The trouble with poetry…

The trouble with poetry…

To be

To be here

To ride a bike

Or be on a bus

To eat my tea

Or watch t.v.

To have a cat

Or talk on the phone

To be in a boring meeting

Or be grown up

To have a job

Or be at home

To go somewhere

Or be someone

To wear other people’s clothes…

Leaves me wordless

(Nicola Watson... Thank you Nicola... a poet has been reborn. Maybe pure poetry is wordless and the poetry we know and love is the closest we can get to it with words... well, it's just a thought).

The Colour of Rugby

(Thank you Callum. Perhaps after Saturday's match you need to change the penultimate line to 'the whites go quiet'... I think the reds were quite happy).

Monday mornings and Me

Monday mornings and me

Are best kept apart

We never fail

To start badly

With ‘alarm’ followed by

My mum’s shriek-full ‘GET UP!’ shout.

What makes it worse is

That my little sister

Is happy and already up

Eating Marmite toast

And watching the tv.

(Anon... although I'm sure the clues are there... a mum that shrieks, a younger sister who eats Marmite etc... Thank you, anyway, I think there will be many who share your outlook).

My Room

(Thank you! Oh the circles of life... and very brave of you to admit to being an Arsenal fan in a poem).

Daemons

Sometimes

I see people

As if they are accompanied

By their own daemons

From Philip Pullman’s

His Dark Materials Trilogy –

My class-mates’ daemons

Are still in flux

And they are all a little afraid of

Tracy Knowles’.

What daemons do you think

The people of Sibford School would have?

Has your own daemon settled

Or has it some way to go?

(A. Student.... Thank you for that, some food for thought. Time to do some daemon spotting).

haiku

I asked a brownbird

"Why are you so beautiful?"

It had no answer.

(By Nicola Watson... Thank you Nicola. Seemingly simple poems are often my favourite. Apologies that the poems have dried up recently. I shall be stalking the tutor groups. I know there are poems and poets out there).