Major New Artist

This poem originally was a response to a Poetry Thursday challenge back in 2006 to write a poem in someone else's voice. The poem had already been published and I just lazily used it for Poetry Thursday!


Major New ArtistI have spent the last six
years with incense sticks
burning holes in shirts.

Shirts of all types
from Hawaiian to pin stripes
but all have holes burned in.

All the holes are regular
extreme boredom does not deter
me from my art.

Some see meaning in the holes
they are but fools
there is no meaning only art.

previously published at the now defunct Mentress Moon
There's another one too, earlier in this blog here. 

I posted another poem from the past on Crafty Green Poet today too, you can read it here. 

Neighbours

Through her territorial fence
she watches them
and mutters.

‘Bogus people
begging on the Underground,
stealing food
from the mouths of MY children.’

Over the fence, the children
mourn lost friends
to a backing track
of remembered bombs.

Their Mama dusts desert sand
out of their long dark hair
and wonders whether this week
she can afford to buy them sweets.

**
Previously published on Leaveners Poets Corner. 

Meanwhile on Crafty Green Poet I've reposted a poem from 2006, you can read it here.  

The Secret of Chocolate

Her first class degree
won her a contract to discover
the scientific perfection of sweetness.

Five years on, her secret formula
heavily advertised, stays
stubbornly on the shelves.

While continents are ravaged
by a disease she could
have found a cure for

and a humble chocolatier
creates daily bliss
for crowds in a small French town.




First published on this blog in 2008 and originally published in Curlew magazine

Chocolate also features in today's poem over on Crafty Green Poet. You can read it here. 

Shadowy Shetland

Shadows on the ferry and port, waiting to return from Shetland

I blogged more about our holiday on Shetland over on my Crafty Green Poet blog, you can read my posts here, here, here and here.

For Shadow Shot Sunday. 

Beach Hut

Warm wood smell
of the sun-bleached floor
scratched by damp sand
under my purple flip-flops.

Milky coffee from a thermos flask.

The sea glimmered
beyond the beach.

My eyes shaded
by the brim
of an oversized sun-hat,

I paddled in the sea
but never learned to swim.


Previously published on Everyday Poets and Verse Wrights.  

Meanwhile my poem Drift appears over on Crafty Green Poet - you can read it here. 

Polish for Beginners

I always thought you were Polish
with your exotic blonde beauty
so I polished my few phrases of that language.
You never know when it might be useful.

The day after I overheard you had gone
home to a country that is not Poland
I was in a bar speaking Polish
with some old drunk who said
he thought I was an angel.


originally published in Poetry Scotland and first posted on this blog ten years ago.

Meanwhile over on Crafty Green Poet, you have a 2nd chance to read my poem Windmills! 

Fumbling

you drop your keys
into silence

someone else holds hands
with your dream

your head whirls with words
your lips hold silent

screams


Previously published in Sketchbook.  

Meanwhile I posted another poem on Crafty Green Poet, you can read it here. 

Abstract

I experiment with texture, shape,
play with shades of colour,
explore the theory of art.

Never meant for show
outside the college studio
these pictures hid in storage.

While work for exhibition
never sold, too mundane
so many critics said.

But then some dealer fell in love
with my series ‘Shades of Grey’
and I am now the ‘New Sensation’.


Previously published on the Camel Saloon. The Camel Saloon no longer exists but its editor Russell Streur now edits the Plum Tree Tavern which focuses on poetry and nature and the environment and which today published my poem Watching the Skies which you can read here.

Today I also posted a selection of haiku on Crafty Green Poet. You can read them here.

Out of Time

Out of Time

We spend our lives

trying to make time fly -

high octance adventures,

reality tv,

shopping for the perfect

clock for the mantelpiece.

Scared to sit and enjoy

moments out of time.

Later we worry

time is running out -

hold onto fleeting youth,

get cosmetic surgery,

can't face the clock

on the crumbling mantelpiece.

Scared of where we'll be

when we find ourselves out of time.

Originally posted in 2006 for the now defunct Poetry Thursday

Meanwhile over on Crafty Green Poet I've reposted another poem from 2006, you can read it here. 

A Selection of the Snowpeople of Edinburgh