Beauty

Potatoes she peeled: a poem for my nanna

/ Poetpas

where to begin
maybe with the small cracks
in her skin
every afternoon
and again soon
she sat down
in a kitchen
basket on her lap
whilst you heard
the water
dripping from the tap
she peeled potatoes
part of her daily chores
that earthy fragrance
ingrained in her pores
taking out the pits
with a tiny knife
the homely joys
she thought
of her daily life

Featuring: James Carter

/ Poetpas

Today I’m featuring a jazz musician who isn’t that well known amongst many jazz lovers but to me this saxophone beast is as good as any of the famous players.
He has a very rebellious and sometimes humorous way of playing and is never boring. An effusive, dynamically gifted jazz saxophonist I can listen to for hours and hours, for days on end…

James Carter was born on January 3 1969 in Detroit , Michigan, and learned to play under the tutelage of Donald Washington, becoming a member of his youth jazz ensemble Bird-Trane-Sco-NOW!! As a young man, Carter attended Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp, becoming the youngest faculty member at the camp. He began playing at age 11 and studied early on with trumpeter Marcus Belgrave. A prodigy, he progressed quickly. He first toured Scandinavia with the International Jazz Band in 1985 at the age of 16. At age17 he joined Wynton Marsalis on tour.

On May 31, 1988, at the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA), Carter was a last-minute addition for guest artist Lester Bowie, which turned into an invitation to play with his new quintet (forerunner of his New York Organ Ensemble) in New York City that following November at the now defunct Carlos 1 jazz club. This was pivotal in Carter’s career, putting him in musical contact with the world, and he moved to New York two years later. Carter issued no less than six recordings under his own name between 1993 and 2000, all of them with different focuses, from a set of standards, Conversin’ with the Elders in 1995, to an electric funk record, Layin’ in the Cut, to a simultaneously released set in tribute to Django Reinhardt, Chasin the Gypsy. Three years later, he honored the legendary Billie Holiday with Gardenias for Lady Day.

He has been prominent as a performer and recording artist on the jazz scene since the late 1980s, playing saxophones, flute, and clarinets. On his album Chasin’ the Gypsy (2000), he recorded with his cousin, the jazz violinist Regina Carter.

Carter has won DownBeat magazine’s Critics and Readers Choice award for baritone saxophone several years in a row. He has performed, toured and played on albums with Lester Bowie, Julius Hemphill, Frank Lowe & the Saxemble, Kathleen Battle, the World Saxophone Quartet, Cyrus Chestnut, Wynton Marsalis, Dee Dee Bridgewater and the Mingus Big Band.

Carter is an authority on vintage saxophones, and he owns an extensive collection of such instruments, including one formerly played by Don Byas.

“One of the most charismatic and powerful soloists in jazz,” per the New York Times, Carter harbors a command of his instruments that is astonishingly complete, though he only employs that technique in the service of canny ideas. Even when he appears on the verge of shattering his horn, overblowing rapid-fire lines to otherworldly effect, he’s evoking early jazz, jump blues, the avant-garde and other lessons residing inside his vast, scholarly knowledge of the music of the African-American experience.

Check him out (or not):

Sources: Wikipedia, YouTube, interweb, poetpas

Free tips for men: Who needs an iron

/ Poetpas

When you wash a shirt or a pair of pants or anything in your washing machine don’t put it on the highest spin cycle. It will become too dry and so your clothes may come out too creasy.

The next thing you do is hang it on a hanger (don’t use pegs!) and due to the weight of the water left in your garment it shall pull most of the creases out. There are all sorts of hangers one can purchase.

Extra tip: put jumpers (sweaters) on a flat surface as hanging could well stretch the fabric!

Who needs an iron ☺️

Stay tuned for more…

Wild Will

/ Poetpas

Will
hit a rock
he was insulted
by a cock
he smacked
him in the gob
for being such
a knob

Will went back
to his chair
and proceeded
to swear
all this fuss
and his cuss
cause his wife
has no hair

A courtyard of stone

/ Poetpas

an old man
playing a violin
devotes
his melancholy notes
to the sun
a blue sky
and a few birds
passing by
whilst forgotten chansons
echo off the walls
of shut shops
beneath a plane tree
almost alone
he brings tears
and joy
to a courtyard of stone

Women

/ Poetpas

perfect
creations
of a creative
god
creating
precious
pure
emotional
curvy
beings
shining
light
perpetually
yet sometimes
a tad whiny
perhaps regretfully

Stride

/ Poetpas

regarding my eventful stride
in the garden of perception
I ponder
and wonder
how I ended up
down yonder
believing fate
would caress my inner
conspicuous alteration
of thoughtful contemplation
that opens
and shuts shutters
of my ever vivid imagination

Bowie

/ Poetpas

shining starman
galactic eyes
this lyrical labyrinth
his myth in disguise

fallen to earth
blessed with dark voice
his majestic apparel
and intellectual poise

shy oddity
golden hair
humble chameleon
with androgynous flair

magical star lit
in a theatrical maze
graciously styled
a visual daze

talented genius
majored in Tom
gracious Jones
my musical bomb

To the forest

/ Poetpas

rising damp
steam and smoke
misty sunlight
like a faded lamp
gazing upon dead wood
covering moist soil
the earth breathing
through snugly moss
trees waving
wandering gust

I should go to the forest
I really must…

My beautiful English rose

/ Poetpas

she
was born
with many a thorn
prickly
yet blossoming
in my light
not to clamber
over yours truly
much to his delight

holding reds
fragrant and fresh
she stands firm
with puissant pose
now stuck
in me
I embrace her sting
my beautiful
English rose

Her butterflies

/ Poetpas

the fresh smell
of springs’ air
rosy cheeks
her skin so fair
she seeks
a naughty boy
who wants him
for her butterflies
and a bit of joy

all the while
her precious
innocent smile
and insecure
female stance
wants to control
her butterflies
before they start
to dance…

Can we go back

/ Poetpas

can we go back
a little
maybe a thousand years
when there were other fears
rough but pure
a disease
no cure
when trees
were green
and forests clean
all in balance
almost good
no climate challenge

can we go back

Are you for real?

/ Poetpas

lashes spiky
mascara
oh crikey
eyeliner
foundation
plug the pores
my the frustration
fillers
botox
eye shadow
detox
concealer
maybe revealer
highlighter
tweezer
curler
clipper
hair must die
I wonder why
blush
what’s the (b)rush
lipstick fails
acrylic nails
polish
remover
wax
to the max
primer
for the old timer
injectictables
rejectables
enhancements
enchantments
extensions
rejuvenation
exaggeration
contouring
a lift
purity adrift
liposuction
fat abduction
laser
surgery
a trending spree
spray tan
yes you can
tummy tuck
what the fuck…

My dying van

/ Poetpas

goodbye
my carriage of steel
I enjoyed being
behind your wheel

you took me places
of which I’m fond
to the known
the remote and far beyond

you guided me
and carried me far
my dependable confidant
my faithful car

you may be crushed
but you’ll understand
you had to go
amazing friend

we’ve shared some miles
over the years
I say goodbye
I am all in tears

Two yellow lines

/ Poetpas

two yellow lines
lead the way
directing us
to follow
the right side,
or the left,
in curves
through pines
and meadows
deserts
and forsaken lands
on endless slabs
at the hands
of the carefree
careful
and careless
crossing
or not
two yellow lines

Snow

/ Poetpas

a virgin blanket
sewed with frozen powdered aqua
covering the lands
light and white
forsaken
at the hands
of the sky…

a soft throw;
I think it’s called snow

I cannot

/ Poetpas

I cannot
sleep
without you

I cannot
weep
without you

I cannot
think
without you

I cannot
eat
without you

I cannot
talk
without you

I cannot
walk
without you

I cannot
laugh
without you

I cannot
smile
without you

I cannot
see
without you

I cannot
be
without you

I cannot
live
without you

I can not
but I do

~for JG

Dark grey clouds

/ Poetpas

through the small space
between my curtains
I can’t help but notice
dark grey clouds
slowly moving
and hovering
over leafless trees

I pray for more natural beauty
I am on my knees

Proud to hold your hand

/ Poetpas

through all the parks
and fields
along the hedges
defining hills
on countless paths
over bridges
of creeks with ditches
smelling spring flowers
for hours and hours
I squeeze
you smile
and understand
that I’m in love
with you
and proud
to hold your hand

Softly she whispers

/ Poetpas

carefully she speaks
with sparkles in her eyes
like tiny stars
in a clear sky
of innocent wonder

like an elf
dazzled
by her own
true self

her eyes wondering
soul searching
subtle insecurity
but limitless love to give

softly she whispers…

Featuring: God

/ Poetpas

Today I will be featuring God. This is not meant to be a religious, atheist or agnostic post but a general and neutral reflection of his possible existence, presence or absence…

When you look on the internet for research or information it doesn’t say where he came from or when. When you do try to find out it links you to when Jesus was born.
On some sites it becomes a religious debate. Some think he’s always been there and some think he doesn’t exist. Most people think God is male though rather than female. Both could be true or both could not be true. Even if he doesn’t exist I do believe he has the largest fanbase in the world. And a lot of great and famous musicians wrote songs about him.

When one wonders about the existence of God one could himself ask many questions. Where is God? Does he live in heaven? Does he monitor more planets? Does he rule the universe? Can he see everything? Why doesn’t he talk? How old is he? How big is he? Is he still alive? How can he let bad things happen even if one asks for forgiveness? Is he friends with the Greek or Viking gods or does he rule them? Can God be objective? Does he have a black sense of humor? Does he have more kids besides Jesus? When will he come back? Does he send unidentified flying objects to check up on us? Is the devil his twin brother who took the wrong turn?

According to Wikipedia, God, in monotheistic thought, is conceived of as the supreme being, creator, and principal object of faith. God is usually conceived of as being omnipotent (all-powerful), omniscient (all-knowing), omnipresent (all-present) and omnibenevolent (all-good) as well as having an eternal and necessary existence. God is most often held to be incorporeal (immaterial). God’s incorporeality or corporeality is related to conceptions of God’s transcendence (being outside nature) or immanence (being in nature); Chinese theology exhibits a synthesis of both notions.

Some religions describe God without reference to gender, while others use terminology that is gender-specific and gender-biased. God has been conceived as either personal or impersonal. In theism, God is the creator and sustainer of the universe, while in deism, God is the creator, but not the sustainer, of the universe. In pantheism, God is the universe itself. Atheism is an absence of belief in God, while agnosticism deems the existence of God unknown or unknowable. God has also been conceived as the source of all moral obligation, and the “greatest conceivable existent”. Many notable philosophers have developed arguments for and against the existence of God.

Monotheistic religions refer to their god using various names, some referring to cultural ideas about their god’s identity and attributes. In ancient Egyptian Atenism, possibly the earliest recorded monotheistic religion, this deity was called Aten and proclaimed to be the one “true” Supreme Being and creator of the universe. In the Hebrew Bible and Judaism, the names of God include Elohim, Adonai, YHWH (Hebrew: יהוה‎) and others. Yahweh and Jehovah, possible vocalizations of YHWH, are used in Christianity. In the Christian doctrine of the Trinity, one God coexists in three “persons” called the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. In Islam, the name Allah is used, while Muslims also use a multitude of titles for God. In Hinduism, Brahman is often considered a monistic concept of God. In Chinese religion, Shangdi is conceived as the progenitor (first ancestor) of the universe, intrinsic to it and constantly bringing order to it. Other names for God include Baha in the Baháʼí Faith,Waheguru in Sikhism, Ahura Mazda in Zoroastrianism, and Sang Hyang Widhi Wasa in Balinese Hinduism.

It is fair to say that God had and has a great impact on many and society as a whole. Belief gave people hope and took them away from fear. Others were brought up with strict doctrine and God fearing in the literal sense of the word. Some people have led good lives through it and others started wars in the name of God. Where is he now and what will be the significance of God in the future? God only knows https://youtu.be/AifqxMaURFI

Disclaimer: Please note that this is meant to be a lighthearted post and although comments are open this is not discussion forum about God. The questions in this post are rhetorical. I respect all religions and it’s believers!

You may (not) want to check this out:

Sources: Wikipedia, interweb, YouTube, poetpas

I am elated

/ Poetpas

I laugh
I smile
every day
and enjoy
all the while
the funny moments
as they are
there
for the takin’
when I open
my eyes
awaken
to see
that
laughter
was made
‘n created
especially
for me

I am elated…

Your

/ Poetpas

your eyes
show all emotion
when your cheeks
are set in motion

your moles
each in the right place
are aligned like stars
to complement your grace

your lips
carry the sound
of infinite devotion
to which I’m bound

your ears
may not hear me
but catch my drift
most possibly…

Autumn is back

/ Poetpas

colder
are
the nights

fresher
are
the mornings

redder
are
the leaves

shorter
are
the days

and
f*ck knows
where I’m going
with this
but autumn is back
whilst I’m
taking the piss

Featuring: J.R.R. Tolkien

/ Poetpas

Ronald Tolkien was an amazing writer who can not go unnoticed in my series featuring those that have made an impact or impression on me. Although I am not much of a reader, the films Lords of the Rings and The Hobbit got me interested in this Einstein of lingo (as I would call him) and these wonderful translations of some of his finest works. So check him out if you want (or not).

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien 1892 – 2 September 1973) was an English writer, poet, philologist, and academic. He was the author of the high fantasy works The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.
He served as the Rawlinson and Bosworth Professor of Anglo-Saxon and Fellow of Pembroke College, Oxford, from 1925 to 1945 and Merton Professor of English Language and Literature and Fellow of Merton College, Oxford, from 1945 to 1959. He was at one time a close friend of C. S. Lewis—they were both members of the informal literary discussion group known as the Inklings. Tolkien was appointed a Commander of the Order of the British Empire by Queen Elizabeth II on 28 March 1972. After Tolkien’s death, his son Christopher published a series of works based on his father’s extensive notes and unpublished manuscripts, including The Silmarillion. These, together with The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, form a connected body of tales, poems, fictional histories, invented languages, and literary essays about a fantasy world called Arda and Middle-earth within it. Between 1951 and 1955, Tolkien applied the term legendarium to the larger part of these writings.
While many other authors had published works of fantasy before Tolkien, the great success of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings led directly to a popular resurgence of the genre. This has caused Tolkien to be popularly identified as the “father” of modern fantasy literature—or, more precisely, of high fantasy. In 2008, The Times ranked him sixth on a list of “The 50 greatest British writers since 1945”. Forbes ranked him the fifth top-earning “dead celebrity” in 2009.

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien was born on 3 January 1892 in South Africa which was later annexed by the British Empire, to Arthur Reuel Tolkie, an English bank manager, and his wife Mabel both with German roots.

As a child, Tolkien was bitten by a large baboon spider in the garden, an event some think later echoed in his stories, although he admitted no actual memory of the event and no special hatred of spiders as an adult.
When he was three, he went to England with his mother and brother on what was intended to be a lengthy family visit. His father, however, died in South Africa of rheumatic fever before he could join them. This left the family without an income, so Tolkien’s mother took him to live with her parents in Kings Heath, Birmingham. Soon after, in 1896, they moved to a Worcestershire village, later annexed to Birmingham. He enjoyed exploring Sarehole Mill and Moseley Bog and the Clent, Lickey and Malvern Hills, which would later inspire scenes in his books, along with nearby towns and villages such as Bromsgrove, Alcester, and Alvechurch and places such as his aunt Jane’s farm Bag End, the name of which he used in his fiction. Ronald, as he was known in the family, was a keen pupil. She taught him a great deal of botany and awakened in him the enjoyment of the look and feel of plants. Young Tolkien liked to draw landscapes and trees, but his favourite lessons were those concerning languages, and his mother taught him the rudiments of Latin very early.
Tolkien could read by the age of four and could write fluently soon afterwards.

In 1904, when J. R. R. Tolkien was 12, his mother died of acute diabetes. She was then about 34 years of age. After his mother’s death, Tolkien grew up in the Edgbaston area of Birmingham and attended King Edward’s School, Birmingham, and later St. Philip’s School. In 1903, he won a Foundation Scholarship and returned to King Edward’s. In Edgbaston, Tolkien lived there in the shadow of Perrott’s Folly and the Victorian tower of Edgbaston Waterworks, which may have influenced the images of the dark towers within his works. Another strong influence was the romantic medievalist paintings of Edward Burne-Jones and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood; the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery had a large collection of works on public display.

While in his early teens, Tolkien had his first encounter with a constructed language, Animalic, an invention of his cousins, Mary and Marjorie Incledon. At that time, he was studying Latin and Anglo-Saxon. Their interest in Animalic soon died away, but Mary and others, including Tolkien himself, invented a new and more complex language called Nevbosh. The next constructed language he came to work with, Naffarin, would be his own creation. Tolkien learned Esperanto some time before 1909. Around 10 June 1909 he composed “The Book of the Foxrook”, a sixteen-page notebook, where the “earliest example of one of his invented alphabets” appears.Short texts in this notebook are written in Esperanto.
In 1911, while they were at King Edward’s School, Tolkien and three friends, Rob Gilson, Geoffrey Bache Smith and Christopher Wiseman, formed a semi-secret society they called the T.C.B.S. The initials stood for Tea Club and Barrovian Society, alluding to their fondness for drinking tea in Barrow’s Stores near the school and, secretly, in the school library. After leaving school, the members stayed in touch and, in December 1914, they held a “council” in London at Wiseman’s home. For Tolkien, the result of this meeting was a strong dedication to writing poetry.
In 1911, Tolkien went on a summer holiday in Switzerland, a trip that he recollects vividly in a 1968 letter, noting that Bilbo’s journey across the Misty Mountains (“including the glissade down the slithering stones into the pine woods”) is directly based on his adventures as their party of 12 hiked from Interlaken to Lauterbrunnen and on to camp in the moraines beyond Mürren. In October of the same year, Tolkien began studying at Exeter College, Oxford. He initially studied classics but changed his course in 1913 to English language and literature, graduating in 1915 with first-class honours. Among his tutors at Oxford was Joseph Wright.

At the age of 16, Tolkien met Edith Mary Bratt, who was three years his senior. With two people of their personalities and in their position, romance was bound to flourish. Both were orphans in need of affection, and they found that they could give it to each other. During the summer of 1909, they decided that they were in love.
On the evening of his 21st birthday, Tolkien wrote to Edith, who was living with family friend C. H. Jessop at Cheltenham. He declared that he had never ceased to love her, and asked her to marry him. Edith replied that she had already accepted the proposal of George Field, the brother of one of her closest school friends. But Edith said she had agreed to marry Field only because she felt “on the shelf” and had begun to doubt that Tolkien still cared for her. She explained that, because of Tolkien’s letter, everything had changed.
On 8 January 1913, Tolkien travelled by train to Cheltenham and was met on the platform by Edith. The two took a walk into the countryside, sat under a railway viaduct, and talked. By the end of the day, Edith had agreed to accept Tolkien’s proposal. She wrote to Field and returned her engagement ring. Field was “dreadfully upset at first”, and the Field family was “insulted and angry”. Upon learning of Edith’s new plans, Jessop wrote to her guardian, “I have nothing to say against Tolkien, he is a cultured gentleman, but his prospects are poor in the extreme, and when he will be in a position to marry I cannot imagine. Had he adopted a profession it would have been different.” Following their engagement, Edith reluctantly announced that she was converting to Catholicism at Tolkien’s insistence. Jessop, “like many others of his age and class … strongly anti-Catholic”, was infuriated, and he ordered Edith to find other lodgings. Edith Bratt and Ronald Tolkien were formally engaged at Birmingham in January 1913, and married at St. Mary Immaculate Roman Catholic Church, Warwick, on 22 March 1916. In his 1941 letter to Michael, Tolkien expressed admiration for his wife’s willingness to marry a man with no job, little money, and no prospects except the likelihood of being killed in the Great War.

In August 1914, Britain entered the First World War. Tolkien’s relatives were shocked when he elected not to volunteer immediately for the British Army. In a 1941 letter to his son Michael, Tolkien recalled: “In those days chaps joined up, or were scorned publicly. It was a nasty cleft to be in for a young man with too much imagination and little physical courage.”
Instead, Tolkien, “endured the obloquy”, and entered a programme by which he delayed enlistment until completing his degree. By the time he passed his finals in July 1915, Tolkien recalled that the hints were “becoming outspoken from relatives”. He was commissioned as a temporary second lieutenant in the Lancashire Fusiliers on 15 July 1915. He trained with the 13th (Reserve) Battalion on Cannock Chase, Staffordshire, for 11 months. In a letter to Edith, Tolkien complained: “Gentlemen are rare among the superiors, and even human beings rare indeed.” On 5 June 1916, Tolkien boarded a troop transport for an overnight voyage to Calais. While waiting to be summoned to his unit, Tolkien sank into boredom. To pass the time, he composed a poem entitled The Lonely Isle, which was inspired by his feelings during the sea crossing to Calais. To evade the British Army’s postal censorship, he also developed a code of dots by which Edith could track his movements.
Tolkien arrived at the Somme in early July 1916. In between terms behind the lines at Bouzincourt, he participated in the assaults on the Schwaben Redoubt and the Leipzig salient. Tolkien’s time in combat was a terrible stress for Edith, who feared that every knock on the door might carry news of her husband’s death. Edith could track her husband’s movements on a map of the Western Front.The Schwaben Redoubt, painting by William Orpen. Imperial War Museum, London
On 27 October 1916, as his battalion attacked Regina Trench, Tolkien contracted trench fever, a disease carried by the lice. He was invalided to England on 8 November 1916. Many of his dearest school friends were killed in the war. Among their number were Rob Gilson of the Tea Club and Barrovian Society, who was killed on the first day of the Somme while leading his men in the assault on Beaumont Hamel. Fellow T.C.B.S. member Geoffrey Smith was killed during the same battle when a German artillery shell landed on a first aid post. Tolkien’s battalion was almost completely wiped out following his return to England.A weak and emaciated Tolkien spent the remainder of the war alternating between hospitals and garrison duties, being deemed medically unfit for general service.

During his recovery in a cottage in Little Haywood, Staffordshire, he began to work on what he called The Book of Lost Tales, beginning with The Fall of Gondolin. Lost Tales represented Tolkien’s attempt to create a mythology for England, a project he would abandon without ever completing. Tolkien was promoted to the temporary rank of lieutenant on 6 January 1918. When he was stationed at Kingston upon Hull, he and Edith went walking in the woods at nearby Roos, and Edith began to dance for him in a clearing among the flowering hemlock. After his wife’s death in 1971, Tolkien remembered, I never called Edith Luthien—but she was the source of the story that in time became the chief part of the Silmarillion. It was first conceived in a small woodland glade filled with hemlocks at Roos in Yorkshire. In those days her hair was raven, her skin clear, her eyes brighter than you have seen them, and she could sing—and dance. But the story has gone crooked, & I am left, and I cannot plead before the inexorable Mandos. On 16 July 1919 Tolkien was officially demobilized, at Fovant, on Salisbury Plain, with a temporary disability pension.

On 3 November 1920, Tolkien was demobilized and left the army, retaining his rank of lieutenant. His first civilian job after World War I was at the Oxford English Dictionary, where he worked mainly on the history and etymology of words of Germanic origin beginning with the letter W. In 1920, he took up a post as reader in English language at the University of Leeds, becoming the youngest professor there. While at Leeds, he produced A Middle English Vocabulary and a definitive edition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight with E. V. Gordon; both became academic standard works for several decades. He translated Sir Gawain, Pearl, and Sir Orfeo. In 1925, he returned to Oxford as Rawlinson and Bosworth Professor of Anglo-Saxon, with a fellowship at Pembroke College.
In mid-1919, he began to tutor undergraduates privately, most importantly those of Lady Margaret Hall and St Hugh’s College, given that the women’s colleges were in great need of good teachers in their early years, and Tolkien as a married professor (then still not common) was considered suitable, as a bachelor don would not have been. During his time at Pembroke College Tolkien wrote The Hobbit and the first two volumes of The Lord of the Rings. He also published a philological essay in 1932 on the name “Nodens”, following Sir Mortimer Wheeler’s unearthing of a Roman Asclepeion at Lydney Park, Gloucestershire, in 1928.

In the 1920s, Tolkien undertook a translation of Beowulf, which he finished in 1926, but did not publish. It was finally edited by his son and published in 2014, more than 40 years after Tolkien’s death and almost 90 years after its completion.
Ten years after finishing his translation, Tolkien gave a highly acclaimed lecture on the work, “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics”, which had a lasting influence on Beowulf research. Lewis E. Nicholson said that the article Tolkien wrote about Beowulf is “widely recognized as a turning point in Beowulfian criticism”, noting that Tolkien established the primacy of the poetic nature of the work as opposed to its purely linguistic elements. At the time, the consensus of scholarship deprecated Beowulf for dealing with childish battles with monsters rather than realistic tribal warfare; Tolkien argued that the author of Beowulf was addressing human destiny in general, not as limited by particular tribal politics, and therefore the monsters were essential to the poem. Where Beowulf does deal with specific tribal struggles, as at Finnsburg, Tolkien argued firmly against reading in fantastic elements. In the essay, Tolkien also revealed how highly he regarded Beowulf: “Beowulf is among my most valued sources”, and this influence may be seen throughout his Middle-earth legendarium. According to Humphrey Carpenter, Tolkien began his series of lectures on Beowulf in a most striking way, entering the room silently, fixing the audience with a look, and suddenly declaiming in Old English the opening lines of the poem, starting “with a great cry of Hwæt!” It was a dramatic impersonation of an Anglo-Saxon bard in a mead hall, and it made the students realize that Beowulf was not just a set text but “a powerful piece of dramatic poetry”.
Decades later, W. H. Auden wrote to his former professor, thanking him for the “unforgettable experience” of hearing him recite Beowulf, and stating “The voice was the voice of Gandalf”.

In the run-up to the Second World War, Tolkien was earmarked as a codebreaker. In January 1939, he was asked whether he would be prepared to serve in the cryptographic department of the Foreign Office in the event of national emergency. He replied in the affirmative and, beginning on 27 March, took an instructional course at the London HQ of the Government Code and Cypher School. In 1945, Tolkien moved to Merton College, Oxford, becoming the Merton Professor of English Language and Literature, in which post he remained until his retirement in 1959. He served as an external examiner for University College, Dublin, for many years. In 1954 Tolkien received an honorary degree from the National University of Ireland. Tolkien completed The Lord of the Rings in 1948, close to a decade after the first sketches.

During his life in retirement, from 1959 up to his death in 1973, Tolkien received steadily increasing public attention and literary fame. In 1961, his friend C. S. Lewis even nominated him for the Nobel Prize in Literature.The sales of his books were so profitable that he regretted that he had not chosen early retirement. In a 1972 letter, he deplored having become a cult-figure, but admitted that “even the nose of a very modest idol … cannot remain entirely untickled by the sweet smell of incense!”
Fan attention became so intense that Tolkien had to take his phone number out of the public directory, and eventually he and Edith moved to Bournemouth, which was then a seaside resort patronized by the British upper middle class. Tolkien’s status as a best-selling author gave them easy entry into polite society, but Tolkien deeply missed the company of his fellow Inklings. Edith, however, was overjoyed to step into the role of a society hostess, which had been the reason that Tolkien selected Bournemouth in the first place. The genuine and deep affection between Ronald and Edith was demonstrated by their care about the other’s health, in details like wrapping presents, in the generous way he gave up his life at Oxford so she could retire to Bournemouth, and in her pride in his becoming a famous author. They were tied together, too, by love for their 4 children and grandchildren.
In his retirement Tolkien was a consultant and translator for the Jerusalem Bible, published in 1966. He was initially assigned a larger portion to translate, but, due to other commitments, only managed to offer some criticisms of other contributors and a translation of the Book of Jonah.

Edith died on 29 November 1971, at the age of 82. Ronald returned to Oxford, where Merton College gave him convenient rooms near the High Street. He missed Edith, but enjoyed being back in the city. Tolkien died 21 months later on 2 September 1973 from a bleeding ulcer and chest infection, at the age of 81, he was buried in the same grave. God rest his soul..

Sources: Wikipedia, YouTube, poetpas

The mirror of my pond

/ Poetpas

on this late
summer’s
dusk
I
peacefully
gaze and stare
at
the magical flow
of tiny waves
dancing
trancing
on the ceiling
of my bedroom
as the sun
reflects
a precious
tranquil diversion
bright dazzling light
of which I’m fond
the mirror of my pond

Numb to beauty

/ Poetpas

she saw
all the gorgeous men
and met them
in her years
but their beauty,
skin deep,
brought her
many tears

over time
she lost
the will
to love and live
numb to beauty
she was empty
and had nothing left
to give…

Old knot

/ Poetpas

old knot
tied up
lays
to rest
rusty
in the gutter
of an abandoned roof
tried its best
to serve
an antenna
at the end
of a cable
keeping
the signal
strong
steady
and stable

There’s something about you…

/ Poetpas

there’s is something
about you
kind
there’s something
about you
odd I don’t mind

there’s something
about you
light
there’s something
about you
dark that comes out at night

there’s something
about you
frail
there’s something
about you
attractively pale

there’s something
about you
classy
there’s something
about you
northern lassie

Empty pillow

/ Poetpas

without my love
I put my hand on
touch it gently
if she were here
not miles away
the memory vivid
of her presence
near me
breathing
eyes shut
I feel her
empty pillow

He’s too perfect

/ Poetpas

he’s too perfect
too well known
his threads immaculate
and quaintly shown

he’s too perfect
too good looking
his food so healthy
and he’s excellent at cooking

he’s too perfect
too kind to be mean
his house is so neat
almost ocd clean

he’s too perfect
too perfect to match
he dodges all intimacy
and is impossible to catch

Asphalt veins

/ Poetpas

cracked
torn
burst
by traffic
and weather
pavements exposing
asphalt veins
linking together
the crevices of today
spreading
beautiful
and unpredictable
random meanderings
of perpetual decay

Featuring: One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

/ Poetpas

My all time favorite movie this is. It has everything in it: drama, comedy, good story and plot, great actors and solid acting. I personally think that this is Jack Nicholson’s best performance. He was well casted and personified a perfect McMurphy. And so was Louise Fletcher who played nurse Ratched. I must have watched it over 100 times.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is a 1975 American drama film directed by Miloš Forman, based on the 1962 novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey. Kirk Douglas acquired the rights to the screenplay and Micheal Douglas was the producer. The film stars Jack Nicholson as Randle McMurphy, a new patient at a mental institution, and features a supporting cast of Louise Fletcher, William Redfield, Will Sampson, Sydney Lassick, Brad Dourif, Danny DeVito and Christopher Lloyd in his film debut.

Filming began in January 1975 and lasted three months, taking place on location in Salem, Oregon, and the surrounding area, as well as on the Oregon coast. The producers decided to shoot the film in the Oregon State Hospital, an actual mental hospital, as this was also the setting of the novel.

Considered by some to be one of the greatest films ever made, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest won all five major Academy Awards (Best Picture, Actor in Lead Role, Actress in Lead Role, Director and Screenplay). It also won numerous Golden Globe and BAFTA Awards. In 1993, the film was deemed “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant” by the United States Library of Congress, and selected for preservation in the National Film Registry.

Plot: (contains spoilers!)
In 1963 Oregon, recidivist malefactor Randle Patrick McMurphy is moved to a mental institution after serving a short sentence on a prison farm for several charges of assault, and statutory rape of a 15-year-old. Though not actually mentally ill, McMurphy hopes to avoid hard labor and serve the rest of his sentence in a relaxed environment. Upon arriving at the hospital, he finds the ward run by nurse Mildred Ratched, a cold, passive-aggressive tyrant who uses her rules and authority to intimidate her charges into a restrictive, joyless existence.
The other patients include anxious, stuttering Billy Bibbit; Charlie Cheswick, who is prone to childish tantrums; delusional and innocent Martini; the well-educated, paranoid Dale Harding; belligerent and profane Max Taber; epileptics Jim Sefelt and Bruce Fredrickson, the former of whom gives his medicine to the latter; quiet but violent-minded Scanlon, “Chief” Bromden, a very tall Native American deaf-mute, and several others with more chronic conditions. Ratched soon sees McMurphy’s lively, rebellious presence as a threat to her authority, and she confiscates the patients’ cigarettes and rations them, and suspends their card-playing privileges. During his time in the ward, McMurphy gets into a battle of wills with Ratched. He steals a hospital bus, escaping with several patients to go on a fishing trip, encouraging his friends to discover their own abilities and find self-confidence.
After learning that the judge’s time sentence doesn’t apply to the hospital, and he could remain there indefinitely, McMurphy makes plans to escape, encouraging Chief to throw a hydrotherapy console through a window. It is also revealed that McMurphy, Chief, and Taber are the only non-chronic patients sentenced to staying at the institution, as the rest are self-committed and could voluntarily check-out at any time, but are too afraid to do so. McMurphy, Chief, and Cheswick get into a fight with the orderlies after the latter becomes agitated over his confiscated cigarettes. Ratched sends them to the “shock shop”, where McMurphy discovers Chief can actually speak and hear, having feigned his deaf-muteness to avoid engaging with anyone. After being subjected to electroconvulsive therapy, McMurphy returns to the ward pretending to have brain damage, although he reveals the treatment has made him even more determined. McMurphy and Chief make plans to escape, but decide to throw a secret Christmas party for their friends after Ratched leaves for the night.
McMurphy sneaks two women, Candy and Rose, into the ward, bringing bottles of alcohol, and bribes the night guard. After a night of partying, McMurphy and Chief prepare to escape, inviting Billy to come with them. Not ready to leave the hospital, he refuses. Billy asks for a “date” with Candy and McMurphy arranges for him to have sex with her. Ratched arrives in the morning to find the ward in disarray and most of the patients passed out drunk. She discovers Billy and Candy together, and aims to embarrass Billy in front of everyone. Billy manages to overcome his stutter and stands up to Ratched, until she threatens to inform his mother about his escapade. Billy’s stutter returns and he cracks under the pressure. Nurse Ratched has him placed in the doctor’s office to wait for the doctor to arrive. Moments later when McMurphy is trying to escape, Billy commits suicide. McMurphy flies into a rage and pins Ratched to the floor, choking her with both hands until Washington knocks him out. Some time later, Ratched comes back with a neck brace and a scratchy voice, and Harding now leads the now-unsuspended card-playing. Rumors spread that McMurphy has escaped in order to avoid being taken “upstairs”. Later that night, Chief sees McMurphy being returned to his bed. When McMurphy is utterly unresponsive and physically limp, Chief discovers lobotomy scars on his forehead. In an act of mercy, Chief smothers McMurphy to death with a pillow. He then finally is able to lift the hydrotherapy foundation out of the floor, throws it through the window, and escapes into the night, cheered on by Taber.

I feel that this is a movie that everyone must have seen at least once in their lives. You can’t not watch it; it’s too good not to…I also have a top 10 list of movies if anyone’s interested 😊

Check it out (or not):

Sources: Wikipedia, YouTube, interweb, poetpas

Featuring: Django Reinhardt

/ Poetpas

Not known to everyone, this guitarist has changed my life in a way that is impossible for me to put into words. His compositions, play and melodies are beyond explanation, and even comprehension I might add. In my view, he is technically the best guitarist I have ever heard (with the use of only 3 fingers). His music influenced my life and writing and changed my view on music. It was also my introduction to the world of jazz, which made me discover other great musicians which I will feature in other posts.

Django Reinhardt (23 January 1910 – 16 May 1953) was a Belgian-born Romani-French jazz guitarist and composer. He was the first jazz talent to emerge from Europe and remains the most significant.
With violinist Stéphane Grappelli, Reinhardt formed the Paris-based Quintette du Hot Club de France in 1934. The group was among the first to play jazz that featured the guitar as a lead instrument. Reinhardt recorded in France with many visiting American musicians, including Coleman Hawkins and Benny Carter, and briefly toured the United States with Duke Ellington’s orchestra in 1946. He died suddenly of a stroke at the age of 43.

Reinhardt’s most popular compositions have become standards within gypsy jazz, including “Minor Swing”, “Daphne”, “Belleville”, “Djangology”, “Swing ’42”, and “Nuages”. Jazz guitarist Frank Vignola claims that nearly every major popular-music guitarist in the world has been influenced by Reinhardt. Over the last few decades, annual Django festivals have been held throughout Europe and the U.S., and a biography has been written about his life. In February 2017, the Berlin International Film Festival held the world premiere of the French film Django.

When Django was 18 he nearly died. On the night of 2 November 1928, Reinhardt was going to bed in the wagon that he and his wife shared in the caravan. He knocked over a candle, which ignited the extremely flammable celluloid that set his wagon on fire. Reinhardt survived but suffered extensive burns over half his body. His ring finger and pinky of his left hand were badly burned. Doctors believed that he would never play guitar again. Reinhardt applied himself intensely to relearning his craft, however, making use of a new guitar bought for him by his brother Joseph.
While he never regained the use of those two fingers, Reinhardt regained his musical mastery by focusing on his left index and middle fingers, using the two injured fingers only for chord work. During the years after the fire, Reinhardt was rehabilitating and experimenting on the guitar that his brother had given him. While developing his interest in jazz, Reinhardt met Stéphane Grappelli, a young violinist with similar musical interests. He and Grappelli frequently jammed together and formed the band Hot Club de France in 1934. Reinhardt also played and recorded with many American jazz musicians, such as Adelaide Hall, Coleman Hawkins, Benny Carter, etc. He participated in a jam session and radio performance with Louis Armstrong. Later in his career, Reinhardt played with Dizzy Gillespie in France.

During WW II Django was fortunate enough to be able to survive and play as Roma and Sinti, or better known as gypsies, were deported by Nazis and jazz music was prohibited. Yet some German officers were impressed by Django’s virtuosity leaving him to travel and play in France.

Many guitar players and other musicians have expressed admiration for Reinhardt or have cited him as a major influence. Jeff Beck described Reinhardt as “by far the most astonishing guitar player ever” and “quite superhuman”.
Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia and Black Sabbath’s Tony Iommi, both of whom lost fingers in accidents, were inspired by Reinhardt’s example of becoming an accomplished guitar player despite his injuries. Garcia was quoted in June 1985 in Frets Magazine: His technique is awesome! Even today, nobody has really come to the state that he was playing at. As good as players are, they haven’t gotten to where he is. There’s a lot of guys that play fast and a lot of guys that play clean, and the guitar has come a long way as far as speed and clarity go, but nobody plays with the whole fullness of expression that Django has. I mean, the combination of incredible speed – all the speed you could possibly want – but also the thing of every note has a specific personality. You don’t hear it. I really haven’t heard it anywhere but with Django.

Django had a son Babik who was also an accomplished and talented guitar player. Bireli Lagrene, Angelo Debarre are amongst many interpreters that play the Gypsy jazz music style still today.

Check him out (or not):

Sources: Wikipedia, YouTube, poetpas

Featuring: Yongey Mingyur

/ Poetpas

Most of us have heard of the Dalai Lama and Tibet. After China took control over Tibet, the 14th Dalai Lama resettled in India as spiritual leader. Through following him and taking an interest in Tibetan Buddhism I learned about another inspiring teacher named Rinpoche Yongey Mingyur.

Mingyur Rinpoche was born in Nepal in 1975. From the age of nine, his father taught him meditation, passing on to him the most essential instructions of the Dzogchen and Mahamudra traditions. At the age of eleven, Mingyur Rinpoche began studies in northern India. Two years later, Mingyur Rinpoche began a traditional three-year retreat. At the age of nineteen he studied the primary topics of the Buddhist academic tradition, including Middle Way philosophy and Buddhist logic.
In June 2011, Mingyur Rinpoche left his monastery in Bodhgaya to begin a period of extended retreat. Rinpoche left in the middle of the night, taking nothing with him, but leaving a farewell letter. He spent four years as a wandering yogi.
During the first few weeks of this retreat, Rinpoche had a near-death experience, likely due to a severe form of botulism. This may have been the result of choosing to eat only the meals that were free and available to him after allowing himself to run out of money. The near-death experience, according to Rinpoche, was one of the most pivotal and transformative experiences of his life. After continuing with his retreat for four years, he later returned to his position as abbot.

Yongey Mingyur is a very amusing little man who brought me much wisdom and insight into meditation and Tibetan buddhism. Through him I have found more inner peace. He was scientifically tested and proven to be the happiest man on the planet. His thoughts on having a “monkey mind” in our brain that tries to control our lives are very interesting and helpful. This man has positively changed my life big time.

Check him out (or not):

Books:

Videos:

Sources: Wikipedia, YouTube, Amazon, interweb, poetpas

Featuring: Jim White

/ Poetpas

I first learned about Jim White when I saw his movie Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus. Searching for The Wrong-Eyed Jesus is a captivating and compelling road trip and follows “Alt Country” singer Jim White through a gritty terrain of churches, prisons, truck stops, biker bars and coal mines. This is a journey through a very real contemporary Southern U.S., a world of marginalised white people and their unique and home-made society. Along the way are road-side encounters with modern musical mavericks including The Handsome Family, Johnny Dowd, Dave Eugene Edwards, old time banjo player Lee sexton; rockabilly and mountain Gospel churches and novelist Harry Crews telling grisly stories down a dirt track.

This movie had a certain impact on me and left me wondering if there was more to this Jim White. After I checked him out on YouTube I realized he is a very sensitive, smart and sincere person.

Jim White (born Michael Davis Pratt) was influenced in his childhood by gospel. He has been a comedian, a fashion model, a boxer, a preacher, a professional surfer, and a New York City cab driver before embarking on a music career. White attended film school at New York University. Soon after finishing his lengthy thesis at the university, White entered a self-described “deep hole of sickness and depression and poverty.” However, during a party organized by film school friends, White began to perform, and began writing material for an album soon afterward.

White’s live shows, particularly when touring solo, can be characterized as off-beat, blending his playlist with open discussion with the audience, anecdotal storytelling derived from his own life experiences, all of which is typically humorous and insightful, with a deep sense of his feeling for the broken beauty of humanity.

Check him out (I would):

Sources: IMDb, Wikipedia, YouTube, interweb, poetpas
Photo: By Tecumseh1973 Wikipedia

Featuring: Featuring:

/ Poetpas

From this day forth, every now and (only)(until) then, dear boys and girls, I shall be posting an occasional post titled Featuring:

In these posts I shall feature somebody or something that has moved me or made an impression on me. These posts shall most possibly appear weekly, most likely on a Sunday (god willing) so check it out and enjoy…or don’t.

The memories we made

/ Poetpas

the memories
we made
recorded records
we always played

the memories
we made
and all the feelings
we conveyed

the memories
we made
on city squares
in sun and shade

the memories
we made
when you left
and wish I would’ve stayed

the memories
we made
all the miles
that we have strayed

the memories
we made
the first time
we got laid

the memories
we made
shall always be
and never fade

the memories
we made

Be

/ Poetpas

be good
be kind
be gentle
be hopeful
be funny
be different
be bad
be strong
be right
be wrong
be smart
be free
be you thee full
be

Ol’ folk waiting

/ Poetpas

wind blowing
all knowing
elderly pondering
faces wondering
leaning on canes
waiting for trains
whilst they smile
all the while
reminiscing
talking about diseases
before time ceases
about the weather
bonding them together
with their last
gentle laughter
causerie
now and forever
after

Dance to the radio 📻

/ Poetpas

Radio, live transmission
Radio, live transmission
Listen to the silence, let it ring on
Eyes, dark grey lenses frightened of the sun
We would have a fine time living in the night
Left to blind destruction
Waiting for our sight
And we would go on as though nothing was wrong
And hide from these days we remained all alone
Staying in the same place, just staying out the time
Touching from a distance
Further all the time
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, to the radio
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, to the radio
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, to the radio
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, to the radio
Well I could call out when the going gets tough
The things that we’ve learnt are no longer enough
No language, just sound, that’s all we need know, to synchronise
Love to the beat of the show
And we could dance
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, to the radio
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, to the radio
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, to the radio
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, to the radio

~Transmission – Joy Division

The priest and the nun

/ Poetpas

the priest and the nun
wanted some fun
decided to feast
after confession begun

the priest wanted romance
asked the sister to dance
she agreed and gave him
a bit of a chance

they held each other
ever so tight
Maria kissed the old man
and turned off the light

off came the robes
white skin appeared
but the priest had no boner
so the nun disappeared

A coroner’s tale

/ Poetpas

he gazed,
was surprisingly amazed
when he spotted
her beauty,
unspoiled
and fresh
whilst performing
his duty

he noticed
her intimate stare
the young damsel
laying bare
as she slipped
into heaven
peacefully
at 7 past 11

Clear de lune

/ Poetpas

spotlight
in the sky
enlightens us
periodically
methodically
shining to aid
the ones that have stayed
after the sun departed
the bright night started
our evening lamp
I see it dear
clear
de lune

Message in a bottle

/ Poetpas

message
posted
coasted
over
out
into
the sea
took part of me

with it
absorbed
by the waves
my behaves
by currents
into the deep
with the flow
it will go

and
perhaps
be found
by you
hopefully
tomorrow
to make you smile
for a while

Unbound

/ Poetpas

sauntering through the meadows
with the sun shining on its shadows
I stumbled upon my precious soul
and found it yearning
for the world to keep turning
around and around
until my inner peace was found
unbound

Hair

/ Poetpas

hair hair
everywhere
here and there
for you to stare

even on my warts
2 pair
grizzly to bear
I shall bare

unaware
where I can’t see
also many more
must be

unwanted patches
black
thick and coarse
just like a horse

unjust in proportions
in the wrong places
no wonder all the
funny faces

hair hair
anywhere
lots to see
I’ll shed ‘n share

Hey beautiful eyes

/ Poetpas

Hey beautiful eyes:
appraise me
and praise me
enlight me
with amorous glance
gazing at me
at every chance

Hey beautiful eyes:
inspect me
respect me
inject me
with love potion
the piercing gaze
your endless devotion

Drawn by light

/ Poetpas

drawn
to the darkness of night
it was redirected
by first light
and the fading moon
sketching
a pretty picture
the mixture
of faded shadows
and songs
of morning sparrows

alive
this live blinding spectacle
recurring
with precious innocence
awoke
on a spring dawn
rising
on shores
of hopeful new starts
passing slowly
as it departs…

The dying bulb

/ Poetpas

the lamp fades
wires broken
a bare lit token
awoken
by stuttering
spasmodic convulsions

darkness creeps in
upon the still of the night
when the dying bulb
slowly kills
the sizzling
flickering light

Prickly skin

/ Poetpas

prickly skin
itchy
scratchy
don’t know where to begin

stung by sun
pinned by sting
brought out by heat
even on my feet

white turns to red
lumpy bumps
I toss in bed
wishing I was dead

My Erroll

/ Poetpas

my Erroll,
the sweet sound
with magical apparel
I hear it all around

like a stream of sparkles
a ride on a raft
striking the keys
his timing a craft

Empididae

/ Poetpas

dancing flies
do their loopies
under blue sky
these twirly groupies

they make my day
when they wander
squander
meander

round and round
they dance to light
these happy creatures
make my night

Not his vamp

/ Poetpas

“I think I’m in love”
the blind man thought
not knowing what to do
yet he kissed the hairy gal
before she uttered mooo!

he stepped into her homemade pie
which lay there warm and damp
barefooted came
to realise
the cow was not his vamp

Church bells

/ Poetpas

bear clinging metal
reveal secrets they hold
through centuries of ringing
their stories are told
as bells witnessed
life and death
from first cry
till our last breath

Near the end

/ Poetpas

near the end
we’ve come
to understand
we have to take
a different journey

we may embark
on it peacefully
in a dream
or in pieces
on a gurney…

Trees

/ Poetpas

absorbing rain
sun and air
rooted to soil
feel no despair

leaves grow slowly
open to the sky
residing silently
not wondering why

gracefully observing
not in a hurry
they stand in peace
and never worry

Plaster

/ Poetpas

I want
to be
your plaster
to heal
your broken skin

but you keep bleeding
cause you drank
too much
I think
5 bottles of gin?

Simmer

/ Poetpas

she left him
simmer
like a stew
on a stove
whilst
she sought
a better man
with more spice
and better taste
before she
let herself
spoil
and go to waste

There she was

/ Poetpas

there she was
the woman of my life
not 23
but 95

eyes saggy
wrinkled skin
full of spirit
a joyful grin

deaf as a post
blind as a bat
lovely senior
called me a brat

I was poor
yet she was rich
I didn’t mind change
needed the switch

Crisp

/ Poetpas

crisp
is the new born
dawn
on a fresh
winter’s lawn
as frozen mist
covers
the lands
with pure white
reflecting
the peaceful
art
of a slow
rising
innocent
start

My fish

/ Poetpas

my fish
wag their tails
elegantly
in curvy trails

no apparent
straight path
unpredicted
enjoying their bath

up and down
they travel light
moving about
all day and night

24/7

/ Poetpas

every day without you
is like a week of pain
every week not with you
is a month again

every minute with you
is like heaven
every second counts
24/7

Cherries

/ Poetpas

I cherish
all the cherries
as I pick them
on the way
to our garden
of life

the juicy ones
ripe for the taking
whole
sweet and chewy
just like you
my dear wife

Gypsy eyes

/ Poetpas

half moon shaped
dark brown pearls
i love the eyes of
those gypsy girls

centuries of suffering
mirrored in their souls
worldly wisdom
gathered thru endless strolls

mixed Indian beauty
created over time
inherited musical talent
prodigy in rhyme

Jaz

/ Poetpas

I keep falling in love
with her
eyes
old pictures
her ways
the way she pays
zips open her purse
looks after me like a nurse
providing me with a smile
over and over
all the while
by the grace of god
his unmerited favor
blessing me with life
an angel
with spunk
and flavor
Jaz
my future wife

Bloody weeds

/ Poetpas

bloody weeds
bloody weeds
they bloody bleed
like bloody blood
between bloody tiles
it bloody feeds
on bleedin seeds
I’m on me knees

pulling
scraping
amongst bloody beezzz
summer’s breeze
sun and rain
I won’t complain
I’ll endure
the greens
the bloody pain