Saturday, May 14, 2005

Cold Poem

Some mornings
When the cold creeps into the warm corners
That you’ve been saving
And you’ve nothing to say
And even less to write
And the wind is from the North East
And the clouds have spent their grey snow
You stand against the radiator on the landing,
The halfway point,
Scribbling these words
Gazing through the window
At the ripped and naked hoarding
On the freezing street
At a loose, brown bird
Chipping at a cracked paving stone
At the hole left by rhyme and reason

Poetry, you write, is easy to define
By its absence.
But you are thinking about the bed you recently left
Her hot afterglow
And soon the bathroom floor
Cold marble beneath colder feet


Roger Stevens said...

Sorry I haven't been around this last week. Just very busy. Hopefully I'll be checking out friends' and acquaintances' blogs soon. Hope you're all well.

Perhaps you could put any comments for the last post on this one.
maybe you could put comments for the next one on here too.

Now I'm off to bed. It's very late.

transience said...

i like how these two poems show the different faces of reality. one serious, one quirky. missed your verses, roger. hope you are well.

Anonymous Poet said...

"Chipping at a cracked paving stone At the hole left by rhyme and reason." I love that line. It describes some of the random aspects of life so well. Shifting gears, the next line hits one over the head like a hammer. "Poetry, you write, is easy to define by its absence." The shift here is dramatic. Concrete, narrative descriptions of discreet aspects of the physical world. Then, wham! A high abstraction that can be applied to any number of different concretes. Quite a change. Then, the poem circles back to concretes again. This time, a woman, but barely even descibed. Yet, what an allusion. "Her hot afterglow." Oh, how an imagination could run wild with that open-ended phrase. I think that line is a rorschach test, really. It could refer to simple closeness, or, perhaps, something else -- depending on what your psyche brings to the table. Then, more cold concretes. Back to reality.


I find your line about poetry bing "easy to define by its absence" to be an especially interesting observation. I just put up a post that tries to capture the concept and experience of poetry. If you have any thoughts on it, I would welcome them.

Cocaine Jesus said...

such lines. each loaded with simply delectable phrases. the sort of thing that we all grub around looking for . . .
'the cold creeps into the warm corners' . . .

'Chipping at a cracked paving stone' . . .

and i loved the mobile phone mania one. i have a mobile phone but at least i know when to turn it off but for some people it seens as important as their limbs.

excellent stuff roger.

NicoleBraganza said...

Cold Bites.

Anonymous Poet said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Roger Stevens said...

Sorry - I've had to take out the anonymous comments facility due to an abusive comment. But thanks anon for your kind defence.


BTW Nicole, nice picture.

Anonymous Poet said...

Sure. No problem.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Bravo! The last two poems are wonderful! This on is just beautiful, Roger!

Thanks for taking the time to put down a few lines. We're waiting in your welfare line for another dole of poetry.

Cate said...

Is it still cold there or is this a poem from your archives? Doesn't matter really. It formed a story for me as I read it, kind of a mini-silent movie playing out in shades of grey with your words as narrative pasted at the bottom of the screen.

I loved Russell's comment about waiting in the welfare line for another dole of poetry. We get pretty needy after a few days don't we?

michael said...

Almost time to get the dinner on. Will it suit me? I hate mobile phones and the idiots like this one who have nothing much to say and very loud voices with which to say it, espcially on trains and buses - anywhere really. Hanging's too good for 'em.

gulnaz said...

so glad you came by site, gave me a chance to visit yours...good stuff here. :)

Poetry, you write, is easy to define
By its absence....great!

finnegan said...

I agree with what Transcience and Gulnaz have said here.

Amie said...

nice! i really love how you thread verses.

Lorena said...

you describe a quiet morning so nicely :)

Sue hardy-Dawson said...

Simple yet saying so much more, I love the clouds spending their grey snow. I always seem to atract the werdo who's been drinking too much on the train. It's like I have an invisable lable marked come and slur your lfe story here. I've even got off at the wrong stop to avoid such entertainement.

Roger Stevens said...

Trans - Hi. Well. Yes. I am. Just busy. But in a happy way.
Anon - Thanks for the break down. Interesting seeing my poems as seen by others.
CJ - Thanks. I must get your poetry link up here.
Russell - sorry haven't been your way in ages. The weather must be warming up by now. I'll try and come up with another course soon.
Cate - No, not from the archives. But from my notebook. I usually write there and then revisit it after a few weeks or months - choose a few lines or somesuch and try and fashion it into something. It was cold when I wrote it. I'd just got out of bed and was hugging the radiator, which was warm, thinking about life and that I was on my way to the cold bathroom. A lot of the poem's fictional. A lot of my poetry is.
Michael - you must stop wearing your dinner.
Hi, Gulnaz, Finnegan and Lorena - I will drop by again soon.
Amie - yes, poetry is a bit like sewing something together. An elaborate scarf maybe. Or possibly something more intimate.
Sue - I'd get that label invisibly mended if I were you.

Roger Stevens said...

I was hoping to visit everyone's blogs tonight. But I got caught up the Wonky Finger cover. Once you start messing about with Photoshop time goes out the window.
The album's mixed. News of its release coming soon.
Meanwhile I'm off to a school in Wolverhampton for a couple of days.
Should be fun.
Keep smiling.

Mystique said...

Wow is the word!

Be back soon and take care.

floots said...

I loved the whole poem and certainly recognise the feeling but, strangely, it was just that one word "loose", describing the bird, which seemed so right for me. That wonderful mixture of aimlessness and purpose which birds have - summed up in one simple word.

Syl said...

scoot over, Mister...
that radiator looks mighty
its warmth forcing the blood
to remember limbs
without feeling.

Liam Wilkinson said...

Great poems. Love them both, especially the first. Nice to come back and be treated to some fine work...

and I know what you mean about Photoshop. Where does the time go? Can it really be dark? Where has everyone gone?...

Cocaine Jesus said...

I'll be glad when The Wonky Finger see's light of day. Any forthcoming gigs?

michael said...

Badfinger, Winged Eel Fingerling, Finger Baker, and now Wonky Finger! A fine musical heritage. I look forward to it too! Do you remeber that Chas & Dave hit "One Finger an' Nuvver"? Will you be doing a version of that?
How was Wolverhampton. thats not far from us , you could have popped round for a cuppa tay!