Monday, April 29, 2013


Delight in the moment
In the small things
that happen.
Life is a momentary
lived between
the past
and future.

Be alive
to receive
what life gives you.
A laugh, a smile
the feel of warm air
on skin.
Enjoy before you die
where delight is no more

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Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Coleridge on Poetry

'I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is prose; words in their best order; - poetry; the best words in the best order.'


The best words in the best order. True, but O so hard to do. I guess this is a function of the focus needed to write good poetry. It is an act of labor as well as of love (or angst). Maybe that is why Coleridge took drugs LOL.
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Venting via Poetry

Writing poetry is a very good venting mechanism for those times when you are angry, dissatisfied, annoyed or generally feeling upset. There is a catharsis in capturing your thoughts and reining them in. The Outlaw Poets are very accomplished in this form of venting.

You may in fact surprise yourself. I find that in such venting I often tap into some unconscious thoughts that I was unaware of. The words you use and their tone are often expressions of hidden and unexpressed thoughts.

So if you are angry, get it out and write a poem.

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Monday, April 22, 2013

Poetic lassitude

Tired, listless and lacking
in poetic inspiration.
Languishing on the sofa
while words rush past
the coralling
effect of rhyme
and form.

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Sunday, April 14, 2013

Poems that Grate - the Crow Poems

I know that he was the Poet Laureate but I have to say that the Crow poems written by Ted Hughes really grate on me. I could understand writing one poem on what Crow thinks, feels or does but when you have upward of thirty and they are all collected together, it's all abit too much. I am not given to mythology and mysticism so much of the poetry goes over my balding head. If you like this poetry (or not) the drop me a comment. Maybe I'm missing out on something awesome here.

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Sunday, April 7, 2013

On Growing Old

From whence the creaking bones
And muscle ache?
The brain fade and

It comes of life
Lived well
Or more than well
Of dinners many
Exercises nil.

How short is our
Sojourn, how
Soon the reaper comes
And thought is dead.