I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Thursday, 7 April 2011

"A Note to Hope", "Clipboards and Buckets" and a Special Pre-Easter Treat (a.k.a. ME Reading YOU Poems via the Super-Duper Magic of Video Links!!!)

Hullo all,

Pardon the prolonged absense; uni work is starting to fall on my shoulders thick and fast now. However I do have a special treat for all those of you who bother to keep checking up on little ol' me - A VIDEO OF ME READING TWO POEMS TO YOU!!! YES, JUST YOU, ONLY YOU AND NOBODY ELSE!!! :D.
The video link (all being well) should appear below and the poems should be displayed somewhere after it.
If the layout all goes to pot then I shall have to try breaking the reading and the poems in two.
Also, one more message before I wriggle off to do anything but write essays: I may not reply for a while after this post. The circumstances of work are becoming more and more complicated and my conscience will doubtless make me buckle and start doing something productive in the near future, and that will probably take away an awful lot of my happy writing fun-time. Sad, I know, but ultimately necessary (well, I suppose...).
Anyway, now I shall leave you in the capable, if somewhat shaky hands of the fumbling blue-shirted nerd below. If he doesn't make any sense and you don't like him, then I'll happily take him away. No-one's really supposed to pay attention to the man behind the curtain, after all...:P.

Thanks for reading,

Mr. Pondersome


video


A NOTE TO HOPE

You leave me
the man stalking north           
in his own shadow,
weeping every
hollow step
and stop.

You leave me
the empty apple
of a shrinking eye,
run through by rot
with the juice                                     
gotten out.

You leave me
a body bag yet           
for the close of white
across a self –
shamed face                          
and smile.

You leave me nothing
of myself.                               
You leave me everything for myself.

You leave me nothing
for myself.
You leave me everything of myself

and BLISS.


CLIPBOARDS AND BUCKETS

Money
has minions
that jingle
with
patter.

They bear
gentle whites
and feet for
door
wedges.

Within
their buckets
clunk saint and
sinner.

Without
their clipboards,
form fumbles
out.

A man stands the middle of a path -
approach with change,
stand well back.