and tears

of conformity.

So take those words back -

if you can -

past the horrors of war

through death and

through danger

to complete your quest

in a world

as real as

you.

A.J. Ponder

It has come to my attention (P.S. never google your name and poem - it can be a pretty hair raising experience)  that there is a certain quest in Warcraft that requires taking "Alicia's Poem" from somewhere to somewhere else.  Presumably.  

-- I had to include this - in my comments Tim Jones outlined the true origin of the World of Warcraft poem - it's such a touching story, the death of a player inspired writers of the game to create this quest - and the poem to go with it - the real "Alicia's Poem" can be found here.  Try not to cry.

And I thought, as any poet might (at least after the initial dicombobulation), that there had to be an actual poem in there...somewhere.    Enjoy, have fun, and don't forget there are more worlds of poetry waiting for you...

A.J. Ponder

I hope you enjoy my poems on this blog, for more of my work check out Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Ode to the World Cup while doing the Washing

Let the men kick pigskin.

For what is it about life

that cannot be learnt

out on the field?

Take it on the chin

after all everyone wants a knock-out.

Show no mercy

it's always in short supply.

Take the opposition down -

go for the legs:

Below the belt is always the best way

to trip someone up.

Kiss butt

and team together,

run with the pack

or get eaten

I mean beaten.

With shades of running into a brick wall - and stringing it wide

Let the games begin

Let the All Blacks win

Let the men kick-

pigskin.

A.J. Ponder

I was in fact doing the washing, and in my own terribly unpatriotic way, not particularly looking forward to the world cup - sorry, and yes, for non-New Zealanders, that's the rugby world cup - when some rugby phrases popped into my head.  You can't live here without hearing them.

So then I started thinking about what those phrases might mean and what the broader impact of rugby in the community might be, in a more than slightly unfair way - because where's the impact in being fair?  Besides otherwise I would have mentioned "play hard, play fair" and all the positive features of hosting a world cup.  Like gosh, wasn't Wales v. South Africa a great match?  And all the wonderful visitors dropping in from all around the world.  OK fine.  I hope everyone has a great time, enjoys the rugby, and remembers that taking it on the chin is actually a great expression - so long as some idiot (sorry, that was me) doesn't decide to take it literally.

So have fun, and remember the best way to watch the word cup is from another room ;) - Preferably with the computer set to check out the poems on my blog ;)

A.J. Ponder

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The Sleeping Beauty, by Sir Alfred Tennyson

Year after year unto her feet,
She lying on her couch alone,
Across the purpled coverlet,
The maiden's jet-black hair has grown,
On either side her tranced form
Forth streaming from a braid of pearl:
The slumbrous light is rich and warm,
And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-broider'd coverlid
Unto her limbs itself doth mould
Languidly ever; and, amid
Her full black ringlets downward roll'd,
Glows forth each softly-shadow'd arm,
With bracelets of the diamond bright:
Her constant beauty doth inform
Stillness with love, and day with light.

She sleeps: her breathings are not heard
In palace chambers far apart.
The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd
That lie upon her charmed heart.
She sleeps: on either hand upswells
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest:
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
A perfect form in perfect rest.

Another Fairy Tale poem, boy am I a sucker for the old-fashioned stuff!  The way it rolls off the tongue, its beautiful (apparent) simplicity.  And of course as a fairy tale cover, it will be a lovely addition to my Fairy Tale portal. 


A.J. Ponder

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Ozymandius by Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert... Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains.  Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away"

I just love this poem, and the vastness of it, the overwhelming image of the great and mighty thrown into dust.  I only hope Helen can forgive me because she posted it up not so long ago.

Interestingly enough this poem was written in 1817 in a friendly competition with fellow poet, Horace Smith.  (Isn't Wiki useful?  - although poem shape was endlessly more interesting from a writing point of view with an analysis of each poem (even if the conclusions were a little pedantic). And although I agree Shelley's Ozymandius is far and away the better poem, I rather like Horace Smith's last few lines -

The last lines of Horace Smith's
Ozymandius

Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He (the hunter) meets some fragments huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

I think it works better at a remove from Ozymandius the statue - not only because Smith's vision compares poorly to Shelley's - but because the two images in Smith's poem are clashing.  The green image of London turned to forest sits badly against desolation and desert, so that instead of enhancing the feeling of waste, the reference diminishes it - and yet I still find the possibilities of a wild London rather inspiring and I wonder that Smith didn't forget the whole desert motif and truly move onto the wild green pastures that he hints at :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this foray into the past  
A.J. Ponder

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Burning

A flame

small

lost.

The wind grabs it

and it shivers -

come close,

protect it with your hands.

A flame...

a fire...

an inferno.

You gotta respect that

from a distance.

A.J. Ponder

 There's all sorts of burning happening over the last few weeks - mostly peoples money going up in power bills.  And the mash up - fire with book - not quite appropriate, but I saw the "Catching Fire" title and I thought wouldn't it be fun if I could mash it up as a book catching on fire.  It might not be perfect, but I think its worked well enough, after all I'm not exactly known for my art so there's not much of a reputation there to lose. Besides, Suzanne Collins is a great author, lots of fun.  

I hope everyone is having a great week.  And to make it even more exciting you may want to visit the Tuesday Poem hub here, or my review for A Dance with Dragons/Game of Thrones at the Rona Gallery blog here. 

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

The Face of Beau

 

It's beauty 

pageant season.

Every profile 

a revelation

in

make believe

dressed to display

smiling faces

plastered into -

shoehorned into -

the perfect dress

glittery

slinky

devil may care.

It's beauty pageant season

what the hell should I wear?

A.J. Ponder

Winter has decided to hit hard, power cuts in this weather seem rather excessive hardship, and yet Wellington is full of smiles.  The wonder of snow right outside the door.  On the hills by the sea.  It is like we have all been transported to somewhere else.  It seems, finally Wellington has found a number it enjoys wearing - but for how long?

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores