Steve Sanfield Inspired Scratchings

In Mexico I found a copy of Steve Sanfield’s A New Way and I really like his poetry. I know he does haiku and it reflects in the writings of this collection. Reflections on his life, that have brevity, clarity and insight. These were just some unedited poems of my own inspired by his from a day last month.

__________

Another window outside and another seat.

Sitting again and watching

always ready to start.

No gun to tell me so.

___________

The whisky had me beaten Tuesday.

Thursday all I’m waiting for’s the weekend.

___________

Tomatoes – 40 yen cheaper.

A hyaku head of cabbage.

Three cucumbers half price and

the cheapest carton of milk.

Savings done I grab a bottle of Maker’s

and leave.

____________

It’s breaking down around me

or I’m destroying it.

I’m talking about the house

but you know I mean everything.

Everything is breaking down

now and eventually.

____________

With no distractions

Facebook or BBC updates

I find myself writing. For now

the fantasy’s still beating reality.

_____________

An old Korean man told me not to worry.

Women are like buses-

another one will eventually come.

I wasn’t worried about that.

I was worried that women

were like bus crashes.

______________

I look at all the Japanese and

how strange they dress.

On the platform

they are all looking at me.

_______________

AJG

Isles Poetry – On Credit

The sun swoons over the bay

drunk on its own heat.

Expanding over visitors

who pay the price for idleness

with throbbing tans.

The flame of their imaginations

fanned by thoughts of the future.

Of lives appreciated

from short sold holidays.

Only thoughtless wishes

bought on credit.

*

Back at home we ride office tables

like hurricane flotsam

the only thing keeping us afloat.

In the distance of computer screens

we see oases shimmering

merely reflections from windows.

The lustre of dreams fades

to reality and realisation

that escape is indefinite.

Only thoughtless wishes

bought on credit.

*

AJG

An Ending + Lazy Posts

This is a lazy post. Or perhaps its a rational one. I think its both. The below poem was a fragment to a poem. The start of a poem that was meant to end, but was left. I like it however. As although it is small and was the start to a poem, it is also an ending. It is both. Going back and trying to change it would alter what I felt before. It would add the me of now to the me of then, and, although we are the same people, we are in different times and places. So in that way, it is rational to leave it as it is. And it is also lazy to leave it as it is.

 

An Ending

A peach sunset falls slowly over the bay.

The beach cools, the tourists shake their towels and stroll,

the shadows on the green hills darken.

I sway in my seat, sip my beer, and mull.

Bursting For Flight – Isles Poetry

Just a little poem I wrote while watching young hummingbirds jumping around these flowers.

Bursting For Flight

Fluttering with their nature

young hummingbirds hop.

Thin branches flex as they bound

with graceless flapping.

Energetic bursts of their youth

crashing through the spindly leaves.

Hovering at yellow-belled flowers

tasting sweetness for mere moments

before capitulating

to swing on long fine stems.

‘Twit twit twit’ they taunt each other,

vent their frustration and laugh.

Vibrating where they stand

feeling their potential for flight

all their energy pulses out

as they strain to earn their name;

humming humming humming.

AJG

Isles Poetry – “Out of Place” – Routines, Breaks, Resistance Training!

This is another poem in my collection, “Isles”.

Now about habits, routines, taking breaks from these routines, and fighting through resistance. What are your routines? Sometimes they are hard fought. Waking up early and getting to work on something. Sometimes they are such a habit, that they happen naturally. Often times we have had these routines but they have been broken.

This has happened often to me, and it is sometimes hard to get back into it.  Though a routine for me is the best for quantity…sometimes not for quality. My routine is usually to write in the morning after exercise and breakfast and during tea time…but after days of this routine under threat, what can I do? I become frustrated and it becomes harder to start again with a different routine. For me I try (try) to look at the change as a good thing. A holiday to improve the quality of my writing and focus on another aspect of writing, such as editing my writing, writing down ideas, putting physical copies to digital, and reading more. Also thinking positively that, although I am not writing, I am supporting that writing.

Those are a few points from me, though if you are really struggling two books, “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield and “The Power of Habit” by Charles Duhigg are great books to help kick start you and give you lasting change.

Finally, I would love to hear how you mix up your routines…how do you break through resistance…how do you make the best of a bad situation?

Cheers and enjoy the poem!!

AJG

Out Of Place

The seasons have different names here:

Low and High, Wet and Dry.

Clean and Dirty. Easterly, Westerly.

The wind berates the island

pushing debris in from the sea.

‘How could you do this?’ Tourists scold.

How can the locals explain

that it’s not their trash

but others out of place?

The “big clean up” must happen anyway

as the High and Easterly approach.

They scour the shore

clearing refuse of every shape and sort.

Stacking it and burning it all

so that a pernicious cloud

stalks the brush and thicket.

This is where I exercise

another thing out of place

amongst the palms.

Picking a stretch of beach

to sprint, push and squat.

On every length I spot

some bottle brown glass and

fill a cup with the shards.

I face the sun reflected waves

breathing the heat,

feeling the sand beneath me

once tiny parts of something else

wondering about all the pieces of everything

from every corner of the world

that have washed up here

forever and before

out of place.

Shine – Isles Poetry Project

Shine

*

An outboard idles on the shore, clattering dully.

The noise lounges on the bay and strolls far around.

Above it a Filipino band plays a song of the West

his whining accent a good match for country twang.

The al fresco diners add their own accompaniment

with conversation and cutlery.

The moon sits low amongst discarded clouds.

The wind hangs out in the trees

muttering the faintest whispers with the drawing tide.

With a grunt the boat kicks to life

disappearing around the cape with a drawn out burr.

The band finishes its request and takes a break.

The guests lay down their forks.

The wind takes its breath and holds

while the tide hushes with a final gush.

Amidst the quiet a lone moth takes the scene

floating through the rays of solitary moon light.

The quiescence exalts its flight

making awkward strokes mighty.

Reminding all in attendance

that there is a moment

for everything to shine.

*

AJG

Isles Poetry Project – Underwater

Underwater

 

Alone in the canteen fluorescence riding the bow of a white row of tables.

A pack of smokes sits like flotsam on them, Captain-less.

The chef emerges from the kitchen. He makes a bee-line for his booty and

once restored takes his plunder back to work.

I float again alone on the plastic blue chair. The fridge hums like a gentle tide

along with the thousand rustlings of distant palm leaves.

Not even the clock ticks but glides its hand around silently smooth

only the streak of an albatross high up in the firmament.

If I stare hard enough I could stop its flight. I breathe.

The breath leaves me and I dip into the underwater of the moment.

Creating silence and stillness. Starving for air but letting

the signals for oxygen drown along with everything else.

Feeling for my beating heart. Searching for my treasure.

At times like these I cannot feel my heart at all.

*

AJG

Here and Now

A trek amidst the trees.

Down the jungle path with greens

and browns and only me;

our colours colouring the spectrum.

All adding our diversity of clashing chemicals.

Bio-handshakes greet and negotiate everywhere.

Centipedes curl in fighting on the ground.

Lizards awaking from their pathway slumbers

scatter into the brush. Butterflies

chase each other through the vines

with one thing on their minds.

A constant whir hidden close in the trees

singing the song of the tropical heat.

Light shimmers through the canopy

while I wipe down my sweat and

breathe the humidity. The trees quiet

with a gentle rustle and I pause.

Even the sun hushes with the wind

leaving everything still and waiting.

A moment where thoughts overtake actions.

Where sounds and movements find

synchronous peace and reflection.

We look around in consideration.

No thoughts, just recognition.

We are here. We are now. We are.

AJG

Saturday Poetry Prompt Fragments

I had my little challenge I gave myself to write a few poems about the day and the happenings that was Saturday. I did pretty well writing about 6 poems in their rough and rugged state. I won’t put them all up now as it will take up a lot of space and they are sketches of final products, so I’ll put up some parts of three and hopefully together they will make a picture of my day, thoughts and activities.

Later on I will post up the complete poems individually and they’ll be added to my poetry project called ‘Isles’, which is a compilation of poems reflecting my experiences, thoughts, actions in Thailand.

Enjoy the fragments if only a fragment.

Peace and regards,

AJG

 

1.

It’s a massive cliché to say

that a day brings new possibilities.

Though I’ll say it because it’s obvious;

Appropriate to any day and especially

this one. Justified beyond creativity.

Specifically defined for this moment.

The hours of waking and the eager

excitement of a new awakening.

Seize the day is another cliché

but I’ll grab it as intended

and just like the phrase says.

2.

Centipedes curl in fighting on the ground.

Lizards awaking from their pathway slumbers

scatter into the brush. Butterflies

chase each other through the vines

with one thing on their minds.

A constant whir hidden close in the trees

singing the song of the tropical heat.

3.

A peach sunset falls slowly over the bay.

The beach cools, the tourists shake their towels and stroll,

the shadows on the green hills darken.

I sway in my seat, sip my Singha, and mull.

Heart Shaped Map

 I’ve trapped myself on another island

and no heart shaped map

lends me directions from its shores.

They all speak in tongues and tones and

I’m here to bend them to my own.

There are bays and beaches,

towns and tourists and two-faces at every turn.

Everything nearly non-decipherable.

A journey amidst

the untranslated. A paid holiday

to bemusement and the benighted.

Sunsets, scuba, set meals of the absurd.

An alien planet called paradise

at a premium price.

I find myself the most exotic one here.

If I don’t know how to feel

I cannot guess at what they must.

A novelty for a few months

for scheduled interactions and

pleasantries.

Relationships constructed of

fixed questions and replies.

So just for conversation

I write this heart shaped map into a bottle

toss it to the waves

watch it roll right back

and see who wants to talk.

AJG