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Complete National Poetry Day poems

October 10, 2009

Here are the poems I wrote with the people loitering in the Bluecoat garden on National Poetry Day.  It was a real joy to spend some time discussing the concept of Poetic Justice, and then seeing the look of pleasure on people’s faces as they read the poems they’d managed to write on the subject.  Some nice turns of phrase in here:

The craft of coincidence, as practiced by the

philosopher tells of the mind beyond minds,

a field where only the good kids play – and the

rain stays in and falls out

and loses something of no value, while finding a

word that means everything to a heart without itself,

and nothing to words without hearts.


The air is a skin, of us,

a meat pie or an entire solar system hidden in the

branches of the mind that roots us to the world.

Our roots push up like the hands of buried men

the garden shudders in quiet contemplation.

All growing now growing in the smallest of spaces:

the soft fist of a baby.


We all die in the dark in the end,

and are born – I opened my eyes, and I

could see nothing but my own hands.  I understand

what it is.  My father told me –

but I did question the ultimate questioner –

where did I put my thoughts? Why

did I not believe in myself?


It struck a chord.  I felt the

bliss, or blisters? Sometimes it’s hard to tell if this

is restlessness.  Reflection is the key

you have to know where we are

before we can go.  We need to know

where we are starting from –

down in the stone-bright, heavy earth.


Happiness arises from not having

happiness – a preference of the content, symbolised by

the applause – can come to those who do not feel

they deserve it.

Do not deserve our daily bread, or the foregiveness

that we’re given by devine intervention of liberty.

Liberty is how we relate to the French –

freedom no more for sale than the Autumn.


It’s encouraging to think that life might, itself, be

thinking that the words might come back to

haunt him with the sunshine in the

morning, and the daylight shatters the dreams

hopes of life’s peace, fears of life’s

loud noises – fireworks and voices screech and

shrill through the night sky,

revealing our true selves!


A series of clues: envy, greed, banks failing, the mean

faces can hide the truth

truth is lies in the hands of a monster.  And everything

tender is really being aware of others.

Who are the tough-minded? Who are the ones who

have rocks behind their eyes?

Close their minds to their own sense of freedom.


The world confuses the confused then lets them find themselves

when I wake up I see rainbows and a happy

sun in the windows of the houses down our

street – dogs laughing.  People crying.  The loss of soul.

Too hard to accept this life as it is.  I’ll

continue it for now thanks.  Yes, thanks

to anyone and everyone who’ll listen.


Sometimes the world is good to the mean and

cruel as the cruelest can be.  Will they ever be forgiven or

suffer the pain of being ‘normal’?  Is this

how they feel?  They feel like crumpets

soaked in butter, like slipping on the grasp of life wondering

where it will end up like a tree a car or a

tank.  This is what my life is.


They come with dogs, knives and all their

mates who live far away, strangers who are sat next to

me.  I am what I make of myself and that’s all I’ll

ever be to me.  This is pretty cool they think to

themselves as the knock hard on their own skulls

and no-one inside answers cos the only answer is within

youself to think beyond anyone else.


The poet felt the power of the

words are only the cries of animals when we

take away the feelings and sensations that they

leave behind them.  A necklace of

breadcrumbs.  We are all just tiny drops which

drip down to form the whole lake.  The sun

falls in: a star is born.

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