I didn’t say the thing you thought
I said. You misinterpreted
my words with “should”s and “ought”s.

No WAIT. We’ve gone to something else
instead of what it was. I’m still
a little angry. What she tells
me isn’t that. You’ve made me ill

with this. I’m going to thump you in
a minute. Just a minute. Let
me say what I’ve been trying to
say from the start. It was something
vital. Something helpful for us.

Tags: pome, poem, poetry, spatchcock, radcliffe, artbizness

This is my take on an old hymn – I’ve re-arranged the words to make a poem of lament. To me, this is a little more real than the usual triumphalist bullshit.

Blogged with Flock

Tags: poem, pome, poetry, artbizness, radcliffe, i cannot tell, i can not tell

Blogged with Flock

Tags: poem, pome, poetry, artbizness, radcliffe, i cannot tell, i can not tell

Tags: poem, pome, poetry, i cannot tell, i can not tell, artbizness, radcliffe

Tags: pome, poetry, poem, i cannot tell, i can not tell, artbizness, radcliffe

It’s pretty easy here. I’m sitting still.
The engine chugs. I regulate my breath
whilst watching passing fathers. There’s his son.
They’re on their way to school. The bus moves on.
A new electric car draws up. We move.
It’s left behind. It’s stopped at lights that changed.

That building site’s a mess. It hasn’t changed
there’s always something happening, but still
the same. It never alters. Will they move
the cones? We’ll hit them soon. Too close! My breath
stops. Beamer driver has to try it on.
It’s grey. The forecast says there won’t be sun.

I try to focus. Jesus Christ. God’s son
is meant to help me persevere. I’ve changed
the way I think. I want to switch it on -
the peace they say you get from God. I still
myself and somehow can’t. If prayer is breath
I’m blocked. By what? A small unknown won’t move.

That cyclist doesn’t want to live. Just move!
These people think they’re it. They think the sun
shines out their arse. She needs to draw a breath.
She’s talked so long without a pause, she’s changed.
She’s gone a purple-red. Good God! She’s still
not breathed! So loud! Wait. Did I turn mine on?

because… Well, if the meeting isn’t on,
this journey’s wasted. What the…? Did he move
my bag? He looks a nutter. Just keep still.
I can’t quite see his face because the sun
is in my eyes behind his head. It’s changed!
The sun came out! It’s lighting up my breath.

I wake most mornings feeling short of breath.
The thought of work no longer turns me on -
the daily route to work that hasn’t changed,
the place I live because I never move -
it’s everyday, but just because the sun
will rise, and stop my body lying still.

And will the breath of God return and move
me on? And resurrect me like the sun
today? I wait each day un-changed and still.

Sestinas are difficult – the idea is that you have to re-use the last word in each sentence in each verse – but in a different, set order (in this case “breath”, “on”, “changed”, “move”, “sun” and “still”) and then you have to use them all in the last short verse of 3 lines (again, in a certain order). I’m making it sound more complicated than it is, but it’s easy to follow when you know what the pattern is. But a bugger to write.

Its great fun, because it can force you to make disjointed sentences that make the poem sound like the ramblings of someone slightly un-hinged, or in this case, the disjointed things that you might think about on the bus.

Tags: poem, poetry, pome, artbizness, radcliffe, sestina, bus to work

11.37pm

A shadow hovers from the past
tonight. And as I lay in bed
I feel my heart beat just too fast.

I turn. I wait. I think it passed
I need to know. I check it’s dead.
A shadow hovers from the past.

Some things grow to be too vast,
and as those things press in my head
I feel my heart beat just too fast.

And when I think that I’ve surpassed
the creeping, cold, despairing dread
a shadow hovers from the past.

A different thought that might contrast
but thinking back to what was said
I feel my heart beat just too fast.

And as I give it up at last
and put it down to how I’m bred
a shadow hovers from the past,
I feel my heart beat just too fast.

Tags: poetry, poem, pome, radcliffe, villanelle, artbizness, 11.37 pm

In a previous post here, I was attempting to write a poem about the poet RS Thomas.

It didn’t quite work, but after much wrangling, I think I’ve finally nailed it. It centres around the character of Iago Prytherch (I’m not quite sure how you pronounce Iago Prytherch, but I tend to pronounce it Ee-arr-go Prith-erk), who he mentioned repeatedly in his poems – I’m very pleased with the result. Here it is:

RS Thomas give it up, man!
Prytherch does not give a damn -
Did not really give a monkey’s
For your poets or their flunkies
exorcising guilty feelings
in a way that’s quite revealing.

Thing is, it’s quite boring, Thomas -
having this inflicted on us:
Rural worthiness and God
in a way that’s very odd -
My God’s in a place more urban -
More a universal version.

technorati tags:radcliffe, poem, pome, rs thomas

This is another work in progress. I can’t seem to finish poems at the moment, but I think that this one might just stand up as 2 verses, as is. Any feedback would be welcome.

To RS Thomas

GIVE IT UP, MAN!
Iago Prytherch
doesn’t give a monkey’s.
He did not care
for poets or their flunkies.

He had a choice
as you did too
though we kid ourselves
that choices are something new.

technorati tags:radcliffe, poem, pome, rs thomas, work-in-progress,

I have started writing this poem based aound a re-interpretation of Psalm 22. Be warned – it’s not very uplifting.

Dull in the Morning

My God, my God
why did you forsake me?
why didn’t you save me?
why did you run from this?

Inside
I’m screaming
all day
no answer
all night
silence.

It’s alright
for you.
You’re the King.
Everyone loves you.
My father trusted
and you delivered alright
trusted and disappointed.

But then -
I’m a worm
not a woman.
Scorned by men
hated by everyone
mocking me
insulting me
shaking their heads.

You brought me out of the womb
then you made me trust you
from the breast onwards.
From birth
no choice
womb onwards
you have been my god.
But you disappear
at the first sign of trouble.

Bull
all around me
the strong smell of bullshit
suffocates me.
Roaring, tearing
their prey
opening their mouths
wide on me
poured out water
bones out of joint
my heart like wax
burning inside me
my strength dries up
my tongue sticks
to the roof of my mouth
laid
in the dust
death
dogs surround me
a band of evil men
circling me
piercing me
I can see all my bones
people staring
gloating
they divide my clothes between them.

technorati tags:radcliffe, poem, pome, dull in the morning, Dull in the Morning, work-in-progress, psalm 22

I wore this t-shirt
when I was five.
It fit me better
back then
but I keep it now
to remind me that I’m still alive.

My t-shirt was smart
it was deep blue
when I look at it
it reminds me
of you.

I framed it
and hung it on the wall -
everyone who visits
can see a smaller me.

It’s faded now
but you can still see
past the holes.
And I am still convinced
that one day
I will wear it again
with pride.

technorati tags:michael l radcliffe, radcliffe, t-shirt, poetry, poem, pome

A plate full of dhansak
a plate full of pulao
a plate full of gobi..

For a mealtime
at least
a man who would be king
eats like one -
shovelling it down
like a Cnut
trying to hold back
the inevitable tide
like Cleopatra
poisoned by Cobra
he can feel his veins
pulsing
more pulao
a piece of chicken
naan
like Ghengis Khan
he attacks waiters
their poor service
naming each one:
“Abdul”
or “Oi”.

A stuffed paratha
is presented
a peace offering.
Head bowed,
bent knee,
like Sherpa Tensing
offering to carry a burden
to cover the shadow of disappointment;
hot, lemon scented towels
wipe away the tears
please come again
10% service charge added.

technorati tags:biriyani, curry, cobra, cnut, michael l radcliffe, radcliffe, poetry

These small red fruit
are known as “strawberries” -
At least, that’s what I’m told.

But I can’t say “strawberries”
so I’ll call them “bodies”
as I’m barely two years old.

- a poem inspired by watching my daughter eat strawberries at lunchtime today.

technorati tags:strawberries, rest and motion, strawberries, bodies, michael l radcliffe, radcliffe, poetry

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. This poem seems appropriate for the day.

Lord
As this flame ignites
tobacco and paper
so ignite me
with your consuming fire

Breathing in
this mix of good
and bad air
this quickening death

Breathing out
as I let go
both the things I cannot cope with
and the things I can
a temporary relief

And as I stub this cigarette out
I remember that I too
will one day burn no more

For dust I am
and to dust I will return.

technorati tags:smoker, prayer, poetry, poem, michael, l, radcliffe, ash, wednesday, lent, art

Walking down the street
One day
I separated
I was crying
divided in two
a casual observer
watching myself cry
beside myself

What’s the matter?       
I casually asked        (No Reply)
Not knowing how long
This division would last   

Mildly anxious            (Keening)
disinterested           
wanting to join in
enviously detached

Building annoyance       
Look                    (Accept me)
what is this about?       
No patience

I give up               
this puzzle
wasting of time            (Breathing space).
a nonsense           

And I think I am whole again.

technorati tags:art, poetry, michael, l, radcliffe, acre, lane