Monday, 18 March 2019

Still Writing ...

Some time since my last post - again;I seem to be writing in fits and starts these days. And doing far more reading. Maybe I am getting old, or maybe I am just too busy. However, I suddenly had an urge to write again last night. An urge which was generated by the purchase of a new ukulele of all things. It is actually a Cordoba branded instrument and I absolutely love the sound. (Note : the link is to the actual uke which I purchased but there is no association between myself and the company concerned)


I had been playing some of my old songs and wondering why I had stopped writing songs. The answer is guessed was because I had started writing poetry. Not a very satisfying answer because I have not written any poetry for a while. I think it had something to do with being able to express myself as a writer much better with simple lyrics than with the poetry. I decided to put this to the test and sat down to write a song using the methods I would use to write poetry. If that makes sense?

With songs, I used to play a few chord riffs until a melody came into my head. I would use simple lyrics as a "place marker" for the finished article, however much of that simple lyric often remained.

I thought what if I wrote the lyric first, and in fact I managed to put something together and when I felt ready (the lyric was not complete) I picked up the uke and started to play and sing. At some point I felt that both aspects gelled and was quite happy with the whole and managed to record a first take using my PC's built in camera.

This showed a few inconsistencies but meant I would not have to try to remember the melody / timing and then find if I did not get back to it for a few days I would need to repeat the second part of the process, i.e. the melody.

Here is a copy of the lyric with a few chord names (tentative at this stage) added for my convenience. The chords are written as capitals in square brackets, e.g. [C], [G7], etc.

BIttersweet Memories


INTRO
[C][F][C][G*][G7*]

Verse1
-tacit-
My em[C]otions are all in a mess
Should be pulling myself [F]together, I guess
Let me tell you, I want to explain
You're the [G7]reason I'm in so much [C]pain

V2
I can't see a future that's clear
The options I have bring me nothing but fear
A fear that you're leaving me soon
the sky will fall with visions of doom [C*][CM7*][C7*]

BRIDGE
[F]Memories, bIttersweet [C]memories
You [F]fill my heart with images of [C]joy [C*][CM7*][C7*]
But you [F]cut the chains,
and you [C]loose the reins
And [F]cast me down just like some broken [C]toy

V3
I just never know what to expect
Whatever I do for you, is never correct
As close as you and I have been

Anytime at all you can erect that screen


Not quite poetry but maybe poetic? I will be posting a video on line when I have got a "clean and finished copy for anyone interested. I will edit the post when it is ready.

Tuesday, 12 June 2018

This weeks New Poem:Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

Here is my latest piece of writing, another poem. This time a sombre piece, written again to a creative writing prompt from a random pass on the web sites offering these. 

A strange one for me, I started without any idea of where the subject would take me as I often do when using a prompt. And in this case I actually started the poem (the first verse and a half) by using a poetry generator. I use the strategy to give me a first line or two but never take what is offered without some heavy editing.

The prompt I used was "Are You Afraid Of The Dark?" As an adult, I am not but what would make me feel this way? Perhaps a dream .... a nightmare? Or did something happen on a camping trip as a child? Maybe You could make your own mind up?

OK, here it is...

sourced from Pixabay (creative commons)

Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

Once upon a midnight sombre,
Through which came tapping, tapping, tapping.
In there stepped a haunting downbeat,
Still is rapping, still is rapping.

I felt compelled to scour the setting
I awoke with such a start.
Ah, distinctly I was strumming,
"Take thy woe from out my heart".

At that my soul knew fear.
The thunderclouds spoke of death.
Whilst in the earth I saw a grave,
My body failed to draw a breath.

I heard a maniacal, muted moaning;
A solemn, sepulchral shrieking.
I believed my time was over
As I heard my spirit weeping

I had never been so frightened,
Never dreaming of these shadows;
And the creatures I imagined
From long forgotten barrows.

But just before I drew my last breath
A light appeared in the eastern sky. 
The coming dawn rode to my rescue
The demons dissolved before my eye.

Years later grown into adulthood,
Still remembering that fright;
When asked why I am afraid of the dark,
I confess the happenings that night.



Thanks for reading, I have actually collected enough poems for a fourth poetry book ( well perhaps a pamphlet would be a better description) but it will be available on Amazon sometime soon if things go well.

Monday, 4 June 2018

A new Poem; Hear the waves

Phew, missed a few days, I thought my new writing phase had ground to a halt. However, it has been a very busy few weeks and needs must. No matter how much I want to write, I was just too tired. But tonight, I took a break and decided to check out a few ideas for a new offering. I found a photo which I liked and this gave me a little inspiration for a new poem. Hope you can empathise and enjoy it.



Hear the waves



Hear the crashing of the waves;
The wind blows hard, but doubt remains.

I'm lost, alone, forsaken. 
What happened, was something taken?

Something's changed, a minor shift ;
Something has changed, a mournful rift .

I find it hard to understand,
Overshadowed in this pleasant land.

But listen, who sings at the water's edge?
Could they but help, provide a bridge.

He is nought but a singer,
Creating stories that shimmer.

A fantasy narrated,
It speaks to me, awaited.

A reverie conceived,
A future, now brightly revealed

I no longer feel alone,
All along I should have known.

I no longer feel so lost,
I no longer count the cost

Hear the lapping of the waves;
The breeze blows soft, whispering my name.



Well there we are, another completed poem and I feel really happy. Still got the writing bug after all.

Monday, 14 May 2018

The Journal Jar, A Surprise Poem

A surprise because I was looking at one of Monna Ellithorpe's post on Writing prompts and she mentioned a Journal Jar. Never heard of this ; then surf over to see what it is all about.

Anyway, I had written a poem from one of the prompts offered and feeling at a loss for something to do, I though I might try another. But upoon reading the post I though, "Why not?" and proceeded to write a poem about writing a poem. Mmmm, I seem to have done that before now I think about it.




Well here it is:-

THE JOURNAL JAR


Each day I open up my journal jar,
When I find time to rest. 
I pick a slip from deep within,
To provide a little test.

Chose at random that's the key 
And write a poem upon request.
A poem based upon the prompt
Now in your hand, Just do your best.

That's all I ask, and nothing more,
Apply your writer's mind. Invest
In words, attest to deeds to come.
Or maybe even deeds repressed.

Just write, compose, transcribe your thoughts;
Don't leave them unexpressed.
Don't wait, it will work out in the end,
resulting in a poem, to leave you  most impressed.

Seems like there are days when words just flow, of course there are many days when it is almost impossible to start. Just take things as they come and make the most of the good days. Seems to be the best way to treat it, don't you think.

Thanks for the visit and hope you enjoyed the poem.

Sunday, 13 May 2018

Information Overload, A New Poem

Another light-hearted piece of creative writing based on a writing prompt from Monna Ellithorpe. I do enjoy writing from a limited set of prompts, as I don't have to think, "Now which one shall I choose?" I pick the one of two or three which Monna has selected for that week and then I can concentrate on the subject matter. I find it so much more fun and easier. Lists of hundreds can be found on the internet but they simply confuse me. I suppose that I should pick a number at random and use that one but .....

 This week I read a contribution from another writing friend (before writing my own) and found it was very similar in direction to what I at first, was intending to write. So I took the hard way out and changed my attitude to the prompt - of course this is always possible. Part of the fun really.

Anyway, a little tongue-in-the-cheek attitude in what follows is not amiss in light of the research I have been involved in on the internet over the recent past.



Information Overload


As a scientist, I am used, to searching out the truth;
Information is the basis of my trade.
But so many of my friends just click a link and find, 
That truth is not always what's displayed.

Information is at hand, for those who wish to search
The problem is to know what to conclude.
It's tempting to believe simply everything you read
And forget it's information overload.

The first and easy choice may not provide that truth,
Despite it being easy to believe.
The resourceful knowledge seeker, will not presume
To find. the truth in all that he perceives

Anyone at all, can with illusions fill a screen.
Anyone can write though not bestowed
With intelligence and knowledge of the simple facts.
Take heed, reject information overload



Thanks for visiting and reading (you did didn't you?) my newest poem. I hope you enjoyed it and smiled -  just a little.

Tuesday, 1 May 2018

New Poem - Wild River

Well I am having such a difficult time and my poems are reflecting this, Another dark image in this one.

Wild River


I see a wild river blocking my path
I see a bridge destroyed in their wrath
I see a dark army no quarter allowed
I see myself lonely but brave, head unbowed

River Wye at Ross, photograph by the blog owner

Ahead's a wild river,  I must cross o'er
A boat is the answer, but would it be slower
Than the approaching horde at my back
The bridge is no answer; ruined, burnt and black

The Rollright Stones, The Kings Men
photo by the blog owner

I'll cross that wild river, cross and survive;
I'll summon my friends, let them know I'm alive.
My supporters will rally and help me across,
I'm not done yet, I'm no albatross.

I wont be a burden, wild river or not
But I know I need help, to cut that knot.
I'll take what is offered, no more and no less
And I'll pay back my dues by being a success.

Christmas display at Wyevale garden centre
photo by blog owner


Excuse the "silly photos but this poem would not come easily. In these circumstances, I often create a photo board. Just a little trick which helps me to get the story together - sometimes.

Sunday, 22 April 2018

A New Poem - Daffodil Destruction

I am usually very much against poetry that doe not rhyme. Of course when I put this view to friends and others alike, I am inundated with examples of non-rhyming examples. But today, I was in a hurry to complete a poem and found that rhymes were not forthcoming. And so, I found myself writing what I would normally call a piece of prose. OK, it is based on lines and at least it has a metre of sorts, but I feel that I have failed. It is a compromise which I am not really happy with. You might say it is out of my comfort zone but I was desperate to get out of the "Slough Of Despond" I have found myself in over the past couple of weeks.

A vase of floribunda daffs, blown down by a storm

So, aims achieved, I present a new poem. Actually I used the same prompt for this poem that I used for the poem in the last post. Of course it was a prompt which could be interpreted in a very free way. It was provided once more by my friend Monna Ellithorpe, one of her weekly writing prompts.

Make up your own mind and please feel free to criticise, or otherwise, in the comments section below. The poem is called ................

Daffodil Destruction


Yesterday, 
We had a beautiful array
Of daffodils in our garden.

People passing
Had commented on the colours,
Of the late spring display.

But that wind
Blew up fast, from out of nowhere
And kicked the best for six

The floribunda,
With their heavy heads bowed;
Were no match, and fell prostrate.

I found them,
Their heads in the dirt this morning.
Wistfully, I collected the fallen heroes.

An assignment
Beckoned, to make them proud;
A gift for a mothers grave.