Poem: The Love
Morning beautiful to my lips,
I call your loving into the tips.
Of Fingers folded hands on knees.
Eyes wide shut you are at ease.
The blossoming bud of a rose in bloom.
The perfume, my thought,
permeate this room.
With morning joy fresh
Love on high.
Twinkled glance in a blue clear eye.
We meet, we see, we know it’s real.
It’s simply this,
It’s what we feel.
The Love.
Liam Feb 2017
Liam 2017
Here are 20 ways of reading a poem.
In 4 Acts:
1. Dispel the notion that reading poetry is going to dramatically change your life. Your life is continually changing; most of the time you’re simply too busy to pay enough attention to it. Poems ask you to pay attention—that’s all.
2. When you read a poem, especially a poem not meant to be a “spoken word” poem, always read it out loud. (Never mind what they said in grammar school—to subvocalize so that you won’t bother your peers.) Your ear will pick up more than your head will allow. That is, the ear will tell the mind what to think.
3. Try to meet a poem on its terms not yours. If you have to “relate” to a poem in order to understand it, you aren’t reading it sufficiently. In other words, don’t try to fit the poem into your life. Try to see what world the poem creates. Then, if you are lucky, its world will help you re-see your own.
4. Whether or not you are conscious of it, you are always looking for an excuse to stop reading a poem and move on to another poem or to do something else entirely. Resist this urge as much as possible. Think of it as a Buddhist regards a pesky mosquito. The mosquito, like the poem, may be irritating, but it’s not going to kill you to brave it for a little while longer.
At one time or another, when face-to-face with a poem, most everyone has been perplexed. The experience of reading a poem itself is as likely to turn us off, intellectually or emotionally, as it is to move us. Unless patronized by celebrities, set to music, accompanied by visuals, or penned by our own children, poems do a terrible job of marketing themselves.
All those ragged lines and affected white spaces make them appear as though they should be treated only as pieces of solemn art.
Look but don’t get too close, and definitely don’t touch.
But what if the fine art of reading poetry isn’t so fine after all? What if the predicament about poems is precisely our well-intentioned but ill-fitting dispositions toward reading them?
Here are 20 ways of reading a poem. Written in 4 Acts. (Next weeks BLOG).
My finest greetings to all you poets of life. Liam
Upon the bridge he took his stand.
The captains look a journey planned.
To distant star, it’s light still dim.
Blazing gold the radiant rim.
Of a setting sun,
against a rising tide.
Moon was full the seagull cried.
The urchin curled within its shell.
A shooting star,
to the ringing bell.
Horizon cut the dark in two!
In ocean deep
We are the few to leave….
the wave,
the wet,
the blue.
Fly, through the heavens on a stary night.
Sails filled with moon milky light,
On sparkling spume.
The firmament we’ll trawl.
Constellations be the ports of call.
Pieces, Sagittarius, Andromeda too.
To visit you wonder, the question who?
Let it be spoken
Let it be said
Those lonely souls, while you sleep in bed.
Received us well,
With both laughter & joy.
We traded our memories, dreams, thoughts and ideas.
We threw over board the worry and fears.
To sunsets new rising,
A waking new day.
I’d passaged the cosmos.
I’d found a new way,
Of grabbing the moment,
Of touching the pulse.
Of living the fullest.
Of being my most.
Now waking so slowly
I’ll take all that I have.
The bag on my shoulder
Is a treasure I’ve had.
Your far distant calling echoes deep in my ear.
To find you my friend.
The star distant I hear.
Liam December 2016
Poem: You
On that evening, late.
After you walked into my room.
Fascination grabbed me, your smile too.
A joy rang resonating in the key hole,
Where I lived.
My heart hiding in the cupboard.
A closet reserved for tears.
The draws, each with crumpled memories.
Musty that place!
Rusty the hinges,
I had to be moving on.
It came again
The vibration, unmistakable strong….
Boy!
I breathed deeply, sighing.
Glowing, your radiation fixed me to the picture.
The wall swayed with my breath.
Permeated,
I reached out.
You grasped my hand.
The movement as you slipped into my arms.
I breathed you in, awash in perfume.
I beat you off with a hammering chest .
I brushed the fluff on your cheek.
I whispered in case,
Reality was but my phantasy.
“Hi”
She drew back,
her eyes
Murky crystals.
My gaze held the moment which…
Touched the me I’d yet grow to become.
“You’re beautiful”,
She loosened a hand, tugging gently kissed me.
Invisible blood dripped from my love wounded lips.
Dissolving we both left those lovers.
Only a moment,
In eternity we soared.
Only a second
In infinity we sighed.
Smiled laughed and died.
Were resurrected to a new born day.
“Yes, it is you.”
I heard us say.
Liam June 2017
Poem: The Orchard
White lilies of the field,
Agapanthus, chrysanthemum & pungent carnations from The Valley.
These kisses fill my basket.
The promise, an urge to saturate your air.
Then breathe you in with summer.
To perfume your senses .
To plant an orchard of cherry blossom in your heart.
Then deep in the autumn of life.
The sweet red fruit digested,
Our bodies nourished and strong.
Spit out the pips of our togetherness.
Kernels pregnant with spirit.
Enriching those fields from which we so freely plucked in youth.
Liam. July 2017
Evening Rest
As this day now leaves to lie,
Rays once warm they fill the sky.
In colors changing to heaven bright.
The blues to hues of reds,
the white the golden might.
Of a day departed and with me too.
One more moment of bliss complete.
Of touch and love of fleeting happy you.
Yes, you an angel dancing high.
Dancing clouds you cross my eye .
Your horizon lies with me this day.
You fill the night with a starry sky,
with sparks, with thoughts, with dreams,
with intervening flashes we unite.
Build a picture, a cosmology ,
A heaven, a party book of light.
Closing now my eyes to sleep
The wonder in my breast I’ll keep.
Till waking neigh on mornings wing
A new, a day together we’ll sing.
Together
Liam July 2017
Poem: Oblivion
Falling from the eves and chimney pipes I fluttered .
Floated like those autumn leaves.
Memories, whipped in the evening breeze .
My soul took flight.
Windy across foreign
Places, baren dusty spaces, where
I’ve lain my head to weep.
Dreamt and found you asleep.
Jeweled, sprawled a queen
Between the palms, sipping the nectar of words whispered
By that breeze.
Speaking softly in tongues long forgotten, while whisking flies.
We touched and you awoke.
A moment a memory in paradise lost.
Where we nibbled wisdom, ate sweet dates, laughed as lovers do.
Wait wait wait for what of this worth is ours to keep?
When life calls, I answer,
„Sleep!“ let me dream on.
Exotic caravans of incense and myrrh.
Spice in dusty cracks, is my dry desire.
In all this, what takes the call?
The call to rise above, to move beyond the pain filled fire.
Fill us searchers of the soul unseen.
Break desire!
End this march towards the funeral pyre.
Liam October 2017
Poem: Oblivion
Falling from the eves and chimney pipes I fluttered .
Floated like those autumn leaves.
Memories, whipped in the evening breeze .
My soul took flight.
Windy across foreign
Places, baren dusty spaces, where
I’ve lain my head to weep.
Dreamt and found you asleep.
Jeweled, sprawled a queen
Between the palms, sipping the nectar of words whispered
By that breeze.
Speaking softly in tongues long forgotten, while whisking flies.
We touched and you awoke.
A moment a memory in paradise lost.
Where we nibbled wisdom, ate sweet dates, laughed as lovers do.
Wait wait wait for what of this worth is ours to keep?
When life calls, I answer,
„Sleep!“ let me dream on.
Exotic caravans of incense and myrrh.
Spice in dusty cracks, is my dry desire.
In all this, what takes the call?
The call to rise above, to move beyond the pain filled fire.
Fill us searchers of the soul unseen.
Break desire!
End this march towards the funeral pyre.
Liam October 2017
Now for those readers who have not surfed, it is a mindset. Created through the freedom of movement, the strength your body develops, the wildness of the ocean, and an appreciation of the awesomeness of nature. So were those carefree days in Aragum Bay, wild, free, exciting, healthy and full of adventure.
The Elephant´s reserve, boarded directly on the bay so those great and gentle creatures were regular visitors to our antics on the waves. Food came simple, fishy and fresh with wild gesticulations, frantic nodding’s of the head and “more Money” as one of the few identifiable English phrases the fishermen could master. Their boats, pieces of excellent hand craft, carved wooden sailing vessels which had mastered the warm turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean for centuries. Returning with their inverted triangular sails chewing on the trade wind, the outrigger ploughing a deep fertile furrow behind the boat, they would sail right up onto the white beach. The families and dealers dark skinned and brightly turbaned excited to participate in the treasured catch.
One quiet star spangled night great excitement was suddenly heard down at the beach, where a tide of luminescent plankton had washed in. Life in such moments brushes the shores with pure magic, as I waded, then splashed myself in liquid silvery light. The days and nights washed away into weeks and on into months, until the pure pressure of excitement could no longer hold me in the waves.
A pot puree of interesting travelers had drifted into Aragum on the monthly tide , their adventures, anecdotes and stories remaining as flotsam and jetsam in my memory. Reiner, the German friend I’d met on my first day, was long gone into the Himalaya, but we had made a date to meet up in Katmandu eight months later and so with my board under my arm I took a short flight to the Indian mainland, landing in Cochin, Kerala State.
The Poets Blog 