A Neighbourhood To Call My Own…
Nostalgia is a funny thing - it's always there, and so much seems better than it really was, in memory, but when you actually sit down and examine in it, suddenly it's not so rosy. Like watching that old television show you remember as a kid, it might have seemed fantastic, amazing plots, brilliant characters - but in the light of day it was actually pretty shit. Of course, this is not always the case, and when it is not, it is a wonderful thing.
Right now, I am watching Magnum P.I., which let’s face it, is crass populist television, but at its best. I remember watching this show as a kid, and I've got to admit the Ferrari helped (I loved cars as a kid, mechanics son and all that), but even now it seems quite fun. It has aged better than say Knightrider.
That is not the reason for this post however, I am sure I could fire up a poem - but I ended up watching it after flicking through the channels in the mood for something nostalgic. It all started with an email, from Yahoo, they are closing down Geocities, and it was their umpteenth reminder that I should go and download my website there, or transfer it to their paid for hosting service.
Spider Poem
As promised, however late I am, here is my spider poem - probably not the best thing I have ever written, but I'm just grateful to be writing again. Besides, I kind of like it, I like the bumbling nature of the poem, the over simplified complex structure couple with an end rhyme that has some very stretched rules.
If you enjoy it, let me know - but likewise if you have constructive feedback I'd welcome that too.
Later, I'll be using this poem as one of the sources for a post about editing poetry, so you never know, I may be back with a better version yet - but I still love this one.
Poetry Practice: Day Eleven
My eleventh day of poetry practice, somewhat delayed after first having site issues, and then computer ones to boot. I'm not giving up, and I do have a back log of poetry to post, however I'm at work, so figured I'd write a quick one, and prove I'm still alive.
Disaster of a Dream
Soaring high above the world,
Glorious hue of unadultered blue,
Wisps of clouds stretching far beneath,
Breaks of green, and brown, and blue,
I am free, nothing can ever get to me here.
Feeling secure here, I swirled,
Blinded by beauty, I never had a clue,
My flight is at an end, I fall towards heath,
Panic flairs, my joy now seesm untrue,
I am trapped, falling to my death in fear.
Without warning, I am curled,
My workplace, twisted and strange,
An assault of vaunted ceilings, and a scary bar,
Signs of the office I know in the range,
I flee, this new world is out to get me.
The scene to Birmingham I'm hurled,
All about me recognised in change,
I bump into a scarey person with a scar,
He grabs me, we fall down a derange,
I hold on, he continues to fall free.
©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009
Now just a bit about this poem :
Poetry Practice: Day Ten
My tenth day of writing practice poems to get myself fit for competition.
Today we have one about the weather, which bears no relation to the weather experienced this weekend funnily enough.
Atmosphere Alight
Furous titans battle at the edge,
Tempestuous gods push back,
Might against might
The battle of nature rages.
Hurricanes battle warm fronts,
Thunder and lightening attack,
Atmosphere alight,
Man measures its puny gauges.
Rivers swell breaking banks,
Weather defences seem to lack,
Dangerous sight,
The battle for nature through ages.
Poetry Practice: Day nine
Well today is day nine, I'm starting to feel good about writing poetry, well I always did, but having been away for nearly a year, I felt anxious about writing. I'm not a confident person, I'm honest, hard working, and caring - all great qualities but I lack confidence. Writing today's poem, I felt confident about writing poetry, and that is a fantastic feeling.
Anyway, here's today's poem:
Trumble
Trumble trumble
The train is speeding along the tracks,
Like the cliche it goes on and on,
It doesn't care how many poets pay tribute,
How could it? It's a train, it suffers no dispute,
Like the cliche it goes on and on,
Until age, fault, or accident attacks,
Trumble trumble.
Trumble trumble,
It might carry passengers or sacks,
Train doesn't care, just goes it's way,
For cheap fast long distance it suffers no substitute,
It's masters do, they're not nearly as astute,
They only care about getting more pay,
Preventing the goofd things train lacks,
Humble grumble.
©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009
Well we're back to political rantscommentary as poetry, throw in a bit of business, but mostly it's politically motivated. The train may not care about the state of British railways, but I do - between Labour and Conservatives, the railways have been turned into a wasteful, inefficient, unenjoyable, expensive and ill-fated form of travel. Why ill fated? Well if enough train companie go under, the rail network would grind to a halt - either someone wealthy would get wealthier running a shadow of the service, or it simply stops. The rail network, and it's subsidies, have been so artificially raised up, no government could take it back - though they'd happily pay as much to the wealthy hero to take over.
I'm grouchy - I love public transport, or loved is more accurate. Have such fantastic memories, and feelings of trains of old. By old I mean my relatively recent childhood - big black and white Intercity's with their golden stripe were always a mystery. I never got to go on one before they became GNER, then National Express trains. The design, and routes may not have changed, these cheap rip-offs, the amateur replacements are no match in my mind for the glorious behemoths of memories.
I remember going to the National Railway Museum in York as a child with my grandparents - if I loved the idea of the Intercities, this was where I was blown away. Amazing contraptions everywhich way, Mallards, and Stephenson's Rocket, walk through 30's 1st class carriages, and even take a short ride along the tracks, steam billowing from the front, distinctive whistles blaring.
I'm on a train now, a Pandolino (on mobile so not easy to check spelling), it doesn't compare, and though I have somewhere good to go, the journey isn't the same.
I should probably have written a second poem, this post deserved it, as did my memories. Maybe another time I'll revisit that passion.
Poetry Practice: Day six
As part of my aim to enter some poetry competitions, I have been practicing writing (hopefully getting better along the way). Today (Tuesday19th May) is day 6, so here’s today’s poem:
On Tom Welling
In regards to Tom Welling,
I'm reliably informed,
The actor of Superman to be,
Is hotness to the core,
His love for fellow man is to be admired,
His humility in the face of fame,
Well shames even the fameless.
A story telling,
I am impressed by his Clark,
Across fandom it has stormed,
I'm told the love he portrays,
For villanous Lex Luthor,
Will be a thing of a legend making,
That isn't the in my rules of the game,
I just love the hero making I guess.
©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009
I was struggling a bit today, didn't think I would make it for poem of the day, but hils came up with this idea, in response to my plea on Twitter. Now I do love Smallville, even as people are struggling with it - I think it's been better, but since watching the most recent episode, initially I thought I was more disappointed than anything else - but once my super random brain kicked in, I'd formulated at least a handful of brilliant points, and ideas where it could be going when it restarts in Autumn.
Anyway, this is a short poetic tribute to the shows main star, Tom Welling who plays Clark Kent, the Superman in the making.
Hope you enjoy.
Poetry Practice: Day five
As part of my aim to enter some poetry competitions, I have been practicing writing (I'm a touch rusty). Today (Monday 18th May) is day 5, so here's today's poem:
Sleep Protector
Lie down in velvet shadows,
Find warmth in the heavy presence,
Wrap yourself in the love we share,
Feel our protection from the darkness,
I will be there for now by your side,
You need not fear this deep night,
As we rest in peaceful slumber,
Enjoy.
Rise in caramel illumination,
Flood awareness flood to your senses,
Find your way out of your downy care,
Avoid realising your profound cureless,
In your dreams to yourself you lied,
Found comfort away in the fright,
I'm a figment in the dream of forever,
Sorry.
©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009
This is a really sad poem, it starts off sounding romantic, but it's almost unreal. A couple go to bed, nice and romantic, but only one talks, sooths, the other offers no reaction, but to fall asleep. My intention was to invoke the feeling of a night guardian, he stands watch over our fateful sleeper.
I don't know about you, but I long for that - it's almost a magical romantic ideal. Which the second verse reveals is the truth. I would feel a prodound sense of loss at realising this dream wasn't real, but can you be sure can you? The figment apologised - which to me, says that maybe this phantom protector is real, but gone when you awake.
Poetry Practice: Day Seven
Well I'm now upto a week of writing daily poetry, it's going pretty well, I even managed an extra one on Monday - however it was so bad, I dare not let the rest of the world see it.
Today's poetry practice is brought to you by 12Seconds, the short video blogging site to which I just signed up. No idea what I'm going to do with a 12 seconds account, I'm not exactly photogenic, and my voice isn't great - but for 12 seconds, who cares? It's a bit of fun. Anyway, it's the inspiration for today's poem, and I've even done a 12 second version for 12Second, which will add after the poem itself.
12 Seconds...
"12 seconds you're on Mister Legend",
"Who me? I'm just well me",
"It's your 12 seconds Mister",
"Erm, what do I say?"
That woman with the camera,
She looked at me funny,
And then just laughed,
"You're 12 seconds is up Mister Legend,"
She said, with an impish giggle,
Indeed they were,
12 seconds flies by,
My 12 seconds of fame,
Good bye.
©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009
From 12seconds.tv
Video of me doing a 12 second version of this poem.