Rambling Poets at Cafe Cyber

Great excitements here as the collaboration of poetry that I have been involved in this past year is awaiting proof from Creatspace in the States.

As soon as its available on line, I shall tip you all the wink.

The book is published as a result of an idea by the originator Zan McDowell. The concept  was and is, to share , with anyone across the globe who also has an interest in articulating their poetic voice ..in whatever form, rhyming, prose etc. Etc.

For me reading others work, facilitated the production of some very "immediate" poetry that just arrived on the page as if by magic and I allowed myself little editing once the initial work was on paper.

The “collaboration” takes the form of a conversation between seven people, sometimes its a topical  conversation in terms of world events, or commenting on changing seasons [interesting as the seven poets who collaborated do live across the world],  other times its simply a comment on the condition of being human, at times it is sad or mournful and at times hilarious and amusing. Ramblers II is still in the making through the Authonomy website. Here are a few of mine; I daren’t post anyone else’s for fear of copyright issues. Each of these poems was as an answer to someone else’s comment/poem

For you I keep a special watch.

I have no home in flesh and bone.
My name not etched in cold grey stone.
Amongst the shade of cool grey beech
you may feel me. Do not reach.

In breezy knolls, where cattle graze
Or spinning in the winds above
Strong oak boughs, I may be found
Far above the shifting ground

When the sun winks from glossy leaf
I am the thief that kissed your face
And stole a look in pride and joy
Smiling in the certain grace.
that you feel me.

For you I keep a special watch.

Fawn

A bower of dappled shade protects new life,

from Nature‘s probing glare.

Wreathed in field mallow

Set in the knotted hollow

of Camel Thorn

a precious, speckled form.

Twig legged and clean

new born.

Quivering with need for an absent dam

tasting the air,

casting a roomy gaze around

without moving a hair.

And somewhere, not too distant

raking the ground with his claws

A young lion begins his course.

Weaving carefully,

Stealthily

through lazy waving grasses.

His body heat forms

a shimmering golden halo

His nose draws in scent.

Muscle synapses twitching aching, quivering.

A branch catches

And fleeting rustle distracts the ruby gaze.

A black tipped cone twists

Options juggled

To larger prey drawn.

He spins a dusty arc

Away from new born fawn.

Inside the perfect curl

He turns and tucks his head

A small speckled pebble

On a mallow lined bed.

Christmas cheer

With Mistletoe and ivy,

the season wears her talismans with pride.

The ruby berried holly

has no shame and will not hide

her bounty.

Even the snow lifts the prize to passersby,

Catching the eye of squabbling,

bloody breasted bird

who‘s anchored on frosted cake.

Absurd.

Watching powerless,

as the season‘s challenges ring out across the luncheon table.

A miscast group of family, friends

each year the same invites are sent.

“What a spread! “

they all conclude

“how shall we eat up all this food?”

Bulging eyes in fake surprise.

And Granny lets her earpiece squeal

Throughout the course of Christmas meal;

some tiny people flick and poke

at crackers till they start to smoke.

An uncle who is worse for wear

cannot avoid a cleavage stare

and aunty sits sour cheeked and fuming

niece, all pert and unassuming.

Brother texting under linen

goth eyed girl, we hope is chilling.

Her drumming fingers are competing

with the noisy central heating.

Above the squealing, smoking, beating

is Grandpa‘s cracking, wheezing breathing.

The hissing of an O2 tank

“TOUCH THAT AGAIN, you‘ll get a spank!”

Not one has seen an unprotected

valve, becoming disconnected.

Exhausted, all are of great cheer

lunch is done for another year.

With grandpa‘s dentures out of synch

his eyes have ceased to flick and wink.

A smile is stretched and hugely wide

rightly so this Christmas tide.

Remnants

Like creased leaves in a breeze

Memories and particular things

Filled with you and you and you.

Tumble downward

Towards an ancient rug

Caught in the topiary of its outline.

My design

And bagged by me,

A greedy gleaner

Rings and notes in scribbled hand.

Sea shell ancient grains of sand

Still hugging blushed insides.

A theatre slip, a baby tooth

A chart which tracked some early growth

A letter from a long lost friend

The reply that was never sent.

Twisted strands of baby hair

All colours . . . they are also there.

A diary filled with teenage woes

The pressed head of a faded rose.

A bag that traps some broken beads,

Some garden seeds

Wrapped lovingly from your toil

That never reached the soil.

A quartet of bikinied kids,

Smiling eyes from under lids.

A mother’s mother never known
Her own child grown. Her ashes blown
A Napkin scrawled with possibility
Whispers and sighs
Remembered highs.
In this rug of secrets,
this carpet bag
within its space
The past, the future
The current place.
With you, and you and you.
Waiting to catch new
Remnants’.

Dont fret..there are plenty more in the book!!!!