There may be people in your life
That will tell you that black is blue
Don’t believe them.
Black is not blue.
They may take an insistent, aggressive stance
But stand your ground,
There is not a chance
That black is actually blue.
Oh yes....
In different lights, and with different shades
The difference may only be slight
But, like black and white
Black is not blue.
And yet, they may be colour-blind... hey...
They may believe.
Through and through... turning the screw
They may think they can make you
Say black is blue
They can inflict pain on you
Beat you up
Black and blue
And you’d capitulate... and then you’d say
Black is blue. But that does not make it true.
Or they could threaten to hurt your child
Or your love to protect…
You would say whatever; read the cue…
Even that black is really blue.
But. They think it is.
And leading on…
There are fundamentals
Things that you know... truth
That the world is round. Not flat.
In the end you die. And that is that.
Good will triumph over evil.
It is wrong to persecute others
Right to believe in freedom and equal rights -
You should be safe, wherever you spend your nights...
And leading on... truth
You will not be a martyr, bound for eternal glory
In a jihad war
If you blow yourself up
And kill and maim innocent. You are wrong!
Black is not blue!
I don’t care what you say... hey!
Yours is a perverse, crazy and twisted ideology
Not a reflection of gentle Islamic theology
There is no ephemeral truth
No all-powerful religion
That is worth killing and dying for.
And what is more...
Just because you have the ignorance, the power
To hate and anger consumes your waking hour
Black will never, never, never, never become blue.
Love overcomes hate
And will overcome you.
I know you.
The distant shouts and wild houndly whine
Sending shivers down my spine.
And you: creepy crawling up the wall
Fearful many-legged thing.
You too.
I know you:
With your reptilian lidless staring eyes;
Threatening me with some abduct daring lies.
Knowing that you could my side prod and yet
Shuffled down beneath blanket hidden gaze
Could levitate me through window raised.
But you do not.
You are not there.
At 3am on a sleepless night..
Your age doesn’t reassure you.
Though it’s irrational too.
I know you.
You have always been there.
As we get older you morph into another shape
Dressed in a flowing diaphanous ugly black drape.
And you.
The ghostly wisp of apparition smoke
Yet my closed eyes won’t see you.
There is no menacing creaking of the outside door.
It’s just the whispering breeze and nothing more.
I know you all.
I know you.
You are dark.
A steam train whooshing (toot-toot!) across the ocean (chuff chuff!)
Bobbing up and down on the waves… no rails
Would be a preposterous sight to see.
A man on a bicycle with an icicle hanging from his nose
Riding up high in the sky way above the clouds
Pedalling as fast as his cold little legs would allows
Would be a ludicrous sight to see.
Four boys rapidly, frantically rowing a wooden dinghy
Down the high street
Carrying a jam-jar full of dirty water and a tadpole or two
Would be a ridiculous sight to see.
24 dragonflies pulling on silver threads
A carved pumpkin shell on wheels
With the King of fairies on a little throne
Sitting inside.
Would most certainly be a supercilious sight to see.
Wing riding, strapped down tight
On a giant balsa wood plane flight
A friendly giant hand would be needed
To launch it arm-length unimpeded.
Would be a surreptitious thing to see. (I think)
Riding a glass lift
Through a giant wedding cake (made by Sophie)
Past layers of marzipan and icing
With a drop of brandy for enticing
A moist rich fruitcake is never passé
With lemon peel, currants, sultanas and cherries glace.
Would be a delicious thing for tea.
And here I am again.
Riding a cable car
Through my mind
Thoughts hanging on the strands of cable wire.
And going nowhere.
These meandering thoughts are such a doddle.
Why does my imagination conjure up such twaddle??
Clock tock tick.
Springs and things
Cogs and wheels
Making the
Tick tock clock.
Unless it’s battery
But then there’s still
A cog or two
That moves the hand
And makes the sound
Tock tick clock.
Watches are small on your wrist
Don’t you be late for school
Watch your watch: that’s the rule
Tock clock tick.
Digital is different
No sound there
For you to hear.
Clock tick tock
LED numbers on a screen
To tell you where time has been
Tick clock tock.
Clock tock tick. We used to have a clock
On the mantelpiece at home.
25 years service my Pop had done
Wooden shaped surround and chrome
Tick tock clock. (I loved the sound it made)
Silver wedding day:
Still at home,
Cousins and aunties, uncles too.
And my presents to Mum and Pop
Silver watches I gave.
Tock tick clock.
Proud me! But sighed. (I got them back when they died)
Bedside table; clock radio alarm;
Music woke me up....we even had a teas made.
Tock clock tick.
Fashion accessory for you… Rolex?
Timex is more for me.
And the watches and clocks still go
Clock tick tock
Hours and days go by they mean.
To tell you where time has been.
Tick clock tock.
In poetry
Sometimes , usually...
You have to create a melody, a pretty end to a line
The do it similarly on the next; it’s called a rhyme.
Now,
I gotta think of a word that rhymes with rhyme...
A B C D E F G H I J K L... Lime.
Lime.
That’s a little bitter green citrus fruit;
Like lemons and oranges but wearing a different suit.
But what can you do with a lime?
It’s sour and it’s nasty,
And what can you say about a lime...
When you’re meaning to write about a rhyme?
Not easy.
And the point is
You don’t have to
And this is called free verse.
No rhymes, no rules
Write what you want...
A bit like this.
Here’s something else you don’t have to be
When you’re writing your poetry
(nice rhyme there)
And that’s rhythmic.
It’s about making the lines
Syllables counted, precise and matching meter
Sounds like singing like in a tune and sweeter
Like on a birthday card:
La di a di a di da, di da di a di da...
Awful. Light and boring horrid.
You don’t have to do it.
Even if teacher says you do.
People like to be clever
When writing.
They have so many different types of poetry:
With couplets and quatrains through
Like a fourteen line sonnet true
And a renga, a haiku, a ballad, a rondeau too
They have rules
Numbers of lines
Parameters and pentameters
To confuse you.
And me.
I don’t like them.
Sorry.
Hey. But don’t think poetry is naff
It is not so.
No way!
Poetry is cool,
Poetry is song; download the lyrics... that’s poetry
Rapping is poetry.
But poetry has a bad press... and is for old, balding posh guys who think they are clever and... hey that’s me!!
Sorry!
All you have to do.
In poetry
Is to have something to say
Something funny
Something sweet and nice
Something true.
And be you.
Have a style of your own.
Be you.
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