Spies

What is a spy if not a cursed liar
Who for love puts hand in fiercest fire
But not the love given to a sweet woman
The love of country is inhuman.

We watched a French, great tragedy conclude
Where agents of The Bureau were deluded
Believing they could steer their star-crossed fate
Clinging to the happy ending till too late.

For once your life is built on falsehood complex
The web you weave the fates will always vex
And you must pay for secrets stolen, finally
No matter how handlers and bosses rally

The cause of saving hapless agents’ lives
Is hard on lovers, colleagues, friends and wives
All pawns in what is known as the Great Game
The spy is destined for a life without fame

And if their life of infamy be revealed
Be sure the fates no happiness will deal.

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

This poem was written in response to a challenge from Posted by Björn Rudberg (brudberg) in Poetry Forms on dVerse – The Poet’s Pub, to write a Heroic Sonnet in iambic pentameter – you can read about it here.

My partner and I have been binge-watching a five-series drama made by the French company Canal called The Bureau. Since the French are famed for their interest in love, this drama, whilst being a cracking, edge-of-your-seat tale of the life of spies, also examines the philosophical implications for the loves of those who make their living by living a lie – can they find happiness? Since the poem might be spoiler enough, I will say no more…

This is the first time I have attempted a Sonnet in Iambic Pentameter – something I vaguely remember being taught in school but had to resort to Wikpedia for the finer points, including all the exceptions to the rules which make lines memorable – I hope I have done it justice. I guess that we many of us have this poetry form flowing through our veins with so many great poets and playwrights having embraced the form.

A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night

When successful singer
and writer of songs
Harry Nilsson
schmoosed his foray
into the Great American Songbook
he little knew
it would ruin his career.

A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night
was a decade before such
sentimental standards
would slip down easily
sumptuously
with the richness
of a cocktail
knowingly too sweet
but too delicious to pass up.

The ninth album
following a trail
of hit songs
embedded in each one
nothing prepared his fans
for this shift in pace
and orchestrations
that out Hollywooded Hollywood.

Frank Sinatra’s arranger
sewed the songs together
slipping seamlessly
from track to track
in a welter of schmaltz
that should make us sick
but succeeds In pulling at
our heartstrings.

All the emotional
tricks of film scores
with swooping glissandos
of silvery strings
dramatic pauses
and sudden quietening
that make way for
heart-rending lyrics.

I can’t recall
When or where
Nilson whispered
pure emotion
in my ears
or the joy of rediscovering
this iced gem
decades after
Nilsson bombed
his career.

Wikipedia
told me the sorry tale
but I was too awash with the joy
of rediscovery
to truly sympathise
and if there is a heaven
then he is surely there
and I hope he hears
my tribute and my
sincere judgement
that this beauty
was simply
ahead of its time…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

Intro
Lazy Moon
For Me and My Gal
It Had to be You
Always
Makin’ Whoopee
You Made Me Love You
Lullaby in Ragtime
I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now
What’ll I Do
Nevertheless (I’m in Love With You)
This is All I Ask
As Time Goes By
I’m Always Chasing Rainbows
Make Believe
Trust in Me
It’s Only a Paper Moon
Thanks for the Memory
Over the Rainbow
Outro

Written for a musical evening over at dVerse – Poetics – The Poet’s Pub where tonight the theme is Musical Muses, hosted this evening by msjadeli…

Genuinely Distressed Denim

Today I am Wearing denim
and a cotton shirt
both are faded naturally
by sun and age and wear

The jeans are now for DIY
the front of the thighs
covered with finger wipe marks
not as many colours
as when I was a signwriter
and other substances too
grittily mixed in

The rips are fashionable
but not fashioned to be so
nevertheless my grandsons
have dibs on their genuine distress!

The grandfather shirt
collarless
also faded with age
to a soft, pale blue
is frayed at the cuffs
and relegated to work
rather than repair
too late to turn
these cuffs

I will walk to the supermarket
and I hope someone
will appreciate my look
like women who dress
their best
though not looking to pull.

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

This poem was not done to any prompt or challenge – I know – unbelievable! However, since I have been exploring AI (see previous posts), I decided to see whether I could produce a suitable image and below is the nearest to what I imagined. The prompt was “a gently smiling late middle age man seen full-length wearing a faded blue collarless shirt with frayed cuffs and faded denim jeans with paint marks and rips down the front shopping in a supermarket –ar 4:6” and I then cropped the image in Photoshop. As you can see, the AI bot didn’t understand collarless, and in this iteration did not make much of the distressing of the jeans. I guess it shows that in this case, a picture is unnecessary since the poem says it all and allows the reader to imagine their own image but I decided to include it as part of my AI exploration. And by the way, it doesn’t look anything like me – far more handsome…

We Hold to the Faith

My Love broke apart
But not so my heart
I hold to the faith
For life until death

In childhood she was used
A mother who gave food
But not much more than that
A father who was crap.

Insecure attachment made Her
Vulnerable to a bastard
Who twisted her need for more love
And broke it with seduction rough.

A minefield lies under the surface
Randomly exploding all her grace
Wrecking relationships all the time
Dragging her hope down into the grime.

But she is a tough warrior
Who strives to heal still further
Though latterly the magnitude
Of shame keeps her in solitude.

Unpicking wounds to her heart
Struggling to discourse with parts
Who would have her do nothing
And flinch at telephone’s ring.

It is hard to stay up
To mind self or even sup
So locked away from all
Nowhere further to fall.

My Love broke apart
But not so our hearts
We hold to the faith
For life denies death.

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

Written for dVerse – Poets Pub – MTB: When ‘We’ writes poetry, posted by  Laura Bloomsbury of Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft
The challenge was:

  • We as a pair, a couple (not a group)
  • It can be any real or imaginary friendship
  • It might be a significant other, a relative or a pet
  • But the poem’s stanzas MUST BE WRITTEN AS COUPLETS
  • A MINIMUM OF THREE stanzas (preferably more)
  • There are several types of couplets to choose from (see here for definitions)

Pearl Diving…


There’s a skylight right over my head
But the darkness pools, here in my bed
And I’m diving deep – searching for pearls
But I just keep on coming up empty.


I lay and wait for your key in the lock
For your ship to come into my dock
But the hours drift away and I’m down in the depths
Fruitlessly searching for pearls


Next I’m down on my knees
And I’m begging him, please!
Don’t go, just don’t sail away!
But my lifeline is cut, and I sink to the depths –
Chasing my scattering pearls…


Yet it should be him who is down on his knees
Thanking God for the moments with me
For a pearl diver comes only once in your life
So I turn and I swim for the light.


There are people who live
Up there in the light
But I’ve gradually lost my connections –
They stretched and they broke
As the pearl diver sank ever deeper.


Then he comes and the sunlight bursts inwards
And my world is complete for a while
And I thread one more pearl on my necklace
One more notch on the bedpost of life…

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

It’s Open Link night over at dVerse Poets Pub but as it is late here in England, I have dug out a previously unshown piece.
Written about a friend who was in an abusive relationship some years ago…

A Challenge from the Poets Pub…

Duelling Badgers

Stop horsing around
you’re beginning to bug me!

Horse – that’s big of you
but bug! So reductive!

You won’t weasel your way
back into my affections
by being
smart as a whippet

Now you’re
calling me a dog?
I’ll take that
I ain’t nothing but
a hound dog
crying for your love…

And you can stop
parroting Elvis.
You’ll have to do
more than that
To worm your way
back into my affections
this time
you pig
you pig-dog!

A worm is it?
You wound me
but I will hound you
nevertheless
a truffle-hound
rooting around
for your affections…

Well you can’t have them
I’ve squirreled them away
and anyway
you never savour them
you just wolf them down.

Still, I will
beetle around
until I ferret them out…

Now who’s
aping me with
mixed metaphors?

They’re not
yours to hog
my darling rabbit
or are you going to
keep haring
this way and that
because you know
I will catch you in the end…

Oh alright!
Just stop larking around
you silly goose

I’ll goose you
as much as you want
beloved

Better than a ferret
down the trousers
I suppose

You should be so lucky!

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

This is written in response to a challenge from the dVerse – the Poets Pub -posted by sarahsouthwest in Poetics.

Roadtrip Review No. 6 – a self-review…

Borne up and drawn in
by fast becoming friends’
web of writing prompts

Writing is a unique space for me and increasingly so. My dear departed sister encouraged me to go to a writing group in Sligo, Ireland – a place full of writers and artists and all in the shadow of the poet WB Yeats. Indeed, when I first moved there in 1995, one of my early commissions as a signwriter and, it turns out, a muralist, was to paint a mural of WB Yeats on a new secondhand bookshop – The Winding Stair – named for the title poem of one of Yeats’ books of poetry – you can see me painting it here. I had studied Yeatss at school in English (Literature) which replaces the English (Creative) of earlier school years – why do they do that? I also painted a little but didn’t want to go down the road of fine art because I perceived that artists are so often groomed by galleries encouraging them to produce more of what sells rather than following their own creative wanderings. And so I became a signwriter (painted not computer-cut vinyl) where the creative input is much smaller and constrained by a brief but, I felt, more honest and more sure as a means of making a living. Moving to Ireland gave me a new burst of creative freedom as a signwriter – especially after doing the Yeats mural although some years later, The Winding Stair closed down and the subsequent occupiers of the shop painted over my “masterwork” – a lesson in the zen of attachment to earthly achievement…

Going back to the writing group, it was such a pleasure to rediscover the joy of putting words on the blank canvas of the page – I produced a slim volume of the group’s writings including a CD of the members reading their pieces – and then I discovered blogging… By now it was 2005 and my partner and I moved back to England to see more of our growing grandchildren, and as we waited to complete our stable-to-house conversion, there was no time to make friends in the community and so blogging remained my virtual circle of friendship. I belonged to a blog -site called Mo’time run by an American living in Italy, who created Mo’time as a test bed for ideas for the larger site which was his job. Sadly, the larger site was sold and Mo’time terminated and though we made several attempts to kindle a new space – it was never the same – however I still see quite a few Mo’timers on Facebook.

Then in 2020, on April 1st – I stumbled across the A to ZX Challenge and as the pandemic was taking hold, I plunged in! Each year has been differently themed and I have encountered new fellow writers as well as old friends. This year, however, writing was even more central – my theme was on the etymology of phrases and so was like honey to writing bees and I have joined another writing group – not in the flesh, but by Zoom and our facilitator is also an A to Z-er. What has been different though, is that through the new writing friends I have made (and reviewed here on my Roadtrip) I have encountered a world of other blogging challenges, written, photographic and especially poetry. Since my writing group is prompted by poems and much of what I have written has been (Free) Verse, it was like an alignment of the planets – instead of tailing off into silence after the A to Z finished, I am being tempted and indeed succumbing to all sorts of new challenges as well as writing in my group. I created the picture at the top of this post using Midjourney – another takeaway from this year’s A to Z (thanks to Misky and Vidya) to convey the sense of both support and crazy fear of falling out of control and spending my whole time writing challenge posts! So far I have engaged with Six Degrees of Separation, the Poet’s Pub and Sadje’s WDYS (What Do You See) and in the interests of Life/Work/life balance, I think that may be enough for now – things should be a pleasure and not a pressure… And then there are two novels to get back to, one finished to first draft and the other, a more serious work, with a lot of writing to go! And I used to spend a lot of time keeping abreast of the news! And then there’s the allotment – water and weed it or lose it! And then there is my partner, children and grandchildren not to mention two and a half days at work…

Here’s the thing though, within reason, the more you do, the more you fit in because what goes is the dross, the stuff that didn’t really matter, write poetry not protest seems to be where I am right now…

P. S. I have been told that I am not great at communicating, say, enthusiastic responses, that I may even be on the spectrum, but when I write, even though I may not feel the feelings whilst in the act of writing, be it poetry, prose or fiction, when I read back emotional content, I emote with the best of them, tear up – the works. So I guess writing is my medium of expression…

Spring Draws Her Veil of Greening…

As Spring draws her veil of greening…

As Spring draws her veil of greening
Across the winter bare landscape
Hiding the naked trees as her
Veil cloaks her virginal body

Buds waiting for the gentle touch
As spring draws her veil of greening
The trees turning to subtle mauve
In eager anticipation

April showers have quickened the
Rising sap that swells the tree pulse
As Spring draws her veil of greening
And May sunshine smiles down on her

In a scant week the tints of mauves
Are lost to each tree’s special shade.
Confetti of blossom sprinkled
As Spring draws her veil of greening.

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

This Quatern poem is written in response to dVerse ~ Poets Pub, 25th May 2023, posted by Grace, Poetry Form: Quatern
Image derived using Midjourney AI

Roadtrip Review No. 5

Lady in Read – such a great pun – and it truly reflects Vidya’s approach to her blog – it might be described as Fusion – “Lady in Red” is a western song by Chris de Burgh and it has featured in several films and both Vidya’s avatar and blog banner show her in a red dress but in the content she goes further. For example, in this year’s A to Z (she is a veteran participant), she wrote poems about people and places from India and particularly Karnatka where she grew up. However, Vidya writes prompted by many blogging challenges including NaPoWriMo which was also running in April and rather than do two separate posts, Vidya gives us a mash-up or fusion. so in My Heart Beats for Harihar, her H post, Vidya writes a poem celebrating the town she grew up in as a Sea Shanty – the NaPoWriMo prompt! To have followed Vidya’s A to Z is to take a deep dive into Indian/Karnatka culture but served up with a fusion twist seasoned with a great deal of humour…

Vidya also explored using AI for both images to illustrate some posts and also to generate ideas for post titles and you can read about her assessment of her experiments in her Reflections Post.