New pants are on the scene Have you ever seen something so supreme? Monday Tuesday Wednesday’s best With a label upon its crest A symbol of the snuggly feel That you get from a Sunday meal Everything in its right place Puts a smile upon your face Jump to the left Hop to the right With these pants I’m full of might I can do anything In red pants of glory
I got thinking of the time when I was young and we got new clothes. The excitement, particularly of new pants. Bigger pants. They seemed to symbolise growing in age and becoming an older boy.
There is that sweet moment of the day when silence seems to descend and time holds still and even the bustle of a packed café remains unnoticed as you let your mind wander, take a turn down a path, untrodden, overgrown with branches forming a canopy of green, and as you wander you begin to notice the magical figures that flitter between the leaves, darting from flower to flower to add a sparkle of colour, and just ahead you glimpse a white steed, a unicorn, drinking from a brook as an elf plays a lullaby on a panpipe, an it is at these moments you paint a scene, craft a character and place them, give them words to say and a task to do, a quest to strive after, to reach for like the words you seek to place on a page, a phrase of imagination, and then you pause for a moment, look around, and realise where you are, in that café, surrounded by people.
This came about when wondering what to write. It had been a while since I wrote something new as I had been spending my time editing a book of mine ready for submission so the creative muscle was rusty. And whilst sat there in the open with a coffee nearby, it reminded me of all those times when time stood still as I wrote, how it could take you places and how a good piece of writing could also take its reader places. So I wrote about that moment.
Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Search for a word The hunt for a gem An unpolished stone will not do A crown sparkling full of sun’s light Nothing less will make this dull poem shine So I investigate the thesaurus as time drifts by Tick
This poem came about as I was thinking of the struggle to find the right word as the pressure of time beats down. That pressure can lead to the mind not working, of drawing a blank and grinding to a halt, unable to progress. Writing needs to be without pressure. I also wanted to play with a constraining form so decided to write a poem where each line has one more word as it progresses downwards. This is the result. What do you think?
Ball of contentment sweet dreaming of warm log fires and a little mouse
This poem came about because I was trying out different poetry forms. I like poems with clear structures that constrain you but at the same time free you as you don’t have to worry about how many stanzas you are going to use, or what rhyme pattern you are going to go to battle with. This poem is obviously about my cat and how content he looked settle on my lap before a winter’s fire.
Words are watching you They gather your thoughts They tell your secrets They spread lies and state truths They can break a heart They ruin friendships or destroy an evening Beware words They can imprison you or set you free
This poem came about as I was mindlessly watching tv and thinking of the impact that certain people’s words have had on others. It got me thinking about the power of words and how easily they can be misused to create harm.
It is interesting how the mind works. I haven’t written any new poems for a while or posted on here but thought it was about time I did. So what to write. I decided on a poem but my brain was empty of ideas. So I went to bed having written nothing. A bad nights sleep. I kept waking up. I woke up at 3AM, wide awake. So I decided to listen to a Frank Skinner podcast on poetry. The poet he was referencing had written a poem using ABC structure so I thought “I’ll try that!”. Then I fell happily asleep. It was that time when you are half-awake, half-dreaming. I was dreaming of people walking in the countryside and a song/poem filled the air. I came to. The words still clear in my head. I wrote them down. I wasn’t sure of some of the words – did they even exist. I checked. Yes, they did. I had written a poem in my sleep state using real words I didn’t think I knew. How strange! So here is that short poem.
Here we go a wandering A trundling A trolling Here we go a wandering In the glade
Trundling = to move in a wagon; to roll along Trolling = to say in full, rolling voice
the caretaker lost his broom did a cartwheel across the classroom the day the school was shut
the school PA charged the computer went on Dateline looking for a suitor the day the school was shut
the teachers began to sing skipping around in a great ring the day the school was shut
the cook threw the potato smash juggled the plates watched them crash the day the school was shut
the parents all began to scream ran out the doors looking for ice-cream the day the school was shut
the school nurse poured out lotion skidded across the floor causing a commotion the day the school was shut
the Head Teacher stroked his wig hopped on a table and did a jig the day the school was shut
This poem came about as I was inspired to do a poem about school’s shutting due to the Covid-19 lockdown. Then it snowed and I remembered the glorious snow days as a kid and the school getting shut and being able to play with friends in the snow.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my brother sent to me
12 diced dog tails
11 pickled pigs ears
10 lice a-leaking
9 earwigs kissing
8 frogs a-farting
7 snakes a-slithering
6 cats a-clawing
5 toilet rings
4 dead pigeons
3 British slugs
2 squashed worms
And a snail in a used nappy.