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.
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.
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…
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…
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.
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…
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…
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…
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…
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.