Repost - The Dream

Poets United Midweek Motif - The Day of the Dead

This is a repost of something I wrote a long time ago.

A Dream

In memory of Joan Heys.

I dreamt about a distant place,

All white, yet strangely warm;

Where all was elegance and grace:

There was presence but no form.

Into this quiet and peaceful scene

A man stepped into view;

He was both strong and cut quite clean.

A woman stood there, too.

He looked at her, and with a smile,

Remembered when they’d wed;

“I’m glad you’ve come. It’s been a while.”

“A friend sent me” she said.

Happy with the eons spanned

They embraced and gently kissed;

Then they turned, and hand in hand,

Slipped off into the mist.

.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2016

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Repost: Cups of Joy

Sunday Scribblings 2 has the prompt “Teacups”.

Here’s one I prepared earlier:

Cups of Joy

Seldom in the daily rush of life

Do you meet with such perfection;

Beautifully displayed, with love and care,

They arouse a deep affection.

Such vessels are a joy to hold

And warm the cockles of your heart.

Lovingly filled, sweet and warm and milky,

They are a most wond’rous piece of art.

O glorious porcelain saucer and cup

I swoon, en route to fainting,

Now, if the woman will kindly step away,

I can look more closely at the painting.

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© J Cosmo Newbery

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Repost - Tending the Crops

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"A Hind's Daughter" - Sir James Guthrie.

Tending the crops.

The farmer tills his fields,
Puts fences round his lot,
Knowing that his future yields
Will rise up from this plot.

He tends to his land,
Improves it where it needs;
For the crop that he has planned,
He lovingly picks his seeds.

For the farmer wisely knows
That what he plants he reaps,
No use planting aloes
If he wants to harvest neeps.

Now there’s a magic vigour
To a farmer’s crop bestowed:
The harvest's always bigger
Than the cup of seeds he sowed.

So it is with life, my friends,
And our plots are far from scant.
Deal with what the season sends
And be careful what you plant.

Plant love and more of it ensues,
As a crop, it tops the scale.
But if it's the seed of hate you choose,
Best hope your harvests fail.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2013
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Repost - In the Mourning

Kerry, at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, invites us to write a poem as an open letter.  

I wrote the following two years into Obama's first term.  Nothing has changed.  

Certainly not for Bradley.

In the mourning.

You won me over when we met;

Your silver tongue and golden speech

Filled me with hope, a sense that change

Was really there, within our reach.

But now in the cold and morning light,

I see that it was but lust

And not providing a warm embrace

As a loving engagement must.

Two years on and we have more wars

And Guantanamo is still supported,

Bradley rots in a solitary cell

And cluster bombs are still exported.

Desire was there for better times

But moral issues have been evaded.

Israel continues to flout the law

And sovereign countries have been invaded.

My eyes are open to what I’ve lost,

It’s tomorrow and reality is dawning;

In black, I regret what could have been

And I don’t respect you, in the mourning.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

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Repost - The White Dove

dVerse Poets has the prompt "The Art of Letting Go".

This is an old poem that I have reworked.

The form is a villanelle.

The White Dove

A kind of peace returned to me,

Despite my inner soul laid bare,

The day I set the white dove free.

It felt as if it was meant to be.

Released and free, far from my care,

A kind of peace returned to me

I held my hands aloft to see

It taking joyously to the air,

The day I set the white dove free.

It settled in an old oak tree.

As I watched it resting there,

A kind of peace returned to me

It was as happy as it could be.

Children sang at the country fair

The day I set the white dove free.

Even though it was so hard to bear

I know I'd pleased a maiden fair.

A kind of peace returned to me

The day I set the white dove free.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

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Repost - Roses are roses, violets are not.

"Roses are red, violets are blue

Sugar is sweet and so are you."

I beg to differ...

Roses are roses, violets are not.

"Roses are red, violets are blue",

Overused twaddle and clearly untrue.

Some roses are white, others are pink,

In Texas they're yellow, the worlds biggest, I think.

Violets are odd, with their own special hue,

Violets are violet and clearly not blue.

That sugar is sweet, I have to agree,

But that's where it ends, it seems to me.

The thinking is flawed, the analogy faulty:

Sugar is sweet but you are quite salty.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

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Repost - A Chilli Reception.

A dangerous past time!

A Chilli Reception

I was feeling like making a spicy sauce;

Something with chillis, with bite, of course.

So I took to the kitchen all fired up

To make a chilli sauce, a hot ketchup.

I boiled a brew with the desired effect;

Satan, I think, would give it respect.

It’s an oddity of English (there are a lot)

That chilly is what the chilli’s not.

Late at night, far removed from the sink,

I tenderly toyed with the moist and pink.

With a scream that surely woke the dead,

My wife exploded from the bed

And stood in the doorway, off in the gloom,

Yelling obscenities across the room.

Remember this friends, that chilli juice lingers

And be really careful to wash your fingers.

.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

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Repost - The Dark Ship

A repost.  I wrote this a few years ago,
not long after my father died.

The Dark Ship

What ho, my Captain! What lies ahead?

He stood a while, as savouring the brine

Before turning and locking eyes with mine.

He spoke and, with a hollowness, said

“I sail the dark seas in inner dread,

Dark is the world within my head”.

And the ship sailed on through the night-o,

The ship sailed on through the night.

What ho, my Captain! What hope is there?

Surely there’s hope the dark will lift

When your vessel is strong and travelling so swift?

Wont you progress past the seas of despair?

He reached and gently touched my hair

“We’re going at speed but I know not where.”

And the ship sailed on through the night-o,

The ship sailed on through the night.

What ho, my Captain! Can you be saved?

This took him aback and he thought a while

“I can” he said “but the voices beguile.

Our thoughts are to darkness enslaved,

No matter how much release is craved,

We are on a trip that cannot be waived.”

And the ship sailed on through the night-o,

The ship sailed on through the night.

What ho, my Captain! Can we turn back?

“There’s no going back, what’s past is done.

The only way’s forward once it’s begun.

And this is why things look so black

And things weigh heavy upon my back

But I look for some light, the barest crack.

And the ship sailed on through the night-o,

The ship sailed on through the night.

What ho, my Captain! When comes the dawn?

“For every dawn, must precede a night

Passage through these cold waters is a rite

That lives in you, it is never gone.

At best, the dark is just withdrawn

And we can but bravely struggle on.”

And the ship sailed on through the night-o,

The ship sailed on through the night.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

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Repost: Transports of Delight

dVerse prompts us to write a Villanelle.

Here's one I prepared earlier:

Transports of Delight

Gently they are rocking at evening rest,

Tarped in blue, moored for the night,

These romantic vessels of love finessed.

Coal black ferries to a town possessed;

Venetian transports of delight.

Gently they are rocking at evening rest.

Gondoliers, traditionally dressed

Sing songs of love, of passion bright,

On these romantic vessels of love finessed.

Young women doing what they do best,

Playing Princess to their kneeling knight.

Gently they are rocking at evening rest.

How many a girl has acquiesced

To heartfelt deliveries of a lover’s plight

On these romantic vessels of love finessed?

Sleek confidants to the mating rite —

(Can we, should we, will we...tonight?)

Gently they are rocking at evening rest

These romantic vessels of love finessed.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2012

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Repost: A Dream

A Dream

Reposted in memory of 

Elizabeth Roberts, 1915-2012.

I dreamt about a distant place,

All white, yet strangely warm;

Where all was elegance and grace:

There was presence but no form.

Into this quiet and peaceful scene

A man stepped into view;

Handsome, strong and cut quite clean.

A woman stood there, too.

He looked at her, and with a smile,

Remembered when they’d wed;

“I’m glad you’ve come. It’s been a while.”

“A friend sent me” she said.

Happy with the eons spanned

They embraced and gently kissed;

Then they turned, and hand in hand,

Slipped off into the mist.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2012

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Repost - The Letter

Poetry Jam has a prompt "Letters".

Here's one I wrote earlier.

The Letter

I got a letter yesterday
Handwritten by a friend;
On crisp and starchy paper,
A signature at the end.

No, not a love letter
But lovely, none the less,
For the surprise of its arrival
And the thoughts expressed.

I can see her in my mind -
Sitting at an escritoire;
A coffee at her elbow,
Some flowers in a jar.

Caring, tangible thoughts
From someone, far away.
I put it carefully in a drawer,
To reread another day.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2012
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Repost - The Carnival

Poets United has the prompt 'Carnival'.

Here's one I prepared earlier:

The Carnival

Prologue

The air is thick with smells and squeals

Of food and kids and Ferris wheels

There are spruikers, dodgems, chips and stalls

Ghost trains, drinks and mirrored halls.

Gypsies who can read your mind

And snake oil vendors, of the finest kind.

From the outside, you can sense excitement

Oozing from every stall and bright tent.

Spruiker

Come in, come in, you wont regret it!

Life will depress you, if you let it,

Look! Over there, performing fleas!

Children

Oh Daddy, Daddy, can we please?

Father

Escape from life, leave the gloom behind?

Come kids, let’s go see what we can find!

But we must be away by ten, at latest.

Children

Yea for Daddy! You are the greatest!

Gypsy

Good Sir, let me read your palms

Preacher

Your end is written in the Psalms!

Vendor

Get some donuts while they’re hot!

Or perhaps a beer would hit the spot?

Father

A beer and two donuts, the hot jam ones.

And a sausage in one of those long buns.

Actually, I think I’ll have a second beer.

Clown

Balloons, balloons, get your balloons here!

Here kids, let me twist it into a hat

Or would you prefer a dog or a cat?

Woman

Hello, big boy, how can I please you?

Come to my tent and let me squeeze you!

Don’t worry, Bruno, here, will mind the brats!

Father

No, thanks. Hey kids, look! Dancing rats!

Children

Oh yuck! That’s vile. How truly gross.

Dad! Dad! Don’t get so close!

Oh, Dad! Can we go on that spinning ride?

Father

Will you keep your food inside?

I well remember the last time, honey;

Dinner was a waste of money.

Vendor

Hey, show your kids you are a man!

Make the bell ring—if you can!

Children

Go Dad go! Give it a good whack, not a token!

Oh—never mind, it’s probably broken.

Father

Oh look, it’s late, the time has flown,

One last ride then we must head home.

Or would you like to try out the guns?

Children

It’s not fair, we are having fun!

We want to stay until we win a hat.

Gypsy

I knew they were going to tell you that.

Children are the great negotiators!

Preacher

Repent now, prepare to meet your maker!

Father

Come kids, you didn’t listen to what I said,

It’s time I got you home to bed.

Epilogue.

The last folk leave, the night is late,

The spruiker shuts and locks the gate

The stoves are cold, they’ve cut the lights

The music’s gone and the place is quiet

The make-up’s off, the splendor shed

A drink is opened, a paper’s read.

In the caravans around the site

Ordinary people embrace the night.

.

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© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

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Repost - To a friend of many names

One Single Impression has a prompt 'Friend'.  

I wrote this many years ago, while working in Stockton-on-Tees, UK.

It was my first attempt at an (almost) free-form poem..

To a friend of many names.

You touched me once,

In passing;

You probably don't remember,

But I recall it well.

You touched me once,

In passing,

And as you continued on your way

Left a special imprint,

A mark upon the clay that you

And others like you

Have moulded into me.

I reacted to your presence,

To your coming and your going,

With suble little changes

That only I can see.

You shaped my thoughts and standards

Then continued moving on;

Probably never knowing

That I could see where you had been

Long after you had gone.

Yes, you touched me once.

In passing.

You probably don't remember

But I recall it well.

.
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© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

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Repost - The Letter

Today, April 25th, is ANZAC Day in Australia.
Ninety-seven years ago Australian and New Zealand soldiers were landed in southern Turkey
as part of Churchill’s ill-conceived plan to attack Germany from the south.

Thousands died.

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I wrote this two years ago but it still seems appropriate.

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Prologue

There’s a picket fence and a cottage gate,
An anxious frown, the postman’s late…
He comes at last, he understands,
And the precious envelope changes hands.

The Letter

Dearest Mother, it’s late, it’s cold,
Me and some mates are in a trench,
Huddled for warmth, no food, no smokes.
I can’t begin to describe the stench
Of the bodies we have no time
To bury in any sort of respectful way.
They say the push is on tomorrow,
Never have I so dreaded the day.
It’s a lottery, you know, who gets shot
We shout and holler and run the guns,
To drop and dig all over again.
Greetings from Hell, your loving son.

Epilogue

As every mother ruefully learns
It’s not her son who eventually returns;
There’s a stranger standing in her hall,
If, of course, he returns at all.

Translated from the Turkish.

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© 2010 - J Cosmo Newbery
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Repost - Word Verification Limerick

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Some people love word verification. Not sure why.
I don't do it and have not had any problems.  Blogger intercepts all spam for me.

I tend not to visit blogs that require me to prove I am not a robot.

That's a human response.
 

I wrote the above limerick some time ago - time for a reprint.

Using words taken from Word Verification windows, of course.

Translated, it reads:Word verification is the pits
When doing a blog comments blitz
To say verification
Is a mild irritation
Is wrong, in reality it gives me quite a lot of bother.

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© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

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My Barbie (repost)

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Australian poet, Dorothea Mackellar, wrote the poem "My Country".
It is something of an Australian icon and most Australians know a bit of it,
especially the line that reads "I love a sunburnt country".

I wrote this two years ago but I really like it so I am putting it up again.
Australia Day, 2012.


My Barbie

The love of stew and couscous
Of rice and sushi-ed fish;
Or orange sauce with duckling
May be your favourite dish.
Strong love of stir-fried chicken
Noodles or gourmet pies -
I know but cannot share it
My love is otherwise.

I love a gas-fired barbie
With tongs and forks and things,
To carbonise some lamb chops
Or steaks and onion rings.
I love her cast iron hot-plate
I love her spacious grill,
For family or for parties,
My barbie fits the bill.

Standing tall with manly pride,
(Clutching a beer, of course)
You char-grill anything that walks
Then top it off with sauce.
It doesn't matter what you cook,
Snags or chops or game,
Dose them well with tomato sauce
And they all will taste the same.

Core of my heart, my barbie!
She shows that I'm a man
Who can do his share of housework,
Drinking lager from a can.
When the little woman's fuming
At the mess around the bath,
I can stick my manly chest out
And boast I do my half.

Core of my heart, my barbie!
I polish you like gold
The centre of my manhood
To cherish and to hold.
Under the plastic awning
Beside the wheelie bin
You are my pride and joy,
I gaze at you and grin.

A twelve ring gas fired barbie
Is a vision truly grand! -
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand –
A kitchen holds many splendours,
With rice cookers and woks
But I know my gas-fired barbie
Can incinerate an ox.

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© 2010 J Cosmo Newbery
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