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Lament for Lost Efforts of a Generation

March 14, 2025March 14, 2025humanist55

I lament the loss of peace in our time
Stolen, destroyed, blown up on a whim
The new generation of despots craves
The last generation turn in their graves

Craves wealth and power and influence
Acting without thought or sense
No thought at all of how to behave
The last generation turn in their graves

I lament the loss of knowing what’s true
Endless fact checking we must do
Block our ears to he who raves
The last generation turn in their graves

Nothing around us now seems safe
When dogs of war at their leads chafe
Bully boys beat up on the brave
The last generation turn in their graves

I lament their sacrifice laid waste
Blood and death’s most bitter taste
But given for to freedom save
The last generation turn in their graves

Two wars supposed to end all wars
(Bar those in places far, of course)
The sacrifice of those lost brave
The last generation turn in their graves

I lament their struggle was in vain
As fascists come around again
Ask will Democracy be saved
The last generation turn in their graves

To be remembered as the best not worst
In reality, they’ll be roundly cursed
Become the very byword for a knave
The last generation turn in their graves

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Grace in Poetry Forms, invites us to write a Lament using roughly the form:

stanzaic, written in any number of quatrains.
metered, often iambic or trochaic tetrameter.
rhymed, rhyme scheme: aabB ccbB ddbB etc. B being a refrain

A to Z 2025 – Theme Reveal

March 9, 2025March 9, 2025humanist55

My Story in 26(ish) Objects…

I confess I am not a great fan of auto-biographies that begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. There is now a term for this type of image – “Knolling” or “Flatlay” and you can find the fascinating origin of this nomenclature here. The memory of this Exhibition (or Exhibit if you are American) has never left me and in addition, the BBC produced a series of programmes (now available as a podcast) A History of the World in 100 Objects, or in book form if you are not able to download from the BBC.

This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…

Just to give you a little taste of what is to come, the photo below, which is in Knolling style (though not all will be – this A to Z is a sort of metaphorical Knolling) shows the contents of the briefcase I take to work with me on my semi-retired 2.5 days a week…

Top row (left to right) Laptop, Wireless Mouse, Charging Cable, Pocket Book for Analogue Notes, Pens and Highlighter, various papers and copies of my chapbook.
Middle Row, Diabetic Testing Kit, Hairbrush, Folding Toothbrush, Lip balm, Mouthwash, Dry Mouth Spray, Laser Measuring tool and case, Earbud set, Electronics Case
Third Row, Wireless Phone Charger, Plug-in Phone Charger, Superman Power-pack, Various Electronic Cables
Bottom Row, Briefcase, Masks (left over from Covid), Scale Ruler, Folding Shopping Bag, Ibuprofen, Reading Glasses, USB sticks
Lower Right, Multi-tool Pen-knife.

What’s In a Name

March 7, 2025March 7, 2025humanist55

Andrew means “manly” I can live with that though I once had a yen to be Martin
Briefly

My family name is Wilson – Son of William – whoever he was in the mists of history
Unknown

My recently widowed Grandmother demanded I be commemoratively named Arthur
Unwise

Andrew Arthur doesn’t sing right so my rebel parents named me Andrew Frewin
Defied

Frewin – Anglo-Saxon “Frea-ing” – Friend of the Ruler!
No way…

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Laura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft, invites us to write the poetry of names using a
WaltMarie poetry style…

10 lines
Even lines are just 2 syllables
Odd lines are longer but without syllable restriction
The even lines make their own mini-poem if read separately
The meter and rhyme are unspecified

And the theme of your poem should be

The history/meaning of your name
or one you wish you had
or an imaginary one

I was born in the gatehouse of Frewin Hall, Oxford which is part of Brasenose College of which my father was then a don. In return for this subsidised college house, part of his duties was to lock the gates at 9pm each night as the students were curfewed in those days – imagine! My Grandfather on my Father’s side died during my Mother’s pregnancy with me and this poem tells the result of the conflict between my domineering Grandmother and my parents…
There is a Frewin family who presumably built Frewin Hall but as far as I know, I am the only person to have Frewin as a middle name, so if you have ever wondered about my “handle” Frewin55, now you know. (I was born 8th March 1955.)

The view through the gateway of Frein Hall – the cottage where I was born at home is on the left and you can find out more about it here

A Warning To the Witless…

February 21, 2025February 21, 2025humanist55

Our love, equality’s blood now spills and foams
Stabbed by fantasists and dictators with loud fuss
We mourn the loss of freedom taken from us

Supporters held in thrall, dismayed as truth hits home
Democracy is murdered as those fools stand by – witless
Our love, equality’s blood now spills and foams
Stabbed by fantasists and dictators with loud fuss

We poets must respond and fight with sharp-edged poems
Not just to mourn our lost love, blazon our distress
But as a call to arms for all to rise and seek redress
Our love, equality’s blood now spills and foams
Stabbed by fantasists and dictators with loud fuss
We mourn the loss of freedom taken from us…

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Grace in Poetry Forms invites us to try the English Madrigal – a complex form which was often a song and often too, referring to love. This is a somewhat different love song for the dark times we live in – not just in America but across many countries around the world that will nevertheless be made worse by what is happening there.

Key Features of the English Madrigal

Content: Often includes a theme of love

Structure of an English madrigal

*Usually written in iambic pentameter.
*Comprised of three stanzas: a tercet, quatrain, and sestet.
*All three of the lines in the opening tercet are refrains.

Form: A thirteen-line form in three stanzas:
Stanza 1] Tercet -Three lines
Stanza 2] Quatrain – Four lines
Stanza 3] Sestet – Six lines

Rhyme and Refrain of an English Madrigal

[L1] A (refrain 1)
[L2] B1 (refrain 2)
[L3] B2 (refrain 3)

[L4] a
[L5] b
[L6] A (refrain 1)
[L7] B1 (refrain 2)

[L8] a
[L9] b
[L10] b
[L11] A (refrain 1)
[L12] B1 (refrain 2)

In the Offing…

February 20, 2025February 20, 2025humanist55

*Stormy Sea*, Emil Nolde, watercolor, paper

Two yachts and a pleasure steamer
Caught in the offing amidst a squall

The squall blew in suddenly
Catching the sailors off guard

Standing off to avoid wrecking
on a lee shore, they battle big waves

The waves are ultramarine blue
Starved of light by the red-tinged clouds

And yellow sunset light beyond the clouds
Trumpets the coming of nightfall danger

They weren’t expecting danger on this Sunday sail
Sailors struggle, passengers huddle on the steamer

Pray for those in peril on the sea
Two yachts and a pleasure steamer…

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Melissa Lemay in Poetics invites us to write an Ekphrastic poem selecting from a number of paintings (unidentified as yet) before revealing who the artist was and something about his career. Emil Nolde, it turns out, was an ardent Nazi who attempted to climb the ladder of art success at a time when the tide was turning against his expressionist style in favour of the insipid efforts to which all propaganda are likely to produce.

Melissa asks us whether, upon learning about Emil Nolde’s unpleasant politics, we feel differently about his art.
I think a man’s politics are separate from his art unless he is using his art as propaganda and then as I say above, the quality will suffer because it doesn’t come from the heart.
Nevertheless, I can think of people, still alive today, whose work and life I don’t want to support because their politics are abhorrent. Emil Nolde no longer needs our support and I feel no different about the work – only the man…

A Parka For Your Soul

February 19, 2025February 19, 2025humanist55

“Make of it a parka

For your soul.”

Alice Walker, from Before you knew you owned it

I kept seeing the kid in the parka at random times and in random places about the city but it was only when I went on a trip out of town and there was the kid standing on the train station platform opposite where I was awaiting my train home. I say a kid, but in truth I never really saw his face – lost in the halo of the fur around the hood. Was it even a he or a kid and not an old man – I just had an impression from the general build and demeanour. It was that time at the station that I knew the manifestation was mine alone – a spirit guide, if you will.
There was a comfort then, in the vision, it salved my soul which let’s face it, in these end times needed salving…

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, msjadeli in Prosery invites us to respond to the line from Alice Walker (at top) in 144 words…

Love Like Food

February 12, 2025February 12, 2025humanist55

Rushing in from an activity
of enforced abstinence
and tearing the wrapper off
cramming all eagerly

Remembering to take a little
with you next time
and nibbling slowly
at intervals to keep you going

Making preserves and garnishing
your pantry so that those Summer
flavours are there to sustain you
come Autumn and Winter

Building a shelf of seasonings
to keep the taste buds
tingling with excitement
against the threat of ennui

Savouring the memory of
past dishes – great feasts
whose memories you can still smell
forty years on – even when you’re not hungry

Handwritten recipes—a diary of
a life lived through food
each recipe conjuring time and place
– discovery of ingredients you came to love.

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, sanaarizvi in Poetics, invites us to write about what love means to us in light of the upcoming Valentine’s Day…
In my writing group, Deborah had the same idea and presented us with Love Like Salt by Lisel Mueller so this poem is written in the shadow of that one…

Truth?

February 7, 2025February 7, 2025humanist55

What price the truth, is truth now dead
that leaders spout – thoughtlessly said
unfiltered guff from mouths uncouth
distract the people – the poorly led
from what’s the real that will be rued
is truth now dead, what price the truth…

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Laura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft invites us to write a “Sparrowlet” an invented stanzaic form created by Kathrine Sparrow.

A stanza of 6 lines – any number of stanzas permitted
8 syllables per line
end rhyme scheme BbabaA (often written in iambic tetrameter.)
L1 and L6 of each stanza is written in 2 hemistichs i.e the line split in two, with commas
The 2 halves of L1 are inverted but repeated exactly as a refrain in L6.
For example:
L1 In winter’s cold, as moonlight beams
L6 as moonlight beams, in winter’s cold.

N.B. The 2 halves of L1 contain and set the a and b rhymes thus:
RRRA, RRRB
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxa
RRRB, RRRA

Bronze Reveries

February 6, 2025February 8, 2025humanist55

There should clearly be a falcon
on my outstretched gauntleted arm
but alas I am just a convenient
perch for pigeons.

I don’t even know why I am here
They call me the Black Prince
but my titles, Edward of Woodstock
Prince of Wales and Duke of Cornwall
give the City of Leeds no claim to my fame
and famous I was in the Fourteenth Century
A fierce and feared warrior on behalf of
my father King Edward the Third
though I died of dysentery before
my king and father
so never inherited the mantle…

Larger than life as a soldier
I will say this representation
In bronze doth suit me
too large for any British foundry
I was cast in Belgium
brought by sea to Hull and
sailed stately by barge
up the river air to Leeds.

I have been joined in City Square
by other statues, some with
genuine claim to local fame
John Harrison – cloth merchant and school founder
Doctor Hook – a vicar of Leeds
Joseph Priestley – chemist and theologian late of Leeds
and James Watt though not of Leeds
he did his fair share to increase its wealth
with his steam engines
I never saw one myself
though the railway station is right before me
but I saw the smoke and steam
smelt the stink of the things
and my plinth has to be navigated
by commuters rushing to catch theirs

Statues of John Harrison, Doctor Hook, Joseph Priestly and James Watt – see Wikipedia article on Leeds City Square statuary.

I cannot see those good gentlemen
ranged as they are behind me
but I do look with some affection
on the comely rears of eight naked nymphs
I have sadly never had the pleasure
of seeing their faces and the rest
of their scarcely concealed modesty
they are two lots of quadruplets
named “Morn” – carrying a bunch of flowers
And “Even” whose head droops
And, I hear from passersby
has her eyes closed in anticipation
of the coming night

“Morn” and “Even” in City Square, Leeds – see Wikipedia article on Leeds City Square statuary.

It is a bleak existence in this civic space
myself fully clad and armoured
if not against the foes of England
at least against the Northern cold
but many’s the time I’ve seen
poor Morn and Even and their six sisters
shivering in the rain, the frost, the snow.
One night a group of “knitting guerillas”
as they mysteriously styled themselves
surreptitiously reconnoitred the
eight Art Nouveau sisters
with a view to knitting dresses more
becoming than their wisps of cloth
for those benighted maids
– they measured them up
found them to be some two-thirds scale
(I always thought them a little picayune)
but never returned with the promised gowns
and so the sisters shiver on in winter
or garner both sly and envious glances
from males and females respectively
the former admiring the petite but fulsome figures
the latter wishing they could be as unencumbered
come the sweltering heat of a city summer
– whilst I still suffer the indignity of pigeons…

The Black Prince – City Square Leeds – see Wikipedia article on Leeds City Square statuary.

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Dora in Poetics invites us to Reimagine the Familiar with a wealth of prompt poems to inspire…

As I explainbelow in reply to the comment from Dora, I fictionalised the Guerilla Knitting Group but searching for them, I find that Knit a Bear Face did in fact yarn-bomb some of the above statues in an action called “Wating For Winter” – photos below… The group seems to be defuct – perhaps another casualty of the great Covid pause…

Waiting for the winter — https://www.flickr.com/groups/1651938@N20/members/

If you are stirred to action and wish to become a Yarn Bomber or even just a group with whom to knit – search the internet for a group near you… The ~~Truth~~ Yarn Is Out There…

Je ne regrette rien – negated…

January 24, 2025January 24, 2025humanist55

I don’t want to live forever
but I haven’t had my fill yet
of seeing how things turn out…

I don’t agree with John Betjeman
saying “I wish I had had more sex
but I wish I may have
many more connections…

I won’t know till it happens
whether fear of the present
and future or just plain
tiredness will mark the point
where I am ready to let go…

I know I would have more
on my retrospective bucket list
than many people, though others
might have done still more but
it’s never enough – I don’t want
more money except to do more…

I don’t agree with Edith Piaf
– I’ve done things I wish I hadn’t
lost touch with people I shouldn’t have
had questions I never thought to ask
activities I never tried – heights, sights
and strangers that will never now take
my breath away, it’s too late for some things…

~~Je ne regrette rien~~…

Andrew Wilson, 2025

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Björn Rudberg (brudberg) in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft, invites us to use Negation – outlining something by saying what it is not…