White Flag

I walked and walked

I fought and fought

I swam and swam

I sank and sank

I found myself on the riverbank

Cursing my blessings, I counted my luck

And on a nice sunny day I was thunderstruck

Lightening surged through my veins

I beat my chest and shook my mane

A human and animal, together, as one

The light of the sun no longer shone

What had I become?

Oh what had I become?

Depression was my father, despair my mum

I planted my white flag

And prayed no more mercy would ever come

I wanted my life to be done

I so very badly wanted my life to be done

I walked and walked and walked

I fought and fought and fought

I swam and swam and swam

But, like always, I found myself

With a white flag upon the riverbank

Phantom Touch

I know there is someone out there

But I don’t know who she is

I know there is someone right for me

But I don’t know where she is

I don’t know who or where she is

But I know this:

I love her

Like a brother

Like a mother

And as a calf drinks from the udder

I draw strength from her phantom embrace

We’re having a Desperado’s Wedding

It’s all the craze

She’ll hand me her virginity on satiny bedding

Our Honeymoon’ll be a fortnight of lazy days

Reach out and touch me although you’re not there

Be it Virtual Reality I don’t care

You kiss me I kiss you back then we’ll call it square

If only I could really touch your soft, cottony hair

We could go for a coffee

Or a ride on the bus

Making me happy

Doesn’t take much

We could go to a party

We could get arty-farty

I’d rather be in Venice

Than be the Neighbourhood Menace

I’d rather be a stone, gathering moss

Than to have not loved at all

Rather than loved and lost

You make my pavements sparkle

You make my grass like driftwood

You make my seas churn with a wonder

Unknown to many

You are my one last penny

My jewel in the sand

Please reach out and take

My lonely, phantom hand

I know there is someone out there for me

But I don’t know who she is

©ATD 2017

Simon Armitage

Simon Armitage came onto my radar on The Review Show, as did Tom Paulin and other critics. I picked his book up in the library one time and read an impressive abstract paragraph or so. Just a few lines, but they told me more than enough. I thought two things: who the hell is this guy and where the hell has he been, because so many poets are penning verse which for me takes itself too seriously, tries too hard to be clever clogs literature, and worst of all commits the cardinal sin of not even rhyming. I swear, poetry can be an excuse for just making mad bull crap up with zero regard for the rules we learned at school. Since then I’ve read one of his poetry books whole. One standout poem in particular, Horses, M62, about horses on the M62, was a fave.

When you hear someone speaking/reading, all keen and eager on the first or second row, you are usually distracted by their physical presence (not to mention surroundings). It can be like meeting a celebrity. You take in their posture, their clothing, their jewellery, everything down to their cotton socks. You don’t mean to, but it’s natural. You kind of focus on the lips especially, because they are always moving.

And in doing this, the message can be sidetracked by said distractions. There’s really no need for any of this with Simon. I recommend, if you get to hear him read, to close your eyes. You should close your eyes for him if you close your eyes for anyone. You want to clearly hear every word. Not just with your ears, but with your mind. Listening to Armitage recite with your eyes closed is like being in a very funny abstract movie. Honestly, it is. What a blessing there is a poet out there who can let the words do all the work for him. All the personal image and public persona thingy is a hindrance, to be frank. The words are all it is ever about and if they are magical and hysterical then the mouth behind their stylish cadence becomes almost irrelevant. The person is merely the vessel.

What a privilege to hear undiluted talent spill out from someone so effortlessly. As he said himself, it is all about exposure to people better than yourself so you can raise your own bar to or above their standards. Amen to that amigos.

Ashes to Beauty Poem

Energy. All around. Where does it go? How does it work? Is there a pattern in all the apparent regeneration, or is our course through the universe linear? Linear and chaotic, into an unknown destination, like riding a shot cannon that keeps rising into the cold treacly nether regions of space and time. Or is it cyclic and predictable, like a turning wheel? The turning wheel of life. Rejoice: Our time here is too short to be depressed. Take a tip from Stephen King's book if you find yourself needing a perk-up, and blast some rock n roll.

ASHES TO BEAUTY

This perpetual procession
Closes the chapters of life upon life
Grinds the granite of grave into grave
Razes the rubble of runes into ruin
Cremates compact layer
Upon compact layer
Of memories and love without end
With dust and fire does pave
The mortal road to our passing
Wherein Earth’s soil
Beneath the whispering wind
Atop the enriching harvest
Within the fruits of our spirit’s fresh labour
Inside the palm of Our Spirit’s guiding hand
Blossom the buds that cannot die
Generation to generation
Mother to Son
An everlasting caress
From heart to mind

© Andrew Donegan 2010

"We will not cease our exploring, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
T.S.Elliot

"You live, you die, and the wheels on the bus go round n round."
The Philosophy of Ron Todd

"I think that life was UPLOADED into space itself."
The Philosophy of Ron Todd