Poetry Collection by Adrian Spendlow 08 2017

 

If by chance

If by chance a fairy came this way the air she danced upon a glistening pastel pattern of an atmosphere inter-linked with lilac, puce and purple edges of the burgundy issuing images of thought inside you of an informative description messaging to reach for this in all the impossible the actual the so now real She gives you She gives you gifts made possible from within the everything If by chance a fairy being fluttered by us yes she did and this is ever-time where one foot steps and feels the dew rise to lift one slightly Never ever again walk at surface earth or quite the same for you are otherkin and everything is happening Reach within and step beyond to

 

by Adrian Spendlow

 

 

Bum’s Rush

I am moving back up, onto the edge of the toes

By the minute; go the moment

Hang it and dump it this not able to cope

Sickness, bereavement, anxiety, recovery

Slowly, ponderously, dealing if possible

Begger that darlings. It is a whole just as shite

When you are ready for it. Up at it every day

Mind set and healthy fit

Though don’t expect to get the better of it

Get on them timbers and shout out for attention

Not expecting though

To be immune to an afternoon snooze

Or a complete flip out

Take all your happy snaps

Begger that too honey. I am ready

And I am right on the edge of the toes

It’s called living

And bum cheeks are clenched

 

by Adrian Spendlow

 

 

The Noise in the Corner There

 

Most people are just not that pretty

Or interesting in appealing ways

Miracles are manipulated to achieve

Off the peg fits for their additives

Thank the gods of unloveliness

There are evening socials

Groups to join, sufferings to have

Places we hate to work – Thank God

Not being interesting is quite bad enough

Hey, we don’t know how to engage with you

Or to take turns either

Those botched eyes haven’t quite related

To your semi absenteeism

Inept appearance is hardly our worse aspect

Let’s form a club, or work hard to have staff night outs

Goggle at each other; at our google eye unbeauty

Let’s have a get together

 

                                       by Adrian Spendlow

 

Just Any Two People

God it was exciting to be alive

Back when another human was encouraging

Things there were to say of each other

Habits turned to possible activities

I was interesting by god

So were both of us

Shadowy gangs of hangers on

They realise

They used to be people we knew

They were excited too

No, actually, they were exciting too

It was us, and we were new

 

                                   by Adrian Spendlow

 

 

I Spotted A Victim

I admire the survivability of survivors

A whole rainforest of tears shine this morning

Just thinking of playgrounds and wooded areas

Just thinking of the homes which disparage the word

I admire the survivor

The ability to look in a mirror on waking

And ‘make-up’ to be like other people

Other people other than perpetrators

Surely there are other people

That’s why we do our hair of a morning

To be like those other people we have heard of

I admire the survivor for keeping writing as tears

Blur the ink of this growing poem

I admire the survivor

For I am sure they can see me

Reaching out as we know you know

Monsters make us doubt ourselves

Yet a chance moment allows

An unstable old person, a poet,

And an eight year old

To look around sat on hay bails

And acknowledge

I don’t know you, either of you

But I do know

I know you admire me for I survive

I do admire survivors

I admire the survivability of survivors me

 

                                              by Adrian Spendlow

 

 

I Dreamed of a Village

We built a tepee village here

And the bunny boiler

Killed my kid

“Goat stew” he said

A whole herd has lost

My favourite little friend Fifi

He belittled me in other ways

These days I look back at

The rolling meadow utopia

We physically built there

 

                             by Adrian Spendlow

 

It Never Happened

It is my honour bound duty

She whispered kindly to her

To keep a child with her mother

I am a family nurturer

In many situations I would do this

In your case

It would be a wickedness

Over my dead body would they

Put you back with that monstress

Bless you child

That you have no memory

Wild as you are

You are a miracle you see

 

                       by Adrian Spendlow

 

And a couple of old ones from way back…

 

Something Inside Me

I set the default

It doesn’t work

There is always a reset

 

But I go

 

I try

 

Old as I am

There is no wisdom

 

There is only

A new direction

 

I wait here

And wonder

 

What it is…

 

AS

 

Poetry Is

 

Poetry is a flickering grit of rock

Cast within the wide forever black

Poetry is a rare viewed

talismanic artefact

Poetry is the disallowed

Clutching at the edges of the past

Poetry is no longer held

As other than the esoteric

Bring it back

Poetry is – no longer

Gone the way of the storyteller

Gone the way of the Shaman’s chant

The way of the dance

Where is all your ritual

The spiritual – The festival

Gone the way of the

Soon to follow songwriter

When such as Dylan die

Who will sing

Just for the sake of truly saying

Poetry – Poetry is gone

No longer inspiring the simple soul

To go live the life of the Troubadour

Poetry is no more

And yet

It leaves us all bereft

Help us poetry

Why don’t you call

Reach us like a joy to share

Gather people – Listening hearts

Or have we hardened

Pushed aside for solid ground

The will to even care

Poetry is dead

And at it’s wake

The quaffer’s smack their lips on

Garish fayre

Did they forget

Or is it there

Seeded in the genes

the memory of gathering

Simple childhood harmony

Poetry is

A stoppered flask

Lingering as an inkling barely heard

Lost, stamping,

just beyond the daily word

 

Poetry is

The victim of the

“That’s not”’s

Judgement takes her

Poetry is

The scoffing stock of

“No time”’s

Avarice despise her

Poetry is the metal of the spirit

Turned away for what seems sharper

Poetry is

The laugh of Gods

Gouged out by heartlessness

A vision that the modern self

Just will not see

Set it free

Set it free

Say ‘Poetry’ have a home in me

Poetry – Poetry – Poetry

 

AS