Friday, 15 July 2016

Dave the Slave

I found a note I had scribbled onto a piece of paper when I was working on business names some time ago. I threw the paper out today and before I knew it, a few lines rolled themselves into a ball and came out of my fingers as a poem. It needs work, but here are a few rough first lines.
Dave, everyone thought he was slow
Because at school his grades were low
Teachers gave him extra work
Soon the target of the high school Jerk

But Dave was a thinker strong and kind

Tuesday, 12 July 2016

A Novel Writer's Blues

Rain and hail beats a heavy tune
The wind rips outside my winter room
And like a banshee does wail
I’m trying hard to force the flow
But my chapter just won’t grow
Yesterday I had that gift
But today I just don’t know.

Words that tempted me when I young
Haunt me now like songs we sung
Today every sentence written fails
I tap the keys time and time again
Read my margin notes scratched in pen
Where is this gift I’m sure I had
Why today are my words so bad

A ray of sunshine tries to sneak through
Rain and wind soon wipe away a sky of blue
Write something else I tell myself
A song a rhyme to find my flow
Advice for others if their words were slow
But what’s it worth, advice for free
Story of an angry day and stormy sea

Heavy the rain still beats its tune
And wind still rips outside my writer’s room
And like a hundred banshees does wail
Still trying hard to force the flow
But this chapter still won’t grow
Yesterday I had the writer’s gift
Yet today I’m lost, I just don’t know

Saturday, 9 July 2016

Loneliness and Laughter

I  found this poem today and gave it a bit of a polish. I have posted it as Pop before, but have changed the title today to bring it more in line with the message.
If anyone wants to play with the rhythm and the beat to make it work better, please feel free to have a go.  

He was grey, he was old
And in the lines on his face
His story is told
Spotted with age and hands bony thin
His life’s story is written on him
His mind still holds his memories so sharp
Has no time for tears
For love beats his heart

On his front porch he sits all alone
Black tea cools a cup and he’s holding the phone
It rings and he answers and answers again
A smile crosses his lips, and it's hello old friend
He shuffles, he snuffles and sometimes he creaks
Says there's no time to grumble, 
When it's friendship he seeks

He starts in the morning, at a quarter to ten
You'll see him each day
He's out there again
Humming while he’s dialling
And phoning a friend
He’s laughing because of
Another story to tell
A group of old friends
All denying their Gods or the Devil
Swift passage to heaven or hell

Another day’s passed 
He wanders inside and thinks of his day
He smiles because 
It doesn't matter that little was done
Everyone, laughing and lying
About deeds that they’d done
The sun's set and changed into night
Is he lonely you ask him
And he says that he might
But only after he kisses her photo
And turns off the light