Uncounted Iraqi cities dead
achilles hung the history bleed
out, crimes to hide, conquest
vile, ordered by false prophets.
Into lives false prophets amble
posing: villains or nature’s gamble?
Eggs cosmic radiation’s banquet
cruel near death doses of rads
I am Sir poet to you, kiss my pen.
Modern poetry of course, or is that chopped up prose
with a few rhymes thrown in, that is
so I can ponce around in pseudo artsy dignity
Abandoned prams, empty identical wired
with white typed feeding bibs about
and missing their coin deposits, chains dangling, unhired.
Staggering down the street they come, accepted
Deeply into this ocean before me stare
that I might learn and learning be released.
Modernists fall to saying
shades of one aesthetic
boastful genius skipping
psyche shouting – mad writ.
Kinetic energy is like my experience of emotion
So powerful and painful and sad this is
So we'll no more go a fishing
only father proud son
quiet strength of huddled waiting
sharing enough reason.
Can the million smile, death maker
on royal walk about, not shake?
The truly righteous criminal menace -
ancient civilisations his legacy
Bush G. and Blair T.
two such good men
but pure evil in
the doing of things.
Alas not just the pure search, and procreative struggle of poetry
can a hood over psyche’s head put, and stumble out prison security
but attitudes to communication generally, particularly where it is difficult.
In cunning oath vigil on coast with harpoon
oomiak on sea ready, but ice rests while death looms.
The cruel down thrust foot anchored sure and doom
as innocence loved will swim past a man’s length
As youngsters chatter and push bear cubs on the carpet
a taught face leans over, peering through spectacles, into hearts
Suddenly, “I am the teacher. Apostrophe”, slamming down his ruler.
As pupils nervously raise hands to faces flesh assured
So for the singular, it’s Keat’s and Yeats’s poetry, apo s.
True thought and moral makers of New Jerusalem, scriptures famed
for seat at autumn’s pastures, but never proclaimed as prophecy
which is perhaps good - for then as in this Century
Another case to address is the apostrophe, and the sibilant acting as s:
hence conscience’ sake, no s at all, before or after, our strephein.
OK the /ziz/ has gone itinerant and is out of place
but well known we can choose our friends, but not our family and siblings.
All tensely waiting, I see, for the well known party game
the apostrophe case of the possessive looking place name.
You know, a landmark that’s someone’s name plus an s ending.
Well that is the boa constrictor that needs taming
One pupil with greater confidence, a future doctor, or lawyer
or perhaps someone noble like a scientist, stiffens, pipes up:
Sir, Mum’s Greek conjugations and Dad’s trigonometry
are all good for me and fun, but sup this potion no
The liar’s babes bubbles in growth
within womb of all mankind
mothers first to sense, groan -
of pumping corpses into minds.
Hello and sincere welcome to my poetry site. I am a very enthusiastic new poet. Your comments are important to me - particularly on the poems that did not really work for you or you felt had failings. So rather than leaving my site feeling that you could not leave a hurtful comment, please feel free to say what you think. So thank you and hope you found something worthwhile for you. Hopefully I will have added some new poems by the next time you visit. Yours Philip
Prosody Blues (Modernist)
daring nothing lines
nothing to rhyme or metre.
Just our lives
inexplicable presence –
a sort of consonance
on the sibilant.