Saturday Pomes & Words, 02/11/2024
One new lyrics and one new poem
It has been a while since the last Saturday Pomes & Words, which was from 17/08/2024, for which you can obviously click there.
Hmm, how about starting with another lovely pic (taken by yours truly, 18th July 2024) of our lovely Boudiccat perched atop the roof tiles in the twilight.
Like I say, there simply aren’t enough cat pictures on t’internet these days.
Recently, though, because of the lovely and encouraging reception after I published some of my poetry here, I actually sat down a few times and wrote two more, for what must be the first time in ages.
The first one is actually lyrics, and I do have the music for it in my head. Unfortunately I don’t really have the necessary recording equipment to present that to you. I have been minded for a while though now to try and get hold of some recording/producing software for the computer. Likewise I’ve got some old recordings on cassette tapes of me playing the piano which is really quite lovely in places. I know there are ways to transform that into MP3 format, but again I’d have to investigate that one. I did have some on my old computer but that doesn’t work anymore.
For the music to the first one there’s really no point in my attempting to describe it to you. I haven’t even fully worked out the exact chords yet anyway. It’s a fairly slow one, though, with each line being two chords, with a sort of ‘let ring’ of the second chord after the words. Then it would move to the next line which would have two different chords. There would be key changes between each verse. And obviously the ubiquitous middle-eight improv thing. What I mean is, when you read this first one, give yourself an extended beat/pause at the end of each line before moving on to the next.
There is an obvious double meaning to the lyrics. I don’t need to talk about that. Besides, I am of the opinion that poetry and lyrics shouldn’t really be explained, so long as there are different interpretations possible, because that would be like spoiling the reader’s ability to put their own feelings into it. These things should be personal, I think.
Anyway, the second poem was a conscious direct consequence of re-reading my Kundalini poems and then publishing the first two instalments, which you can read here (One to Three) and here (Four to Six). In particular, there were the references to garden houses.
Again, there’s different interpretations of what that signifies, and equally again I’m not going to venture my own take on it so as not to spoil yours. Although there is a little irony in this poem to that effect, as you’ll notice perhaps.
This second poem was, as it happens, written recently whilst sitting outside towards the end of afternoon (which is around 5pm our time around this time of year) and it sort of just came to me, as these things do.
The image that I’ve chosen to accompany that second one was taken by me (19th August 2024 - I took the first one too, they’re part of the same import file) and is pretty much the view from where I was sitting at the time (although I had a much wider view than the camera of course). So this is from our little old stone balcony bit looking towards a little garden seat. We have a lot of beautiful features like this in our garden, and it is all so very good for the soul.
It’s one reason why we moved here. And it does make us feel so very fortunate, despite our looming poverty, especially a few years ago when the bad guys were locking everyone down. I feel so desperately sorry for all those people who were denied this beautiful nature, people who were confined to flats and urban houses and so on. We have half an acre here, so for us, the confinement wasn’t stressful. Especially as we hardly ever leave the house anyway, aside from walks around the country lanes here and my regular bike rides into town for French market day.
All of that really does tell you just how evil those bad guys truly are. Because the whole thing was deliberate, and entirely avoidable. It was a social experiment, as much as anything else.
We have been enjoying some of the most beautiful weather of the year here lately, which is unusual for end of October and beginning of November, which is when everything normally suddenly turns cold and necessitates wood burners being brought into action. Because we can’t afford wood this year we’re going to have to go foraging. Right now, though, we have lows of around 10 degrees (that’s Celsius, for my American friends) and highs of around 20. The skies are perfectly clear and bathed in bright sunshine. We do have streetlamps, but they get turned off at 11:30pm. That’s when it all goes perfectly dark. Last night was one of the clearest ever skies I’ve seen, with a night just so full of stars. Sirius especially, rising from the east, was brilliantly bright. Maybe there’s a portent there, it being Event Day minus fourteen days.
Anyway, I don’t want to dwell. On a final note, I have noticed that the Substack editor really doesn’t like empty lines, and removes them when I publish something. In the previous Kundalini, for example, there should have been lots of verse breaks. So in this one, I’m going to try doing these as pull quotes and see what it looks like. Actually - I’m an idiot - there’s a poetry function in the ‘more’ menu. I’ll do that instead. Except now I’ll have to go back and re-edit the Kundalinis.
So that’s it from what is a bit of an intro. Sorry about that. But thank you to all those who have been encouraging with my poetry. Hopefully I can get back into again, because I think I’m quite good at it.
So without further ado, here’s the two things I wrote recently.
[24-10-18]
Tomorrow’s News
I killed another part of me today, oh girl. I dared my soul for all the citizens to see. Then I ran away and disappeared To shore for sure. Seems we’re not same, after all. We build these walls, Then we make war. This one goes out to all the boys and girls. I’ll be in the news tomorrow, I’m sure, Something about a coup d’état encore. Seems we’re not the same after all. It’s not as if I never heard those screams before. Think it’s time again to change the keys. Switch the locks, bunker down for winter. Build another wall, protect my core. L’État c’est moi, c’est moi encore. Seems I can’t protect myself no more. Thought I could, then come these intrusions. No time to improvise, no time at all. I hear them down below, I hear them all, these thoughts. They echo lately on the sleeping floor. Some stranger resonance I know I’ve heard before. L’État c’est toi, c’est toi encore. This one goes out to all the boys and girls. Tear down that wall and reciprocate your selves. This one goes out to all the girls and boys. Take some breaks and learn to celebrate your selves. I’ll be in the news tomorrow I’m sure. I’ll be a star when the citadel will fall. Then you’ll build another wall then you’ll make another war And then you’ll feel this resonance And celebrate like revenants And I’ll be in the news tomorrow I’ll be in the news I’m sure All across the city all across the sleeping floors inside Shut me away inside and celebrate your coup d’état your coup d’état It was always only me oh girl It was always only, ever me. Maybe I’ll watch me from the gallery. Maybe I’ll die or dive with all my sunken wanton treasure, Maybe I’ll fade away and let you celebrate my fall, Return to baseline, retreat within the core. L’État c’est moi, L’État c’est moi encore. Les dégâts c’est moi, C’est moi. Seems we’re not the same, after all. I heard it all before, oh girl. You built these walls, then you made war. This one goes out to all the girls and boys. Seems we’re not the same, seems we’re not the same. L’État c’est moi, c’est moi, c’est moi. L’État c’est moi, c’est moi encore. C’est toujours moi, c’est moi. C’est moi.
[24-10-30]
My Garden House
There is a falling sadness in autumn, I know. Those clearer memories of bright summer still with us here, My lovelorn merging with nature’s own empathy. A swirling wind calling, The last leaves to earth, A rustle before we sleep. A rustle, and then sleep. Darker skies are coming, How we remember through the years We too were young once, brimful of dirt And happiness. And hope. My lovelorn merging with my childlike self It is a flirting, a hissing, a fainting. All that scope and all that crawling As the nights fall closer now, We should be sleeping but we can’t be sleeping I can’t sleep. When there is work to be frowned upon And memories to store for the wordshed. Everything was brighter, once upon a time, patterned Fluttering by on a warmer wind, A lighter breeze in lighter eyes, happened Blue and green and hazed. I will stay out here a while, I think. The air is not cold, not yet. I am not done yet. There is nothing in my garden house. You wondered if there was, I know. But there is nothing. I only sit here to watch, and feel, and fall, And be one again. With her There is no need for meaning in my garden house, Not deeper meaning When the sun fades down And rests, dreaming, But not sleeping. No, not sleeping, for just one more orbital manoeuvre. Just one more. I promise.
There, some new little things for a lovely Saturday. I hope you have a lovely day. All likes and shares are equally lovely…
Next Saturday Pomes & Words is now available - a little Fibonacci poem…