A Cherita

A leaf

Engine of photosynthesis
that powers a tree

Turning red in Autumn
filled with anti-freeze
the tree sucks back before the leaf falls

Plucked before this happens
the tree would die
in Winter frost

That is the science
of Fall colour

But not the beauty…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

Over at dVerse Poets Pub,  Laura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft challenges us to Cherish the Cherita…

Give a Damn…

Give a thought to the dispossessed
better still give money

Give a charity a regular donation
then they can plan how to dispense salvation

A nation of the dispossessed
is claimed by others – it’s a given

I don’t give a damn about the animals
says one of the entitled supplanters

Call a man an animal or cockroach and
you can now give a call to the exterminator

Give heed to a cornered rat says Putin
it may just jump for your jugular in desperation

When dispossessing a nation – give a thought
to world opinion – goodwill is not inexhaustible…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

In response to “It’s a Given”posted by merrildsmith in PoeticsUncategorized  over at dVerse Poets Pub for Giving Tuesday

The Language of Knickers…

Having only been writing poetry regularly since May of this year, I was troubled by the usual doubts, was my free verse really just prose, or prose poetry – and it took a while to find and see poetry as a voice, and a language. So then I wondered if you could talk about literally, anything, in this voice and language. So this poem explores a frivolous subject with the voice of poesy…
I read it out on OLN Live and promised to post it for OLN over at dVerse Poets Pub hosted by Grace in OpenLinkNight

Is it beneath a poet to talk about knickers
the garments beneath – until they are not.

In the Nineteenth Century
obsessed with classification
they codified the Language of Fans
(the ones you fluttered and flirted with)
so that you might send the right signals
to your desired paramour
and not the wrong ones
to the rest of the world
the Language of Fans
the Language of Flowers
the Language of Colour
do knickers also speak
in a language of their own?

Undergarments, bloomers
pants, panties, scanties
skivvies, thongs, briefs or knickers.
I only know the words in
the English language
who knows what other words
are said or never said
in other languages
seen or never seen

Women may spend so long
choosing their outer clothes
do they give such thought
to what lies beneath
on the off-chance
that today might be the day…
and what woman’s mother
did not warn her
always to wear clean knickers
in case of being involved
in an accident
as if doctors and nurses
of the Emergency Room
have not got
more professional concerns
than the emergence of dirty knickers!

Are black knickers sexy
because of the maximal contrast
on a white woman
and do white-on-black
have the same connotation
do white knickers evoke
purity and innocence
for in some cultures
white is for death and the afterlife
but a shared view is that
white represents the divine and holy
in life and in death
can knickers ever represent the divine
or is it that which they enclose
that lovers dream of divinely

If black is sexy
ramp it up with laciness
for nothing says sexy
more than half revealing
that which is not supposed
to be seen – which can be said
for knickers themselves

Before the mini-skirt
made the possibility of
glimpsing knickers
unguarded (or intentionally)
Underwear was often
flesh-coloured or
pale peach -think
silky French knickers
loose and airy
and never seen
beneath the flappers
below-the-knee
fringed concoctions
the mini-skirt called for
briefer underwear and
ironically when so much
was being revealed
it was felt that pale peach
would not do
in case a flash was mistaken for flesh
and so bright colours
patterned prints
and even slogans
proliferated
– with slogans surely
the message outweighs
the medium

If knickers black on white
or white on black say
I am here – look at me
then what of red
small and satiny
ruched or ramped up
further with lacy transparency,
– what do red knickers
spell out – if there is indeed
a secret language of knickers
the colour of blood,
red is associated with
danger, sacrifice and bravery
so it is it a brave choice
to wear knickers of a colour
that also signals
heat, passion, sexuality
anger, love and joy?

A friend once told me
how a colleague
had eventually confessed
that intending to visit
her at her remote
cottage in the country
he was arrested by the vision
glimpsed through the
un-curtained window
of her lying across her lover’s lap
Victorian bloomers around her knees
receiving a fond chastisement
the colleague crept away
eventually
for is not the unwrapping
of the beautifully packaged
the erotic deliverance
of what is promised
in the language of knickers
some knickers anyway
something seemingly forgotten
by most makers of porn
with the slow reveal simply
being lost between cuts
a mistake the Burlesque stripper
would never make

And after white, black and red
what do other colours say
about the wearer
if they say anything at all
– purple, cerulean blue
emerald green
these are colours
at least in my experience
seldom seen
and what of the form
what does that say
if message it is even
intended to convey
and not a very private preference
quite without intent of sin
of what to wear
closest to the skin

In middle age
lascivious gives way to
comfort and by old age
it is big knickers all day long
unlike the thong
which covers the naughty bits
but bares the bum
and instead of flattening
the curves as other garments do
– leaves the tight skirt with no VPL
outward shape fit equally
close to underlying form

The freedom of French knickers
the high cut, the arbitrary
line of boy-shorts
what an education most boys
could confess too
who grew up with the
catalogue pages
lingerie it seemed
to the uninitiated
in every imaginable
form and colour from
black to white and red to blue
today’s young explorers
with unfettered access to the internet
might be forgiven for thinking
that more women than not
spend their lives going commando
and why is it called lingerie
who lingers over lingerie?

Make no mistake
knickers are the stuff of dreams
or more prosaically – fantasies
and even without a Victorian
guide to the messages
without teaching
perhaps even
instinctively
we mostly seem
to know the meaning of
the language of knickers…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

Caught Off Guard

What are the outward signs
of a heart caught off guard
is it tear-ing up –
if not actually sobbing
– then eyes welling
voice constrained so hard
that it’s held to
a pained silence
whilst I try to
get hold of myself
hold back the tears
open the throat
carry on speaking

You expect to tear up
when delivering a eulogy
and I have written for
my father and mother
and latterly my sister
the last and most difficult
to deliver – the words
freshly written the day before
though sixty-two years
in the gestation
I wrote on a ferry
in the Irish Sea crossing to Dublin
and there were no tears
as I laid the words to rest
any more than when
I heap tragedy on my characters
in my “serious” novel
Thomas Hardy I will never
ever again speak ill of
your torturing Jude the Obscure…
– Ah! But read back the lines
to an audience and the emotions
etched into each page
pull a garotte from my heart
and tighten it around my throat
each word another knot in it…

There are happier moments
that catch my heart off guard
the golding of greens
as the light turns to sunset
the brightness of sunlit land
against the black of a storm-filled sky
the unguarded smile
of a mother for her baby
and the enfolded exclusivity of
teenagers who are unaware of
enacting an instinct that
really urges them to make babies. I look at my partner
lost to the present
more often than not
and a thousand memories
of happier times
holographically stored
explode in my brain
flood my heart
sometimes pulling out
that heartstring
and sometimes painting on
a philosophical, ruminant smile…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

Evolution Found Poetry 8 – Chased…

Under the window spread a tree
great leaves, sweet white flowers
Magnolia I suppose
but Tom cared less
down the tree cat-like
across the garden lawn
over the iron railings
up the park toward the wood

The under gardener gave chase
– the dairymaid jumped up
gave chase to Tom
a groom cleaning Sir John’s hack
let him go, ran out and gave chase
Grimes upset the soot-sack
ran out and gave chase
the ploughman left his
horses at the headland
ran on, gave chase
the keeper taking a stoat out of
a trap caught his own finger
but jumped up and ran after Tom
Sir John looked out his window
a martin dropped mud in his eye
yet he ran out – gave chase to Tom

Never was there heard
at Hall Place
such a noise
row, hubbub
stramash, charivari
total contempt of dignity
repose and order
as that day
the very magpies and jays
followed Tom

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

This is a found poem with words derived from The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley. The title – Evolution, is because Kingsley was a naturalist around the exciting time when the work of Wallage and Darwin were revolutionising the worlds of science, geology and biology and there will be found poems that reference this aspect of the tale. But so far, the finding of poems has been more like the method for refining poems since Kingsley writes very lyrical passages anyway…
The image is derived in Midjourney.

This series was inspired by my friend Misky over at It’s Still Life who has been producing a series of Found Poems

Avocado – Don’t mind if I do…

Avocado green – redolent of
sickening seventies bathroom suites

But that green is only one variety
most avocados are black

Black and knobbly skins belie
smoothest of pale green flesh within

Smooth till smashed and served on toast
the latest trendy café go to – with marmite please

Go to Israel and elsewhere to see groves of
avocados greedily sucking the soil dry

Avocados ripen to the point of ripening
but left on the tree – ripen no more till picked

The ripeness of an avocado is inscrutable
hiding buttery softness or bruised decay – till cut open…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

Tonight dVerse Poets Pub is hosted by Melissa Lemay in Uncategorizedhere

Evolution – Found Poetry 7

Angel and Ape

Under snow-white coverlet
the most beautiful little girl
Tom had ever seen – her cheeks
almost as white as the pillow
her hair like threads of gold
was she a real live person
or one of the wax dolls seen in shops
he saw her breath – she was alive
and as an angel out of heaven

Looking round saw standing close to him
a little ugly, black, ragged figure
bleared eyes, grinning white teeth
such a little black ape
in that sweet young lady’s room
it was himself
reflected in a great mirror

For the first time in his life
found out he was dirty
burst into tears
with shame and anger
turned to sneak up the chimney
and hide…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

This is a found poem with words derived from The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley. The title – Evolution, is because Kingsley was a naturalist around the exciting time when the work of Wallage and Darwin were revolutionising the worlds of science, geology and biology and there will be found poems that reference this aspect of the tale. But so far, the finding of poems has been more like the method for refining poems since Kingsley writes very lyrical passages anyway…
The image is derived in Midjourney.

This series was inspired by my friend Misky over at It’s Still Life who has been producing a series of Found Poems

Teacher

Heart a hater
trace heartache
hear react cheer
he her each
chart care there
art create teach…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

 Björn Rudberg (brudberg) in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft over at dVerse Poets Pub, invites us to write an Anagrammatic Poem,

  1. Select a title of one word containing not more than 3 vowels and 4 consonants.
  2. Try to find as many words that are using only the letter in the title
  3. Combine this into a poem of your own
  4. Do not use any punctuation in the poem

I picked the word Teacher – the artwork is created in Midjourney.

Evolution – Found Poetry 6

Is Heaven Like This?

Coming down the wrong chimney
found himself on the hearthrug
a room the like of which he
had never seen before
never seen the like

Rooms ready for the quality
to sit in – the sight very pretty
– room dressed all in white
white curtains
white furniture
white walls
a few lines of pink
carpet all over
gay little flowers

Pictures of ladies and gentlemen
pictures of horses and dogs
two pictures of
a man in long garments
little children and their
mothers round him
the other a man nailed to a cross
why should the lady have
such a sad picture…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

This is a found poem with words derived from The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley. The title – Evolution, is because Kingsley was a naturalist around the exciting time when the work of Wallage and Darwin were revolutionising the worlds of science, geology and biology and there will be found poems that reference this aspect of the tale. But so far, the finding of poems has been more like the method for refining poems since Kingsley writes very lyrical passages anyway…
The image is derived in Midjourney.

This series was inspired by my friend Misky over at It’s Still Life who has been producing a series of Found Poems

One Day…

If I could choose a day
to relive in your company
out of forty years
give or take
when and where would I
set the dials of the time machine
to take us

To the first night we met
in magical massage engaged
diving deep
despite the presence
of strangers
in a one time embassy

To our time in Ireland
walking down to the Atlantic
ten minutes from our cottage door
where fossil “serpents”
writhed across the rocks
and we just stood and breathed it in…

I treasure the winter nights
I slipped sleepless out the front door
wrapped warm
sitting head back
gazing at the myriad stars
threaded through
with man-made satellites
steadily traversing from
the sun-catching to the
dark side of the sky
your warm body waiting
gently protesting my cold one
slipping back in beside you

The first Christmas in this
then new house – scarcely moved in
turning a building project into a home

I think I would settle
and I believe you would be happy too
for the covid deserted coffee bar
by a beach in Crete
playing hookey from the lockdown
though no police ever stopped us…

The ceiling woven from palm-fronds
dappling the light on your face
while the ocean lapped
just yards away on that hot, bright
Cretan winter’s day

Even in winter this café
would normally be thronged
for Sunday lunch serving
fryer-fresh chunky chips
and Greek sausages
with children running round
and people swimming out
over the sandy bottomed bay
the beach frosted with
stones and shells
where the waves kissed the land

But we had the beach and café
To ourselves – brought our own coffee
or was it tea – I don’t remember
but I remember sneaking looks at you
over the top of my book
as we read in companionable silence
as only long-lived love
makes truly possible

I do not need to go there again
it wouldn’t be the same
even if there were chips
because I hold the treasure of that day
safe in my heart
and sometimes I take you there anyway

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

Lisa (Posted by msjadeli in Poetics) is our host tonight over at dVerse Poets Pub where she invites us to use a time machine to fulfil something on our fantasy time travel bucket list…