Poetry is in Everybody!!!

I copied this from the poets blog to share with you...I enjoyed it!

Friday, 29 May 2009

A Spring
evening stills;
trees - wetted with rain -
stand and face a purple sun.

Listen to calls
pulse - a swell of birds
flickering nuances
cooing, echoing
beating little hearts

(inside my skull
I also am wittering and twittering)

Overhead; leaves lurch
wave on turning ocean wave
beckoning light: moving church,
urging Nature, lusting life.
Posted by John Lavan at 05:44 0 comments
if (window['tickAboveFold']) {window['tickAboveFold'](document.getElementById("latency-7576827424819865526")); }
Thursday, 28 May 2009

In between us
it starts with a tickle;
in the belly,
nebula.
It ends with a poke
between two ribs
and a husky giggle.

It starts with a flash
of a sideways eye;
a tiny smile.
It ends with a lean;
the slightest fall
and a body-check.

Its starts with a pulse
through a softer drum;
an urge to move.
It ends in a leap
to a standing pose
and a crazy dance.

It starts with heat
in a burgeoning core
rising, rising.
It ends with a word,
soft clear magma,
melting eyes.
Posted by John Lavan at 06:49 0 comments
if (window['tickAboveFold']) {window['tickAboveFold'](document.getElementById("latency-5753725964790210496")); }
Wednesday, 27 May 2009

In the front seat
first thing:
sing Hickory Dickory Dock
and find shock words to rhyme
with 1 2 3
like bum, poo, pee.

Second thing:
wind down a window,
laugh shoulders
at brothers getting cold
and wet with rain.

Third thing:
thump me on the arm,
and warm with a smile
‘You OK Dad?’ and I reply ‘Yes, you OK?’
face ahead, say ‘Fine’.

Fourth thing:
look sidelong from a knowing eye
as if you clock what’s going on;
that you know I know when I nod back,
that, yes, I get it, this lifetime,
your Work.
Posted by John Lavan at 05:52 1 comments
if (window['tickAboveFold']) {window['tickAboveFold'](document.getElementById("latency-2571484088762786698")); }
Tuesday, 26 May 2009

An Eden Conception
A raindrop, unaccountably round,
plunges into Mallerstang;
Eden valley, Victorian dark,
the last great wilderness in England.

People come here briefly;
a monarch, a highwayman,
a thief, an earl, a tramp to see

rivers rise – the Ouse and Eden -
and if this raindrop falls an atom’s width
to the East, it runs to York;
a molecule West, Carlisle.
On and on, the future forks
and this drop will not travel both.

Race into a great valley;
ginger gorse: an undomesticated,
wild, wet second world, happy

when earth and wind decide
what’s right and left, that it’s worth
a surging newborn driving to
a source, a smash, a violent birth.

Posted by John Lavan at 07:06 1 comments
if (window['tickAboveFold']) {window['tickAboveFold'](document.getElementById("latency-5075702656649090003")); }
Monday, 25 May 2009

I Love you
and your perfect ask
‘Would you scratch my back?’ is enough
to stretch out hands because folk who love
happily scratch backs where a person can’t reach

and the perfect one
is the kind without give and take
repercussion; like a given scrape
of skin without expectation of return.

No; it’s not for gain;
no transacting for dividend,
economics, or seeking a friend,
but a reaching act of warmth and fingernails;

like a one way kiss,
my itch stopping behaviour
-simpler than poetry can carry-
back scratching seems, in love, all there really is.

Posted by John Lavan at 06:48 0 comments
if (window['tickAboveFold']) {window['tickAboveFold'](document.getElementById("latency-1292003468498504295")); }
Sunday, 24 May 2009

A Birth
I’m painting windows
listening to noise outside;
teenagers shouting above an autumn wind.
Normal teenage girls, I guess.
Normal?
Back to Andrew’s birth and a room
- sky blue and white – high on a hill
in Yorkshire. For 40 minutes in a life
he seemed normal. Then
they said I should hold him
and so I did
as any firstborn father cradles – clumsily -
and he transformed:
‘Down’s Syndrome probably’ they said.

Shock. Grievous. Tears soaked
through family. Loss
of expectation flowed.
We couldn’t see! Embarrassing now, unaware,
as I clumsily drip paint onto cold pink hands,
that a teacher had been born.
Posted by John Lavan at 06:56 1 comments
if (window['tickAboveFold']) {window['tickAboveFold'](document.getElementById("latency-4953843313550181096")); }
Saturday, 23 May 2009

Early Morning
ice, hard as stone
- standing – in the North –
bring it South, to home,
the hearth, the heart, the home.
Sons radiate upstairs
- I sit in new light
reading Emily Dickinson –
voices vibrate, doors
slam, open and re-slam.
The house cracks and a clock
ticks second by second.
Ice, hard as stone
- standing – in the North –
bring it South, to home,
the hearth, the heart, the home
and I feel a moment
(relax)
before slow steps
onto stairs;
an engagement
for needs,
hugs
Ice, hard as stone
- standing – in the North –
bring it South, to home,
the hearth, the heart, the home.
Posted by John Lavan at 06:42 1 comments