BBB Poem 70

Of course I like poetry
Don’t I subscribe to the societies
Quarterly magazine
Yes I know they are often left unopened
On the sideboard with the post

And don’t I every month
Buy a book of new poetry
Or a book of poetry new to me
But no I am sorry
I cannot tell you the name of the last one

Yes I do write other poet’s poems
Into my hard-backed notebook
I write in different coloured inks
I write them out for safe keeping
For closer reading
Though there haven’t been entries
Not for a while

I have run creative writing & poetry workshops
For over a decade now
Albeit they are for dwindling numbers
Having given up the vigour
Of the spoken word

I enjoy listening to poets on the radio
And watching poetry, in its many guises
On the television, but I wonder
Why is it always the same old faces
And just how old is John Cooper Clarke

Ten years ago, after completing my MA
I asked if I could do a PhD in video poetry
My tutor refused my request
He said it was not a serious subject
I hope he retired, yes, I hope that is the case

I have my own blog, hosted by Blogger
A new poem of mine is posted everyday
With no explanation or background
Yes I know there is a link to buy the pamphlet
But I’m not sure it works, for no one ever has

There is an interview
With me pontificating, questioned
By my partner Kate
Search coastmoor on YouTube
It’s getting on, but mostly I still feel the same

I never did care
For those intellectuals who deconstruct
And reconstruct at will, their will
Yes Ruth, I am talking about you

Why do I write this
And what is the use of poetry
Well
Today I will judge a poetry competition
So I thought you ought to have my credentials

My votes will be for feelings
Emotions
Inspirations
Creativity, and love: o yes, I must sense love

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BBB Poem 69

The walls are solid
The windows are deeply inset
I am up at four in the morning
Basking in the house apparatus light

Outside, the old stable walls
Are not so strong
And the Virginia Creeper
Why, as it must, it is creeping

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BBB Poem 68

So this is where we’re at
We’ve done the this and that
Meddled with the tit for tat
Behaved like the drowning rat

So this is how we are
We pushed ourselves too far
We stopped looking for the star
And drove West in the motor car

Would that October
Could be any other time
Would that to stay sober
Could twist me down the line

Would that February
Was also less weight
Would that to be merry
Could open the gate

But this is where we’re at
We missed out on getting back
Settled for defence, or attack
Behaviour of the downright prat

But this is how we are
We raised too high the bar
Stopped smelling molten tar
Drove East in the motor car

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BBB Poem 67

A market town in Lincolnshire
A cash machine with parking spaces
Mon, Tues, Thurs, 30 Mins No return in 30 Mins
The lady, in the estate car
Straddles two bays, such is her rush
Then, after visiting the bank
She moves her car forwards a couple of feet
A small girl, possibly the driver's daughter
Wears a sky-blue ribbon in her hair
They walk off, across the square
I wonder if I shouldn’t time them
With a sort of sense of civic duty

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BBB Poem 66

It does not take a lot
To remind me of my stealthy departure
Leaving you for the last time
I drove for fifteen minutes
Through the early morning frosted sunlight
To park up, beside the black water pool
High on Dartmoor’s random terrain

That thought in turn takes me back
To that very same, isolated moorland road
On a snow filled night around Christmas
A reckless decision
To make such a dangerous journey
Where all ahead was a works party, without you

I ask for a replacement cup of coffee
The original was neither black, nor strong
In truth the second cup was little better
A connoisseur may tell you
That the coffee was burnt
I trail off, with those unsure, indecisive words
I hope you might see
This poem is no longer for you, or about you

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