Poem: A SNOWFLAKE IN MY HAND

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Wow! It’s cold this week in beautiful Sydney. I haven’t checked, but I think the average temperature has been brrr degrees with a high of you’re kidding and dropping to a low of holy crap! overnight. Those who live elsewhere might be surprised to know that it does occasionally snow in the Sydney basin – not in the metropolitan areas, because the concrete + electricity + car combination makes it too warm no matter what the air temperature – but up in the Blue Mountains to the west of the urban area, it’s apt to come down white a couple of times a year. All of which puts in mind of a poem, funnily enough.

A Snowflake In My Hand

Swirling, floating, drifting,
Falling to ground,
The crystal catches the
Moonlight and shines.

Like a single knot
In a vast white tapestry,
It seeks its place
And settles in comfortably.

It’s nothing, really –
A fleeting, pretty joy;
One of Nature’s quirky delights,
Vanishing as it rests in your hand.

But it’s beautiful and serene
And it’s gentle.
It makes my lady smile
And that makes it more precious than gold.

© Darryn Roberts 2002

PS – Juice Fast update: I’ve lost 3kgs so far, I’m still not hungry, and I just had a banana & coconut smoothie. This may be one of these weeks when it sucks to be not-me.

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Poem: SORRY

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Guilt is a pretty primal emotion. In fact, if I was to invent a ‘Scale of Feelings’, it would be up there with the rest of the ‘Passions’: grief, anger, lust, joy & mirth. It’s a passion because it comes on strong in its early stages, and later settles down to something a little more even-tempered (in this case, remorse or regret). But while you’re in the grips of the passions, its easy to say things or do things that may be you wouldn’t do if you were being objective, things you would advise your friends against doing if they were in your shoes. The first step to dealing with guilt is to confront it. Face up to your acts. Face up to any aggrieved parties. Be prepared to take the consequences. Learn a lesson, whatever it may be, and then get on with your life.

Sorry

I’m sorry that I’m weak
I’m sorry for your pain
I’m sorry that I was the one
Who hurt you yet again
I’m sorry for the tears
That I know I’ve made you shed
I’m sorry that I couldn’t make you
Smile today instead.
I’m sorry things aren’t different
There’s so much I’m sorry for
So many things I should’ve done
Or said, now and before.
I’m sorry that I’m human
If I wasn’t so damn frail
I’d have nothing to be sorry for
Because I’d have never failed.
I’m sorry that I let you down
When most you needed me
I’m sorry that I wasn’t round
For all eternity
And though it probably doesn’t help
Or somehow make things right
Know I’ll be sorry all my days
And sorry all my nights.

© Darryn Roberts 2000

Poem: LIGHTNING HAIKU

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Following on from yesterday’s haiku, here’s another one. It’s probably even less technically correct than the other one, but dammitall, poetry isn’t, or shouldn’t be, scientifically constructed. If DEAD POETS SOCIETY taught us anything, it taught us that.
And that playing Puck can kill you.

Lightning Haiku

Divine fire, silvery white
Tree smiter, life bringer,
Turns night to day

© Darryn Roberts 2007

Poem: SUNRISE HAIKU

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Haiku is a traditional Japanese form of poetry. Ideally, it can be identified by 3 distinct elements – its length, its subject matter & a dichotomy between the first and last parts of the poem defined by the position of a ‘cutting’ word
In length, a haiku should be 17 ‘on‘. In English, this is sometimes interpreted as ‘syllables’ but is more correctly described as ‘beats’. For example, the word ‘TOKYO’ is three syllables long (TO – KY – O) but when pronounced in Japanese it is four on (TO-o – KY – O) in length. The subject matter of a haiku was originally drawn from a specified list of words, mostly (but not exclusively) ‘nature’ subjects. The cutting word, called the kireji, can appear at the end of either the first set or second set of on (originally haiku were not written in three lines; that is a Western convention designed to emphasise the kireji) and serves to define the tone of the poem. If the first part of the poem is the shorter of two distinct ideas, the kireji is intended to direct the reader to question something; if the first part is longer, then the kireji serves to point the reader to a conclusion drawn instead.

Now, that’s all very compressed and there’s far more to the technicalities of haiku than I know. In fact, I’m sure that even that brief definition is probably imprecise and incorrect in some way or other. That’s because Japanese language is an extension of Japanese thought, and poetry is an extension of a culture’s language. I come from a long line of people who write words made of letters that represent individual sounds, left to right across the page in lines that start at the top and work to the bottom, broken by punctuation symbols like comma, colon & apostrophe among others. I don’t come from a long line of people whose literature exists in pictograms, where one symbol represents a whole word. The nearest we in the West come to that is the ampersand (&) and the ten numerals. I only point all this out because a purist will no doubt find my haiku very lacking in the basic elements, and I excuse myself by the fact that I am doing the best I can with my cultural limitations.

Sunrise Haiku

Rise with me and watch
Clouds of pale pink and silver
Help us greet the day

© Darryn Roberts 2003

Poem: LOVEY AND DOVEY

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I’ve just got home from a dinner date with my lovely wife Tara. We do have some fun together, she and I, and we make a good couple I think. She’s motivated and I’m lazy. She’s a clean freak, and I’m a tidiness Nazi. She’s slender and I’m … not. She’s beautiful, and I appreciate beauty. What more do you want in life?

Lovey and Dovey

Lovey and Dovey went for a walk
Said Lovey to Dovey, “Lets have a talk!”
Said Dovey to Lovey “What a splendid idea!”
And so Lovey whispered into Dovey’s ear:

“My sweet Dovey darling, you are so fine –
I’m eternally thankful you chose to be mine.
I’ll never be anything other than true;
Because, Dovey darling, I truly love you!”

Dovey said “Lovey, this romance is fun,
But what of the days when the romance is done?
When I’m old and I’m saggy, where will you be?
Will you still then be in love with me?”

“Oh Dovey”, said Lovey, a grin on his face,
“My love is secure, in a very safe place.
I water it daily and feed it good food
To ensure that my love is always renewed.”

Said Dovey, “You’re sweet and you do make me smile,
But what if this sweet talk is some sort of guile?
Perhaps after all, I still will get hurt
If you persuade me to lift up my skirt.”

“Oh Dovey!” said Lovey, who looked really shocked
“Your suspicion of me has got me all rocked!
Whilst it can’t be denied that I am full of lust,
Please rest assured that my love you can trust

Never a second passes each day
When I’m not thinking of you in some way.
It’s not just your body I’m hungering for –
It’s your heart and soul and your mind and lots more!

I adore you, my Dovey, and you can believe
That in no situation would I ever leave.
No matter if you come to my bed or not,
Still will I cherish the love that I’ve got.

In fact, I’ve decided, only just now
That I’ll live my life by this very vow –
Things carnal and fleshy I hereby abjure;
My love for you will strictly be pure!”

At this Dovey sighed, and looked all forlorn
“My Lovey, I must tell you now that I am torn.
No man ever has told me something that sweet –
But… a true balanced diet must include meat.

This vow you have offered, while noble and all,
Gives me no recourse to answer the call
Of my womanly fires when they burn so bright
On a hot summer day, or a cold winter’s night.

And frankly, my Lovey, you’re ever-so-dreamy –
I’d envisaged us doing so many things steamy.
I’m quite disappointed, if I’m to be honest –
For I’ve purchased some butterscotch to spread upon us!”

Well Lovey squared up, took his Dove in his arms
And said “Darling, I yield up my vows to your charms.
Only one thing I ask, and it’s not much to grant –
Respect me after you’ve been in my pants.”

And so to the shrubbery the young lovers fled,
Not patient enough to head home to bed.
The hedges and bushes shivered all shooky
As Lovey and Dovey went wild with the nooky.

And it just goes to show, as I always say
That where there’s a will, there’s usually a way
And where there’s a won’t, there should be a maybe –
So come home to me, and let’s do it, baby!!

© Darryn Roberts 2002

Poem: ONE FIRE

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So, I don’t have a lot of poetry from my old website left to bring over. I guess I’m going to have to write some new poetry or something pretty soon. That’s not as easy as it sounds, at least initially. One must prime the pump, so to speak, and then when the muse strikes, keep it going as long as possible. Here’s where you, loyal reader, can help. After all, a blog may only be as good as its writer, but it’s only as valid as its audience. Is there a subject you’d like me to attempt? A particular form of poetry you’d like to see? Perhaps you’d prefer to see more rambles, more reviews or something else entirely. I’m looking forward to your suggestions, so let rip.

One Fire

One inexhaustible fire
Burning in
Two hearts and bodies
Leading to
Three words
Which mean the world.
Four weeks we’ve shared
Which seems like
Five minutes to me
And its gonna be
Six days til I see
You again.
Seven oceans I would cross
To hear those words and see that smile.

© Darryn Roberts 2001

Poem: LETTER TO THE WORLD

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About ten years ago, I found myself in a very low place. Much later, I was diagnosed with depression & anxiety, and these days I have it mostly in check, through a combination of mild medication, lifestyle choices, and attitude. Back then, however, I was not only suffering the anguish caused by the black dogs, but also dealing with the confusion of not knowing what the problem was, or even that there was a definable problem. I just thought “I’m a bit mental” and went about being miserable and inflicting misery on other people as well. I have made some truly stupid directional choices in my life, and I don’t avoid responsibility for them, but I now know why some decisions I thought were good ones were actually anything but. A lot of my issues are rooted in low self-esteem and insecurity, and so I took a lot of steps to overcompensate and validate myself in the eyes of the world, a habit which I guess may have started in childhood.
Anyways, as I say, it all came crashing down on me about a decade ago and I went to see a counsellor. This was not a process I enjoyed, and I only went twice. I think one leg of the journey I hadn’t made then was the realisation that I need to reach out and open up, instead of bluffing my way through, and so I didn’t get as much out of the process as I might have, I dunno. Water under the bridge now, in any event, but one of the things I did take away from counselling was the need to be more honest WITH myself, even if I couldn’t (at that stage) be totally honest ABOUT myself to the rest of the world.
Long story short, here’s a poem I wrote as a cathartic exercise during that period.

Letter To The World

I want to blow your mind,
And make you gasp in awe at me.
I want you to find
That I’m what you want to see.
I want to be adored,
Admired and respected.
I want not to be ignored
And not to be rejected.
I want to know that you feel great
‘Coz I was in your day.
I want to have you as my mate
Because you like my way.
I want you to sigh and swoon,
To go weak at the knees,
Whenever I am in the room,
And keep your eyes on me.
I want to be the Pivot,
The Centre and the King –
Attention? You can give it
And love every little thing.
I want to be the first
One that you notice in all cases.
I want to make you want to burst
And leave wonder on your faces.
I want you to pine for me
When I’m doing something else.
I want you to want my company
Just because I am myself.
I want to take your breath away.
I want you to think I’m wise.
I want to see your lust for me
Shining in your eyes.
I want to be the guy who says
What everybody thinks.
I want to be the very best
And for you to buy me drinks.
I want to be the brightest
So that you all need my glory.
I want there to be quietness
When I’m telling a story.
I want you to think I’m cool
And witty and so clever.
I want to make you stare and drool,
To win at each endeavour.
I want to know you’re feeling
Whenever I’m around,
That I’ve set your senses reeling.
I want to astound.
I know, down deep, I’m not the man
Who’ll make you feel this way.
I should just deal with what I am –
But I WANT IT! anyway.

© Darryn Roberts 2002

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