Poetry Thursday 65 - Fallen

 It is the time of year that we remember those who have died as a result of war. Particularly, poignant this year with what is happening in the Middle East and Ukraine. 

The Fallen

 

The perpetual warrior but never his fault,

he was there cos’ he needed work,

took the King's shilling for a pinch of salt,

became the pawn of any artful jerk.

 

As required he delivered and died,

he battled and fought as was commanded,

but no matter how hard he fought and strived,

the soldier's precious life sadly ended.

 

So we gather to show final respect,

and give thanks for their curtailed living, 

hoping the belated feelings reflect,

appropriate depth for their dying.

 

We should try our best every November,

To give a gift selflessly - and remember.

© David L Atkinson November 2024 

God Bless 

Writing - Interpretation

 The time of year for self-indulgence has already begun for me. I have bought and wrapped some Christmas presents, accepted a Christmas invitation and started reading A Christmas Carol. The last item is an oft-repeated activity at this time of year. I was inspired to write about Interpretation by a song and a conversation with my daughter. 

To begin with, it must be said that I have seen several versions of Dickens' great work ranging from cartoons, to Alistair Sims, to modern versions (eg. Scrooged) and even an American Ebenezer. Each presentation has its own interpretation and I wonder which the author would have preferred? Whichever, without the almost 200 year old story there would be no interpretation. 

The issue of interpretation is particularly important in poetry and art. In fact, it could be argued that the subject of Literature is almost exclusively founded upon interpretation and as such is subject to personal taste. I once argued up a grade from C- to B, on that premise. In producing art/literature it is necessary to accept that others will take your work and put on their own spin. It takes a mind that steps outside the box to produce work which is enigmatic, but to make interpretations you need to step away from norms and accept there are different ways of understanding meanings. 

What was Banksy saying when he had 'The Girl with the Balloon' start shredding itself the moment it was sold?

I have written hundreds of poems on a myriad of subjects and a plethora of styles, but very few I would describe as beautiful. An acquaintance used that very word last week. 

The song that spawned this piece was Blackbird by The Beatles, and I leave you with some lyrics, 

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly

Blackbird fly

Into the light of a dark, black night 

God Bless 

Thursday Poetry 64 - For Football Fans

 A chunk of history that continues to develop today but not necessarily in the direction that one would expect or want. 

Roker Park 

For Football Fans

 

'Possess yer soul in patience lad',

me mam was getting fed up,

I’ d been worked up for two years,

‘Get ready’, music to the youthful ears.

 

Like a religion for me dad,

part of life’s simple rich routine,

havin worked hard all week,

nee great reward for ordinary men to seek.

 

At last judged a big enough lad,

today the day when I could gan wi’im,

a pilgrimage across toon ter Roker Park,

to the magical stage where The Lads lark.

 

Even the bus ride - great wi’ me dad,

the 103 thundered into Park Lane,

and then would begin the rapid lang walk,

passed Saturday shoppers with their excited talk.

 

‘Can yer slow down a bit Dad,’

a mantra repeated a hundred times,

as he strode on towards our ultimate goal,

driven by the need to escape king coal.

 

‘Are they all gannin ter the match Dad?’

of men in flat caps waakin’ the same way,

we have to gan early to get yer a spot,

so yer can see iv'ry brilliant pass and shot.

 

A’ve nivver seen so many people dad,

thousands comin’ t’gether to watch the play,

and only a couple a bob to get in the ground,

‘just wait till yer hear the cheering sound.’

 

It’s called the Roker Roar lad,

yer’ll understand why very soon son,

the red and white clad warriors take the stage,

the uncorked sound burst like a demented rage.

 

Haway its time to gan yem lad,

but there’s still ten minutes to gan,

we can catch the Economic ter Park Lane son,

that saved me legs from another lang run.

 

Sit down and eat yer tea bonny lad,

pie and peas ter replenish energy debt,

but nowt can detract from match day,

even intervening years that’ve gone away.

  

Nowadays it’d be hard to fathom dad,

all the money, celebrity and drama,

nee longer a community relievin’ recreation,

but sadly a rapaciously fiscal operation.

©David L Atkinson October 2024 

God Bless 

Writing - Where are you at?

 One of the earliest pieces of writing advice I stumbled across was the oft repeated 'write from where you're at'. Writing is such a personal activity, so it is hard not to write from a personal perspective. Dickens' privations due to his father's financial difficulties generated many of his works. 

I believe that if as a writer you have a message then that is why you have the desire to write. Denying that urge may detract from the finished product. Of course, when Dickens was writing he had fewer publishers/agents to impress. Nowadays, you have to find an agent who then has to sell your work to a publisher but if either of those don't agree that your work is marketable then your chances of success are zero. 

When I began writing I thought my idea of Steele was okay, but my writing was raw and as hard as I tried I collected many rejection slips. That led me to self-publish with limited success but in all fairness, I didn't have the desire to continue and eventually settled to writing poetry. 

One of my moments of demotivation was when I read a famous footballer's autobiography. As he is famous, he'd have no difficulty getting published. His name got him his opportunity as his fans were an existing market that the publishers couldn't resist. However, the book is, in my opinion, poor at best. Of course, that generated scotoma in my mind and it seemed that every news programme had a piece on some celebrity that had written a book! Trading on the fan base of existing celebrities is fiscally sound but artistically it's a dampener for the rest of us. 

So, writing poetry was always a love of mine as I like sending messages. It is a more immediate method of exercising that writing muscle. You have to write the things you feel, in the best way you can. 

God Bless 

Poetry Thursday 63 - Bonny lad

'Bonny lad' in the mackem area of the northeast used to be quite enigmatic. On the one hand, it was a friendly term of address, but with a glare and change of tone, there is no disguising the threat level. In this case it is the former. The poem represents many of the evenings spent at home in the late fifties early sixties. 

Mam (01/07/1922 - 24/10/2012)

Bonny Lad

 

Lock the door bonny lad,  

we’re gannin neewhere else t’neet,

the wind’s blowin’ a gale outside,

like banshees out for the divil’s ride.

 

Safe and warm inside bonny lad,

Nowt ter drag us into the street,

bank the fire up with good steam coal,

me man’s late evenin’ final role.

 

Not a neet for the club bonny lad,

save that for a weekend treat,

anyway there’s a good programme on the telly,

patience man there’s summat warm for yer belly.

 

Put the kettle on bonny lad,

we’ll have a cuppa and summat sweet,

haway son, bed, its school tomorrer,

yer can read the libry books yer borrow.

 

Night night God bless, bonny lad,

love you with every heartbeat,

 sweet dreams and peaceful rest always,

with you until the end of wer days.

©David L Atkinson October 2024 

God Bless 

Writing - Painting with Words

 As a teenager, I read a number of Alistair MacLean novels. He wrote 'Guns of Navarone' among many others but the first to stick in my mind was a WWII epic called HMS Ulysses. The story is good but the word pictures of the sea conditions stayed with me and encouraged me to read more of his stories. So the power of description must never be underrated. 

Blurb: The story of men who rose to heroism, and then to something greater, HMS Ulysses takes its place alongside The Caine Mutiny and The Cruel Sea as one of the classic novels of the navy at war.

It is the compelling story of Convoy FR77 to Murmansk – a voyage that pushes men to the limits of human endurance, crippled by enemy attack and the bitter cold of the Arctic. 

In fact, the blessed interweb has a plethora of suggestions on how to paint with words. I picked out the following, not because I thought it was the best, but rather it gave the advice to consider writing as an art form. 

1. Treat writing as an art form.

2. If you don't feel that you have the right word keep looking. 

3. Emphasise action words. 

4. Strike a balance between description and prompting readers' own imaginations. 

5. Seek opportunities to improve your writing skills. 

Not a definitive list but generally good advice. In the last point, I suggest writing poetry because in doing so you are using description and emotion to express yourself. Both are excellent ways of engaging with any reading audience. 

The act of translating our experiences into words helps release pent-up feelings, giving us valuable insights into ourselves and opening the flow of creativity. 

God Bless 

Poetry Thursday 62 - The Poet

 Sometimes it is necessary to experiment with self-reflection and voices. What emerges is different. I came across the following definition of a poet:- 

Poet: A writer or author (The title is usually reserved for writers of good poetry.)

I continued chasing what was meant by 'good poetry' and the bottom line is that it is subjective. In other words in the hands of the receivers so keep writing folks.

The Poet

 

I have rarely met the poet myself,

as he hides from that place on the shelf,

quite familiar with techniques and forms,

not lacking experience in what performs.

 

From the Land of the Prince Bishops’,

unfashionably beautiful countryside backup,

plethora of inspiration to generate words,

as plentiful as a murmuration of birds.

 

A darker view spawns negative feelings,

associated with human dealings,

generating a hackier mood,

the poet may tend to brood.

 

A walk on the sand or plodgin’ in the sea,

massages the senses to set the poet free,

from any darkening influences,

and bugger the consequences.

 

But it’s the people that really count,

we need to deal in some amount,

to engage our range of emotions,

and translate the interactions.

 

The poet finds the equations can be prickly,

leaving the psyche rather sickly,

researching types of avoidance behaviour,

providing alternatives as a saviour.

 

The natural world provides sanctuary,

in its wealth of colour and variety,

with the uncluttered nature of species,

and their obvious biological abilities.

 

Looking for dolphins from the pier,

smartly dressed with their superior sneer,

as if aware of human failings,

yet prepared to indulge in occasional savings.

 

Eating winkles with a pin from a hut on the front,

dodging noisy herring gulls on the hunt,

for scraps falling from our table,

fish ‘n chips the inappropriate staple.

 

Loving the ebb and flow of sound,

marvelling at power as waves pound,

sighing of relief from sand and pebbles,

as sea recedes gathering for the next battles.

©David L Atkinson October 2024 

God Bless