City of Blinding Lights

Those of you paying attention will know I was away this last weekend: some of the scheduled work has suffered (no poetry this week, sorry) but in the main everything has been surprisingly well-organised. The stuff that should have appeared will do so at the weekend. I’m only a day behind on the Playlists. Frankly, this is the best it has ever been. No really, no hyperbole; a new and interesting crossroads has been reached.

Everything is coming together: a poetry collection I can be genuinely proud of in final stages of re-write. Poetry that is a completely accurate and honest representation of what I am becoming in reality. There’s even a short story waiting in the wings, amazingly apposite for current circumstances. With my objective hat on, none of this is really just luck or coincidence either. Years of hard work is coming to fruition.

This is the consequence of looking upward, forward to what could be possible.

bowfail

A lot of times, it is easy to self-convince that targets are being hit: however, if nothing comes from your work but rejection, is that really a perception worth hanging onto? It’s the ephemeral, mystical value of ‘polish’ which I’ve spoken about before: something that you truly believe is as good as it gets, until back it comes from someone whose  subsequently published selections you neither grasp nor understand.

It takes a lot of hard work to re-write things you were convinced were perfect before, I’ll tell you. Except, there will come a point somewhere in that process where you’ll grasp an inescapable truth: you were deluding yourself. It’s never an intentional lie, but evolves from understanding that we all improve, over time, with practice. Writing, as we have also discussed before, is no different to exercising, or learning to play a musical instrument, or drawing.

The more you push yourself, the better things get.

isittrue

This week therefore is doing this with pieces of work I’m already supremely proud of. The unexpected bonus from this has also been the emergence of some new pieces that are making me genuinely rather excited: creativity will inevitably spawn more of the same, often in directions that are totally unforseen or surprising. Then one just has to try and keep the momentum going.

This will be me, making sure that’s exactly what happens in the next week.

Leaders of the Free World

This week, a major part of my February output has changed. For this month’s Big Submission [TM] the plan originally had been to repurpose what is, in my heart, the more personal set of poems from a selection of three possible entries. Except, there’s been a bit of a lightbulb moment after a week of staring at stuff with no real idea of how I can rebuild those moments, in some cases from scratch.

So, on Monday, time made me walk away and re-approach a selection that… well, is emotionally quite difficult to read. It was the sense of dread this collection radiated that had kept it untouched for some time, but in terms of salvageability and improvement, this was the best bet. My third selection has neither cohesion or narrative flow and needs to be completely reconstructed.

Instead, this was the better bet.

It was hard work. I’ve cried more in the last 48 hours than has been the case for weeks. Mentally, I am exhausted, but what now exists is a piece of work that I am genuinely very proud of. More importantly, this is the piece that, regardless of what other people decide, will see the light of day in some form as a printed work before the year is out. Self-publishing, on whatever format, will happen in 2020.

It also puts into stark relief exactly how much work has been done in the last year or so, and how little grasp there is of what exists and in what form. I’ve taken the step this morning of archiving the key files off to backups in two seperate locations, not just on my hard drive. You can never be too careful, after all. Then, there really needs to be some time to sort out exactly what has been stuffed where.

and

There’s an early Spring Clean coming, I think, a lot to do with this recent outpouring of emotional pressure. Many things can now be thrown away, for good, no longer required to move pace of my progress forward. They were, it occurs to me now, simply support structures anyway. Now I’m confident and comfortable enough to stand alone, none of it is required any longer. I can move forward, considerably lighter.

This really is the best work I have ever written.

2020 Week Six Poetry: Defend

Stream of consciousness poetry is very useful, but can ultimately become frustrating if you charge off down a dead end with no idea how to get back to where you began. There’s a bit of that in this, it must be said, but a lot more of the hangover from going full-on physically last month. None of the poetry I’ve written in this style thus far is wasted, when all is said and done, but this is not a particularly stand-out piece.

However, I can see a time when I might come and steal some of the moments from this and repurpose them for other ends. In that regard, playing word association football with a subject matter has definite mileage as means for kick-starting my brain.

Might do some love poetry next week, as I’m off FOR AN ACTUAL POETRY WORKSHOP on Wednesday: more on that tomorrow…


Defend

Strike forward, neophyte, heed drum’s hypnotic heart refrain: before us enemy entrenched, resistance obvious, sustained.

Clarion call, weaponised obstruction dismantled, opposition routed, positions reversed; push headlong, together stronger.

War room’s fighting, dominance descending, shove armies where sons line breaks, overrun; full retreat summarily complete.

Tide turning, Testudo formation; defend attacked, have their shield, battle’s two-step reinforcing conditions, ultimate confrontation.

Our metaphors, constant engagement; kinship beyond borders, only existence worth enmity’s peace, little death exhaled, repeats.


2020 Week Five Poetry: Embrace the Unknown

This one’s had one word changed from online publication to archive. Just the one, otherwise I’m well pleased with the result. No over egging the pudding either, forget all those flowery epithets, they are for another’s poetry this week and absolutely not mine. Sometimes I feel like going off on an explanation safari, but this is perfect just as it is.

Occasionally, you just do good work.


Embrace the Unknown

Darkness; emotion orbits vast unmapped despair, silence empty, cold witness shares: countless satellites, recollection of rhymes past, decaying paths outlast.

Atoms attract, circling wholes unfilled, potential friction, agitating excitement; life’s spark, undefinable brilliance, light into shadow increasing potential.

Primal forces, tectonics shift multiple planes, dimensions reconstructed; terraformed canvas, nature’s palette shades new subtleties, depth opening, breadth steady.

Cellular reorganisation, division towards unity, germination wresting power: soil, sky and liquid’s constant fall; blank canvas growing green, brown to blue.

New world made, yours: myriad possibilities, virgin landscape sprawls untouched, inviting hope, embracing unknown creation; all life at last.

2020 Week Four Poetry: In Darkest Days

I’m quite tired. Fortunately there’s only five more days of exercise for REDJanuary to complete. Fingers crossed I will not have a repeat of the trauma relapse that happened on Thursday for a while, and tomorrow there’s a new back shave and hairdo and that is always something to look forward to. In the meantime, I have nothing to say about this poem other than it was a useful exercise in stream of consciousness writing, and that I’m likely to come back to this at some point for a rewrite.

That reminds me, I need to sort out the February headers tomorrow…


In Darkest Days

Monday’s muted hue reminds: don’t quit today, not finished here; mind left awry, piled Jenga high each countless resolution neatly filed, marked decades past.

Tuesday’s ruby heart pumps strong: another mile, muscles dictate; progress made far past
expectation, stamina evolving unpredicted revelation.

Wednesday wanes, impostor syndrome looms, all alone ‘cross sweat stained rooms; bad moments burnt, kindling bright: evening’s progress strong, consistent pace.

Thursday’s emerging, different past, everything placed: inescapable reality’s thrall deposed, unopposed ascendancy guaranteed, unstoppable forced.

Friday doesn’t mind, forgiving sins: dice thrown, snake lies slain; Eden’s burnt remains. All this will pass, promise paid, toss broken gains.

Begin again.


 

2020 Week Three Poetry: For Tomorrow

Here we are at week three already, although it does seem about three months since all of this started. However, the last seven days have been a bit of an up and down affair, with this one of the notable highlights. Poetry’s an odd thing: what might make one person run away screaming will make another appreciate your work unprompted. These five verses  got more likes combined than I’ve managed in several months.

It just goes to prove, you never know. I pushed out of comfort zones. It’s structure that’s unfamiliar yet led me in the right direction every ‘verse.’ It’s nomenclature that feels difficult and yet sits comfortably with the progression. I’m not yet in the realms of smart, clever poets I look at and think ‘God I wish I’d written that‘ but it is honest, concrete progress. That’s all I can really ask for.

Everything right now moves me forward.


For Tomorrow

 

between exhales, pain distributes; adagio’s neat cursive sweep records another day within, despite intentions soundly built, belief collapsed, unhinged.

rhythmic stress, reality’s strained counterpoint: accepting downbeat concrete cadence only marks temporary transitions – release; extensions.

unchaste, canvas torn, counted almost out, rebound; suckered pinch, naught remains: woman down, distract, reconstitute idea, reborn.

constant inhale, cycle toned, repercussions symbolism, adrift no more: aloft, hope for tomorrow brandished; rewarding whole.

inhale optimism’s warm, upward trajectory; second stage preparation bolsters future, definition scored: sharp synonymy dismissing doubt.


2020 Week Two Poetry: Springs Eternal

This has been a REALLY good week, not gonna lie, even if the pace of content is still not at a level I’d like. Things have been completed, undoubted progress. I’ve applied for a course, submitted two lots of poetry, and finally got the episodic fiction running again. Then I discovered the header image on that static page needed a change, so tomorrow we’ll pull everything up to date.

In poetic terms, this is another decent effort, in the model of what’s become the ‘five day stanza’ method. Next week it is time to open things up a bit: not as structured, a little more free-flowing. I don’t wanna keep sounding like a Dr Who episode every time a new verse is produced, after all. The only way to gain maximum potential out of this exercise is to push my creative boundaries.

Suffice it to say, this is just didactic enough.


Springs Eternal

Understand, one possibility
all that’s required, turn
darkness outward, reconstruct
positivity, second chance
third time, no harm.

Embrace, each outcome’s
myriad possibilities, place
optimism foremost; hope
springs, eternal font,
creative disposition.

Ignore naysayers, melt
snowflakes, dismiss
anger-fuelled petulance;
no-one asked for this,
cry babies, reject.

Finally, dust settles:
survey wastelands, start
greenest recovery plants
expectation; reclamation
shoots, then scores.

All these species
collective utopia,
rescue together, great
scientific progression:
save planet for peace.