Treat My Words, a limerick

In this book, with all I scribble,
My tea leaves a constant dribble,
And some say to me,
‘That’s no way to treat poetry!’
‘You should see my prose’, I giggle.

Falling in Love (With Tea, Musical Accompaniment by Tom Waits)

A short while ago, I posted a ramble about drinking my first full cup of tea, and what I thought of It.

   I didn’t think much of it.

   In fact I really didn’t like it at all, but I still downed it.

   But here I am, a few weeks later, and I’m now an official tea-lover. So how did this all change?

   Well, to start with, that first cup of tea I tried was full of some fancy African/Kenyan leafs. The stuff I drink now is bog-standard Yorkshire Black Tea, which agrees with me much more. I bought the stuff on a whim whilst shopping, along with some Tesco Gold Coffee (but that’s a different, and sickeningly bitter, story all together…)

   Armed with one third boiling water, two third semi-skinned milk, and a teaspoon of white sugar, I now have a beverage that perfectly accompanies my blogging.


All I’m missing is a teapot.

   My mum, a copious tea/coffee downer, says she didn’t get into tea till she was 27! So by comparison, it does me proud to say its taken me 20 years and six months to drink tea proper (and hate it), and only 20 years and seven months to fall completely in love with the stuff.

   Oh, and I’m writing this whilst listening to my new Tom Waits album.

Like Woolly Lightning, a poem

I’ve already written a piece called Woolly Lightning, but whilst I was trying to think of a title for this new piece, W.L just seemed to fit it, more so than the other W.L, which I’ll probably have to change now…

Clutching at my window for dear life,
Each splattered patch of rain dribbles to death,
Before the cycle repeats itself all over again,
And all over my window.

Behind every morphing drop,
The bitter wind blends the trees together,
Their attempts to swing free wrecked.

Stout, spiteful clouds brood mutely,
Lightning twitching richly within.

All illuminated by my bedside light’s mellow glow,
Itself turned hazy by my steamy tea.

The tea-steamed window,
And each plump plop,
Make the lightning go all woolly,
Such a snugly sight.

A bolt makes a leap for the trees,
Sending a swirling branch toward the
Scurrying sprinkles.

Splintering smashes abound,
Shards of glass decorate my room,
While the log of a branch
Snuggles into my bed.

Lighting strikes its spasms through
My shattered window, a shocking sight!
The rain catches my face and won’t let go.

The bedside light pales by comparison,
And so do I.

Fast blasts dance and dart away,
Each crackling dazzle finer than the last.

But the clouds fade to blue
And the lightning jogs on,
Leaving my still-rain-stricken expression
Lovingly bundled around my branch,
Clutching for dear life.

My (hand-written, self-drawn, and Waterstones-bought) poetry book

DSC00311111    I guess this stems from my love of classic vinyl asopposed to modern, digital mp3, but I love the ability to hold and feel something in your hands, and see it with your eyes, rather than simply accept it via a computer screen, and nothing more.

    To that end, I’ve begun to scribble my poetry down in this handsome little journal I bought from Waterstones, and give each piece a not-quite-so-handsome drawing.

    Seriously though, the drawings are bloody awful.

DSC00315    But if you look at them from a distance, they do look reasonably pleasent.

    And at least the drawings have some colour to them.

DSC00316    I tend to treat my drawing like my poetry. I’m no good at either, but I like doing them! And once I’d actually written the poems into the journal, there was plenty of space to mess with, so I figured I might as well give myself something nice to look at.

DSC00318    I got the idea from Spike Milligan’s collection of verse, Small Dreams of  Scorpion, which includes drawings by himself and his daughter, Laura Milligan. But I’m certainly not saying that my scrappy (or rather crappy) collection of verse can be compared to Milligan’s Scorpion collection. If anything, Milligan manages to say so much more in a few lines that I can ever say across several pages. Take these words for example; ‘God made night, but man made darkness.’

    And then there’s me, writing poems about puddles.

DSC00319    I hope to fill this book with more scrappy crap about puddles, and leafs, trees, floating pillows and much more incoherant rabble. But as long as I manage to fill this book with poems, and doodles, that I can happily snuggle up with in bed, I think I’ll do okay.DSC00314



On Suddenly Becoming a Poet

With every poem I’ve written this month on here, I’ve also been writing them down into a little Penguin notebook, just for a bit of bedtime reading. Just now, I was about to scribble in my latest addition, The Leaf’s Embrace, when its suddenly struck me.

     I like poetry.

     And I’ve only just realized this.

     Now I’ve always enjoyed writing, but I’ve always limited myself to stories and scripts. I never used to read or write poetry as a rule, and only had a go at poetry just before I cam to Uni, and that quickly went down the drain, (the poetry writing, not Uni!) But last year, one of my modules was dedicated to Writing poetry. Indeed, its name was Writing Poetry. And it wasn’t exactly my favorite class.

     We were all awful. None of us really knew what we were doing, especially me. And our teacher was a right royal cliche. I kid you not, he’s an unmarried drunkard whom we found in his office one day, slouched over the desk with a bottle of whiskey next to him.

     We wouldn’t have tried to poke him back to life had he not had a lecture to teach. Ours.

     But anywho, I managed to scrape through the module with a 2:2 (basically a C/B). And many weeks after the year had finished, I was rambling about online looking for writing competitions. I came across one for poetry, United Press’s National Poetry Anthology, and it was 100% free, so ‘why not’ I thought?

     So I sent some stuff off, all of which were pieces from the module. I instantly forgot about the whole thing until I got an email from the company (United Press) several more months later saying that although I hadn’t won, I’d been short-listed.

     I was, to be blunt, mind-raped.

     I still hadn’t got over this when the next day, I got a letter from the same people saying that one of my poems Pillow Drifter, had been selected for another anthology they have in the works called Between the Lines.

   I was, to be blunt, mind-raped, again.

     And that made me content for the rest of the summer hols (which for UK Uni students adds up to about 3/4 months!) and I never wrote a single poem again. Although all throughout summer, I had an idea for another poem to follow up Pillow Drifter in the back of my mind.

    But I left it there for quite a while. Until earlier this month when, for some reason, I was compelled enough to actually sit down and try to bash this thing out. Tree Top Hat became its name, and ever since my pen’s been scribbling away in my big black notebook. I’ve managed to bash out five other poems since then, which for many of the seasoned wordsmiths on WordPress is nothing, but for me, its nearly everything.

    I still don’t read much poetry. I’ve several books on the subject that I inherited from my Dad when he died a few months ago, and have given them a flick through every now and then. I really must sit down and study them I guess.

    But I’m still not altogether sure where this new-found love for writing poetry comes from. I mean, I’m pretty sure that what I write barely constitutes as poetry. I ignore the rules regarding forms and stanzas completely (which I didn’t do with Pillow Drifter) and simply structure my pieces how I think they should be read.

    If anything, half of the reason would have to go to soon seeing my work actually in print, while the other half I think I’ll put down to my actual blog, where I post it all. Creating this blog had given me some new-found love for writing, rambling, story-telling and amusing myself and those who stop by this place.

    And writing poetry has given me so much satisfaction as well. Even more so when I wake up the following day after posting my latest piece and find that several of you lovely folk here actually like my pieces as well!

    I think I’ll definitely carry on with this whole poetry lark. It’ll be interesting to see what I may or may not come up with by the end of the month.

    Anyway, can’t stop, my housemate wants to go out to Domino’s for a pizza night. Perhaps I’ll poet about it later on…