Wednesday, 17 February 2016

Poetry Thursday 200 - A walk on the dark side.

This is the 200th blog containing original poetry. Just about four years worth I suppose, and some have been published in the collections that are available at Amazon. As I have often stated, poetry is an emotional response in many instances but there is poetry for which emotion isn't the only driver. Edward Lear wrote such verse. Some would call it 'nonsense' or 'abstract' or whatever label they wish to attach. If you have spent time reading me you will know that I don't much like labels. So for long enough I have considered dabbling in the more abstract forms but without much success. (By success I mean that which would satisfy me as the writer.) However, last weekend this happened:-

Image result for nonsense pictures

Posturing Buffoon

The lumps in the porridge,
like the elusive sock thief.
A mysterious heart cabbage
of childish unbelief.

Gardens with rows of egg paint,
ready to garner bland walls
with insignificant hand wash, faint
and as cold as tasteless melon balls.

The notes dancing across the page
on railway lines of quintessence,
making atmosphere of a different age
on tables of keyless innocence.

Splodges of colour on board,
that mix to the mud of time,
satisfies the gullible hoard
who crow their love of slime.

Then the rocks with lumps off,
strata fissured through with ice cream
flavoured by flakes of spilled dandruff,
engorging slime lovers’ ears with steam.

Posturing buffoon tall luvvies,
without a cell to satisfy,
the sun seeking smeared chubbies
bloated absentees from therapy.

At last the ink dotted spider,
leaving its tempting trail of code,
on the ski slope of cider,
pushed on to the blank road.
© David L Atkinson February 2016

So there it is. My first abstract piece that I haven't deleted. You may ask me if it has a meaning and I will hedge but it does satisfy what I wanted from the writing. I actually wrote another verse which I rejected.

Sticking detritus to a level playing field

from new mown dustbins.

Showing a kaleidoscope sealed 

in a tube of shark fins.

This didn't cut it for me but don't ask me why, it just didn't feel right.

Anyway you are the readers and you will make of it what you will - for me it stays.

The poem below is still dark, well it concerns the dark! It is another animal poem and I hope you like both.

Image result for Moth

Night Lepidoptera

No heavily beating wings at night,
subtle shades that diffuse the light.
A whispered feathery brush against the cheek,
resulting in a piercing nervy shriek.

Automatically drawn towards the light
cooking themselves in suicidal flight.
No reason to worry yourself to a froth,
It is only a common or garden moth.
© David L Atkinson February 2016

God Bless