Opus Number 23

You tasted pure indigo
It was all I could do to keep from
Licking at my palms
Sounds so smooth
Like chocolate, unwrapped
Lickable lines and drowsy dots
Melting into my ears
The soundwaves soothing,
Soaring and dipping
Cleansing my nervousness
As these spidery fingers kept
Stuttering their way across the keys
Klutz-kissed Chopin
Blowing through the dust
Of an afternoon’s discipline
Lost in a chessboard world
Of whirling black and white
Sweaty digits writhing on ebony
Toe curling pages
With their yellow smell
And the dullness of Instruction
Her leaden pencil marks
Numbers above the notes
Winking hide and seek
Angular strokes slashing
At my tired eyes
Teasing me with their inflexibility
A rubrik for perfection
Joints wobbling under the weight
Of the deep, deep, blue
This was the piece
The memory and the melody
My right to the slowing
Feet poised to pedal
A passage in time
This ocean of indigo
That gave me that first taste
One bittersweet number
Nose crinkling at the
Orangey tang of
Fourteen-year-old failure

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The Powers That Weren’t

It’s that time of year again when I trudge through my various bits and pieces and root out those submissions that were rejected outright or (worse) that never received a reply. Those that were written to a set theme or spec, I usually post here, as they are rarely suitable for resubmission elsewhere.

As you may be able to guess, these were written to a set theme – Power. I generally try not to over-explain my scribbles as I often feel if they require an explanation, then they aren’t finished yet, however this particular publication requested a brief introduction to each poem, so I have included these in my post.

This poem was written from the perspective of a Liberal politician nominally ‘In Power’ within the current coalition government, musing on the present state of the UK.

In Power
Feel my rhythm, see my vision
Fear the schism of this prism
All must work in culmination
Bettering the nation’s station

Tweaking noses, stomping toeses
Pack a pocketful of posies
Quick to hide the stench of rows
All long-since passed their sell-by codes

Darker glasses for middle classes
Out on arses for making passes
No more handouts for noisy standouts
Put up, shut up, we’re boss and bandits

Tailored speeches to tired teachers
Bitter leeches and lay-down preachers
Sieve for truth from the lie-buffet
Here’s a vibrant youth, let him have his say

Disenchanting, we see them panting
For what they’re wanting, and now recanting
Scrambled egg stains the ties of old
And the very dregs of the yellow fold

This poem was written about a turbulent relationship with an imbalance of power as one person chooses what is best for both of them on a whim, without reference to the other person’s thoughts or feelings.

Power
We’re together
Off and on
Depending how light
You are feeling
That switch in your brain
Flicks from one
To the other
And once again
Here I stand
In the dark

This poem was written on a miserably cold morning, sitting at a desk in a room with no heating, trying to summon up enough energy to face the day and gazing out of the window at one kind driver helping a total stranger get a battered old banger going again.

Jump Leads
Give us a bump start
A quick start, a jump start
To be smart and hearty
A powerful party
Yeah, kick off the traces
Of car-to-car chases
I want to feel spaces
See people, go places

The Yellow Brick Road

We sacrifice our girls in white
And show them off for all to see
Our hopes so high, all eyes so bright
At visions of their liberty

Proud future with a man on hand
To beat the path before she’s trod
In something smelly; wedding band
Dictates decisions after God

We procreate in timely row
And join the ranks of motherhood
Assured our place cemented now
On honour roll of great and good

And once the kids are grown and gone
Once more we seek a change of pace
Begin the slide from humble mum
To prod our daughters as a race

In conscientious steps we tread
Fill heads with values loud and long
So no lamb wanders off instead
To seek a life on paths unknown

Footloose and Fancy

Oh, what can I wear to a wedding
To properly show my disdain
For the smug and the proud
Talking ever so loud
How our turn will come soon (yet again)

I’m so tired of this constant assurance
That there’s someone on Earth for us all
And the moment we find them
We must rush to bind them
Domesticate each tortured soul

I’ve been with my someone for years now
We’ve watched many marriages fail
And as far as we’ve seen
All the diff’rence between
Them and us was some rings and a veil

Still I doubt I can stand there in trainers
And scowl as they swish down the aisle
For all wishes aside
It’s not fair on the bride
Guess I’ll bear with my bunions and smile

Anonymous

Heroes of my generation
Without name or even nation
Having fun with all creation
Terminals of botheration

Matrix, sleek and filled with toys
To exercise big girls and boys
Generating corporate noise
Delighting in the quiet joys

Creative juices flowing thickly
Plug ‘n’ play each level quickly
Conscience rarely feeling prickly
Navigating systems slickly

Operating under cover
Lurkers pinging one another
Forum flamers doused by Mother
Teasing Trojans’ backdoor lover

Wore that t-shirt as the prize
Ironic slogans catching eyes
That hoped for glory; in disguise
With lines of code and late-night dyes

Cracker chic was all the rage
During our screen-fed dance-club days
But rebels smart in other ways
Soon turn their skills to stuff that pays

We’re middle-aged and past our prime
And chose the red pill, every time
But now a life of cyber-crime
Is overtaking yours and mine

Diamond Jubilee

Keeping busy through the weekend
While a lady waves and smiles
In a state of slow progression
Royal barging over tides

Common chores, we sand and paint
Our castle; dusty, sweaty, tired
As a radio dictates our mood
The lighting is rewired

Now the weather, grey and gloomy
Fills the skies with silver cloud
And some feeling, so elusive
Charms the proles that swell the crowd

Whether royalist or rabid
Every publican will tell
That the bunting’s decoration
Many coffers more will fill

In the midst of deep recession
With less cash to splash about
Still the luxury of lives uncommon
Fills our heads with doubt