Against the night

strong against the night, the lights shining
red on the dark river, a bridge spanning
bright through the cloud drift, Venus glinting
slow down old alleys, our steps straying
outfacing old hurts, my heart hoping

 

The photo is Thames River panorama at night, London, originally uploaded by David Bukach.

stories from the surface

a strange story, ours. One to baffle a historian
rubbing at his forehead in puzzled concern
squinting the fragments that alone are visible
(a meeting, a smile, a crisis, a proposal)
of what flowed beneath our surface
of the feelings too vital for analysis’ neat jail

childstrong, unfamiliar with daily routine’s jail
you were too fleet of foot to be caught by a historian
holographic depths playing in your surface
head ever turning to follow some new concern
darting round life’s questions with your own proposal
and in your dancing you made the music visible

and I, once so bound to what was visible
saw you offer me the key to my jail
eyebrows tipping in an infinite proposal
(can you calculate that angle, historian?)
and suddenly there was an end to old concerns
as the world opened up its fractal surface

immersed in wonder, who would choose to surface
when through love new dimensions become visible
a universe more profound than others’ concern -
their whisperings the bars of the broken jail
mouthing the advice of the historian
that teaches us to fear an unusual proposal

and then suddenly you rejected my proposal
told me cruelly that I was merely surface,
as dry and empty as the pages of a historian,
words that blamed me for seeing only what was visible
words that kicked my heart into a writhing jail
words that saw selfishness in my sincerest concern

and now I see the wisdom of others’ concern
but cannot regret I accepted your proposal
for now as I walk once more through my jail
I stroke the pearls I brought back to the surface
sole souvenir of the magic only darkly visible
to the wisest and most thorough historian

(we are all historians, tied to the visible
entranced by the concerns of the surface
dreaming in our jails of strange proposals)

A tough challenge this week from read write poem. As if writing my first sestina wasn’t tough enough, the crucial six words that repeat at the end of every line were to be generated randomly. I ended up with – concern, proposal, jail, surface, visible, historian. (My original list had “toast” but I decided I really couldn’t make that work, so I gave myself a joker!).

It was tricky because most of these words (particularly jail and historian) have few alternative meanings, which makes it hard to keep using them in a different way each verse. I did allow myself plurals occasionally but tried to keep them to a minimum.

I rather like the result… it has some personal echoes but tells its own story.

Creative goals

This year I would like to:

• Sing in at least one public setting
• Rediscover my joy in singing, including in doing technical work and singing from my voice rather than “cheating” and putting strain on my voice 
• Find a group to sing tango with – or at least arrange to sing to my karoke tracks at a milonga!
• Keep writing poetry, and get at least one poem published – online or offline
• Improve my tango dancing – work on getting rid of bad habits, improve my balance, find the right balance of responsiveness to the lead, and find a way of expressing my response to the music that stays within the framework of the style and the leading of my partners.
• Learn how to shimmy!  Something I’ve never been able to do but want to conquer this year – so I’ve bought myself some belly dancing instructional DVDs!
• Find “flow” in my daily work – immersion, creativity and that effortless focus that comes from real motivation

I’m not normally one for new year’s resolutions, but I think it’s good to set out some aspirations. It seems particularly important because I’m not pinning all my creative satisfaction on one goal (becoming a professional singer) but trying to express that creative side and gain satisfaction in pursuing a range of different interests on a non-paid basis.

creation

In the crucible of my skull
a sunfish swims like a lost moon

a bruise throbs to be heard
above malign mutterings

There’s a flicker of mischief
In a nymph’s bog-green eyes

The unexplained slalom of a sleigh
rips snow off a silent roof

In the crucible of my skull
the junk of long days glows red
as it melts from trivia into story
in the Eden of my imagination

This is based on the ReadWriteWord prompt, to write a poem using many of the words in the wordle cloud above. As well as using the words I wanted to capture some of that rather magical feeling that comes when an idea suddenly starts to germinate into a poem… as happened when I started reading these words.

snow bliss

caressing mountains
borne up by diamond crystals
surfing gravity

(just in case you wondered what I was up to just now!)