Truth?

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…

© Andrew Wilson, 2024

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

Photo by Andrew Wilson

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.

© Andrew Wilson, 2024

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

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…


Released

“Newly found Ella Fitzgerald recording to be released”
The Guardian 18 January 2025

Lost – languished
her spin muffled
Ella rediscovered
verve
a wondrous
moment of truth
– released
to watch girls’
light-filled
connection

Andrew Wilson, 2025



Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Punam – paeansunplugged in Poetics, urges us to celebrate reading broadsheet Newspapers by making an erasure or cutout poem …

The Light of Democracy

Artwork by Andrew Wilson using Midjourney – feel free to reproduce…

“The lamps are going out all over Europe, we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime” said British Foreign Secretary Earl Grey on the eve of the First World War which became a two-act drama with an interval – thirty-three years, lives lost in millions – upward of seventy-five… And now wars rage around the world again – Ukraine, Palestine, Sudan, and Myanmar to name a few, and Fascists reign in Russia, India, China, Hungary and Israel with further aspirant fascists waiting in the wings of the UK, France, Germany, and Italy. America has fallen in it’s own two part drama with interval, stage directions by Russia, technical directions by the Tech-bros…
“where can we find light in this never-ending shade?*”
Democrats must rebuild Democracy, their namesake, with acts of community and kindness from the grassroots up and relight the lamps…

* From Amanda Gorman, “The Hill We Climb”

Andrew Wilson, 2025
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, merrildsmith in Prosery invites us to write a piece of prose in under 144 words using the given line from Amanda Gorman, “The Hill We Climb”

Tinder

The Pallisades fire seen on KTLA5

It needn’t be tinder, this juncture of the year” Conor O’Callaghan – January Drought

         I – Hand-wringing…

Tinseltown they called it
The Hollywood sign above it
On mountain and canyons covered
With scrub like gasoline tinder
Rich palaces of dreams rendered
To which many young locusts aspired
But Santa Ana winds have burned
Those houses to naught but ash
Chimneys only gravestones to the cash
Will Angelinos now have learned
Money, for Nature is no match
Challenge it and there’s a catch
Will L.A. be a lesson to us all
That Damocles’ sword’s about to fall…

         II – Thunderbolt slinging…

“Come friendly bombs and rain on Slough”
Quipped English Poet Laureate
Enough with all this rational debate
No one heeds “We the People” now
Let Mar-a-Lago flooded be
With Trump inside preferably
Let insurance baulk at rebuilding
The Palace-ades of rich and famous
And let’s see what Trump really does
When Global Warming’s truly a thing
So unlike wise old King Canute
The science is no longer moot
And yes, for sure we all will suffer
Till Nature trumps the monstrous duffer…

Andrew Wilson, 2025

Over at dVerse Poets Pub,  Laura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft invites us to write a Palinode in which two verses take contrary views and around a quotation relating to the New Year. I chose the Conor O’Callaghan one which seems almost prescient to the L.A. fires that are occurring so early in the New Year…

Adornment of a Butterfly

Meadow Argus / Photographed in Solomon Islands / Michael Sammut

Adornment to attract an amour
Sets of eyes bigger than a bird’s belly
To scare off avian appetites
And what sex is this butterfly beauty
Flamboyant female like those of our species
Or Cock of the Walk like most birds do
Or did a Creationist God get carried away
With his paintbrush in an inspired moment…

Andrew Wilson, 2025

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Melissa Lemay in Poetics celebrates the photographs of Michael Sammut and invites us to write ekphrastcally using one of his photos for inspiration…

Hasbara

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, msjadeli in Haibun Monday, invites us to write a Burnt Haibun, a reductive poetry form that distils a longer prose poem down to a shorter one and finally to Haiku. The emboldened words below form the second poem and likewise with the second one distilled down to the haiku.

It would have been nice, given the New Year ‘n all, not to have to have written this particular piece but sadly there is no end in sight and awareness needs to be kept alive… Trying to understand/explain the conflict which this poem describes has been both an internal and external journey for me over many years and when I finally found the accounts of the term Hasbara – everything fell into place and I understood a great deal…

However – a Happy New Year to everyone at the pub!

HASBARA

It is hard to translate Hasbara
once it would have been called Propaganda
but for the truly unpalatable
you need a subtler, more insidious word
so hasbara, nearly enough
means explaining

You want to explain
why one people are entitled to
take the land of another people
who have lived there for
two thousand years
– hasbara
why two peoples genetically identical
are not in fact equal
paint one of them as evil with hasbara
you want to justify how large farms
can suck the water from the wells
of smaller neighbours don’t mention it
that’s no part of hasbara
but happy, sun-bronzed people
claiming their homeland with confidence
that’s hasbara.

The world attacked us
and they attacked us first
we have the right to defend ourselves
hasbara
they are evilwe are good
hasbara

Hasbara treads carefully
hasbara paints a picture
hasbara targets the diaspora
and the politicians where they live
hasbara accumulates
in the brains of its targets
in the corners of the internet
and on the pages of newspapers
hasbara makes lies palatable
but hasbara cannot paper over
too big a crack between
reality and the lies
genocide is too big to hide
but hasbara breeds hubris
and overreach
and years of hasbara
can deflate instantly
like a burst balloon

Explain that to the
purveyors of Hasbara

Hasbara
once called Propaganda
a subtler, more insidious word
means explaining

why take the land of people
who lived there for
two thousand years
why genetically identical
are not equal
– paint them as evil – hasbara
happy, sun-bronzed people
claiming their homeland
that’s hasbara.

The world  attacked us first
we have the right
they are evil – we are good
hasbara
treads carefully
paints a picture
targets the diaspora
and politicians
accumulates
in brains
the internet
on pages of newspapers
hasbara makes lies palatable
but genocide is too big to hide
hasbara breeds hubris
overreach
years of hasbara
deflate
like a burst balloon

Explain that to the
purveyors of Hasbara…

Hasbara explaining
they are evil – we are good
a burst balloon

Andrew Wilson, 2025

Yule Log

The
shepherd
Attis who
killed himself
for shame because the
Goddess Cybelle forbade
him to look at anyone
other than her – but he was weak
– lay with a nymph – died beneath a pine
Cybelle brought him back to life, now faithful
– pine log
now holy…

Andrew Wilson, 2024

Attis died by castrating himself beneath a pine tree following the awful wrath of Cybelle, a Roman Goddess of Fertility whereupon she had a change of heart and brought him back to life – needless to say he did not stray again… But this myth was celebrated by Romans (strange but true) by the bearing of a Pine log through the streets – Pines now being sacred to Attis. Christianity often subsumed old festivals into itself and this is one possible origin of the Yule Log…
I wrote more about it here.

Over at dVerse Poets Pub,  Laura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft asks us to write an  Etheree poem about

Christmas tree(s) imagery, meanings, memories etc

or Conifer/Fir tree(s) imagery, mythology, memories etc

  • must be an unrhymed poem
  • no specific meter
  • one stanza only
  • 10 lines with no paragraphs
  • graduating from 1 to 10 syllables
  • [add lines 11 & 12 with just 2 syllables per line – my optional extra]

Thus the first line is monosyllabic; the second line has two syllables, and so on, until there’s ten syllables on the tenth line (then reverts to 2 syllables for lines 11 & 12 if you want this optional extra). The outline of your poem takes the concrete shape of a fir tree. Centre it on the page else left or right aligned it’s only half a tree! (X=syllables not words)

I Love Lucy

At five or six years old
on holiday near Swanage
we watched TV for the first time
and what we saw was
I Love Lucy
an American sit-com
my Dad was not a fan
American rubbish
he declaimed
but with a longer view
the series was quite bold
ahead of it’s time
depicting as it did
an inter-racial marriage
that might seem
commonplace today
back then caused
moral outrage
but we British children
more taken up with
the novel medium
saw nothing amiss
in the union of
the eponymous Lucy
and her husband Desi…

Andrew Wilson, 2024

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Melissa Lemay in Uncategorized invites us to write about favourite TV shows…