Friday, 27 April 2012

Poems about Writing

Well now, hello there, weary traveler,
Come stop and sit a while,
Come rest by me.
I have so much, so much to share with you;
I've caught the sunsets’
I've snapped the sea.

I have great wisdom, and all the precious words,
I come to soothe you,
So honestly,
I have my own range of gifts to heal your life,
My website's built on

I feel your spirit's pain, your special sadness,
I have a calendar
Called Harmony,
And then my t-shirts, they are so wonderful,
Their cloth is soaked in

I do have books too, they are impressive,
As filled with light and worth
As books can be,
I hope they teach you that we're all sacred,
That we must learn more

I know inspiring is all my business here,
I sit with angels,
They sit with me,
And they are modelling my sunset baseball caps,
So very fetching.
Look up and see.

Then raise a cup of love, let's drink together,
Just take a raindrop mug
Down from its tree,
Take all the time you need, browse through my catalogue,
Buy two moon mousepads,
Get one for free.

At all levels


I wrote
A new verse
It will
I hope
Live past me
It works

I prepared
Meals and
Did a lot of hoovering
The floors are dirty again





Let's moan about women


Women are boring
And so predictable
Have no ambition
Want to be miserable

Periods, babies
Whinge upon whine
Illness and crying
Romance all the time

And women can't write
We just tolerate them
All those emotions
Don't you just hate 'em?

Because men never moan
And don't ever waste time
They're full of ideas
They write from the spine

Does this sound like moaning?
No perish the thought
Others complain
I'm just not that sort

I'm serious and clever
Perceptive and free
The heart of all learning
There's no-one like me





On not having a literary circle


No Bloomsbury set
No arty clique
In small town Britain
Some help I seek

Feel a bit out there
Sound a bit sad
Try to keep going
Not going mad

But cliques are not vital
They can be hell
Carry on lonely
It’ll do just as well





Sea of poets


I’m in a sea of poets
And drowning while I swim
The water’s soused in meaning
The light from shore so dim
Some poets just keep groaning
I even hear a shout
“Some of us are better
The rest of you – get out!”
But groups are bobbing past now
And more and more appear
The water is so crowded
A threshold must be near
We cannot all stay swimming
And leave the land so bare
But who gets to stay buoyant here
Who washed up over there?
I swim but in a funny way
Too many thoughts in mind
The sea’s not what it used to be
And fish are hard to find





The adult response


Oh, you can call it dog-ger-el
But what do you know?





The adult response – and another thing 


Light verse
Better than shite verse





The complete picture


You may find the words I write trite
I may find yours soporific
You may hate my poems… ‘lite’
I may think yours monolithic
But could we still be friends, do you think?
We both believe in word and line
You can stick to all your habits
I won’t mind, I’ll stick to mine
You can have the thick thesaurus
I will listen on the bus
We will write the complete picture
Somewhere, somehow, all of us





What is it all for?


Words can bring us together
In shattered times
Perfectly tumbling lines
Stroke our heads
Tell us - go on
Just a little further
Others make us laugh out loud
A shocking sound
Witty, cruel, truthful notes
Stir us up
Rock the numbness
Poke the forgotten fire





Writers' groups are not for everyone


Writers' groups are not the place for everyone
Sitting in those shapes and clasping verse
A bit like self-help meetings (minus all the fun)
Instead of drugs and phobias it's far, far worse
There are lots of serious blokes who dream of softback
Who know exactly why their words are best
Ok, career is not exactly on track
But luckily there's nothing helps you toughen like a test
The women present criticise constructively
This is good and that is nearly so
Young and old have faces trained in empathy
But is spending time this way really the best way to go?
I tried, I tried, I open the door wide
And I go right back to the ungrouped world outside

All poems by Rachel Fox (some time after 1997)

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