Where and when

Buildings

thanks Kim for a fun prompt this evening at #dversepoetspub.

where we have been inspired to write about buildings we love by a a poem calle “yhe Building” by Philip Larkin.

Where is this?

Underage and dressed to the nines,
Friends, friends, friends whishing,
They were me, invited out,
Sweet dreams (Eurythmics.)

Loving life, strutting my stuff,
Past the blood bank,
bright lights calling, adrenalin rush.
Saturday night fever (Bee Gees).

Past gorillas, entrance fee paid,
Coat room ticket into pocket,
Excepted into inner sanctum.
Purple rain, purple rain. (Prince).

Past swirling bodies, aroused,
Dance floor bouncing, music up to loud,
Night club virginity lost; dancing shoes found.
Close to the edit (art of noise).

© 26/03/2024 rog leach

cherry trees

Haibun Monday 3/25/24: first [cherry] blossoms (hatsu hana)

White Cherry blossom.

We have a lot of white cherry blossom local to me. I cycle past the most amazing tree each day on my way to work. Like a cotton wool ball thrust upon a tree trunk that has been bare for many cold and wet months. Despite the temperature not quite being pleasant yet, almost but not quite there yet. The bright white blossom always cheers me up on a grey Monday morning. when it finally arrives letting me know more pleasant rides into work are on their way.

Small white blossoms,
Chasing away melancholy,
Almost here, Spring warmth.

25/03/24 rog leach

All this talk by frank of cherry trees in blossom at #dversepoetspub got me thinking of this song by KT Tunstall.

low how low

Poetry Form: Ottavo Rima or Sonnetto Rispetto

Written as an ottava Rima a traditional Italian form. For #dversepoetspub on Thursday 21^st March 2024. thanks Grace foe the mighty challenge.

(Inspired by Seasick Steve’s song “Hobo Low”.)

The first line being “When your hobo low there ain’t no where to go when your hobo low.” For a prompt from a live poetry meeting. Where we have been prompted to write a poem inspired by a line from a song.

low how low.

Have you ever lived below, nowhere to go,

Under a loves radar of understanding,

Luna brightness above, nights darkness below,

Loneliness, thinking you have nothing to bring,

Black clouds gaining, feeding your hobo low,

Craving hugs and kisses, Until the next fling,

Found in the space between Luna and midnight,

Self-love found giving the guts to find my bright.

All welcome

Open Link Night AND a chance to GO LIVE on Saturday!

Hi all at #dversepoets pub this dank and grey Thursday evening.

Street poet! (all welcome)

I am a street poet,
My words are from experience,
I will swear and swap profanities,
With the likes of sailors, miners,
 And those who have toiled hard, 
All welcome, all welcome.

Remember this poet is not taught,
Mine was born from a life well lived in,
Poetry is an expression of one’s self,
Politics, feelings and experiences,
Shedding blood and tears,
All welcome, all welcome.
	
I am a street poet,
My use of profanity expresses,
My Frustrations with life,
My frustrations with,
Bullies and outright hatred,
All words welcome, all words welcome,
Except those of hatred and bullying.

© 13/03/2024 rog leach

cliff top books

Prosery – Tomas Tranströmer

thanks Bjorn for introducing me to Tomas Tanstromer. and his poem after someone’s death from which the line “All the names swallowed up by the cold.” you chose as todays prosery prompt her at #dversepoetrypub.

Cliff top books.

Cliff top bookshop is invested the local paper’s headline screams.

Giant lady bird/bugs have invaded the size of kittens all
black with red spots. With a taste for ink burdened paper.

I could hear the books screaming for help as I struggled up (the
gas canister on my back slowing me down) the steep cliff path, small lady bird/bug
invasion getting squished under foot and hand as they cover both hands rail and
steps.

With all the names swallowed. Up by the cold-hearted lady
bird/bugs they try to take flight as I enter the store.

Flame thrower in hand
books beyond saving. The thrower pops into live roaring its greedy tongue
consuming dead books and lady bird/bugs.

The smaller beasties sensing their parents demise swarm up
and consume me. I will haunt his place of swallowed names and books death
forever and a day.