a field poem
(like field notes, but y’know – poety…)
I saw a bare-armed man
who flailed and capered,
turning unexpectedly about,
beating air like a conductor of elements,
until in a final spasm he flailed a stick
with great vigour,
up and into the sky.
I guessed at an unseen silent dog,
Chuffed to have a wee poem (it’s sort of a diptych) in this excellent ‘Landscape and maps’ edition of The Writers Cafe Magazine…
via The Writer’s Cafe Magazine – ISSUE 16 “Landscape and Maps”
Federation of Writers Scotland have a feature called ‘Blog of the month’, and I’m delighted that this month’s blog is Subjects, objects, verbs. FWS’s editor asked me this:
“… you have provided a brief note on the blog’s genesis, I wonder if you could expand that a bit – what your aim is in creating the blog, how do you hope it might affect readers?”
That’s an excellent shot across the bows, I thought! Straight to the heart of the matter – just what am I doing here, friends, and what are you getting out of it?
I had a long think, and tried to write a reply that was honest, and as b.s. free as I could manage. You can read my reply here…
A tree shines brightly
near the Allt Glas-Doire,
by the coffin road.
An odd source of inspiration. A one line help desk call made the first line of this poem. Just a wee bit o nonsense…
About the printer on the first floor
The printer on the first floor in the main open space has no yellow.
It just doesn’t know how to quit.
The printer on the first floor in the main open space has no blue.
It’s always got a good word to say.
The printer on the first floor in the main open space has no red.
It’s true, I’ve never seen it lose the rag.
The printer on the first floor in the main open space has no black.
Really, I mean, doesn’t everyone have a dark side?
The printer on the first floor in the main open space has no paper.
Sorry – was this the last sheet?