Three Little Poems

 

I'm not much for romance, but here's an attempt or three at writing a love poem. One to a dream, one to a lover far away, and one all too present.

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Against Reality

Broken by birdsong, abashed by the lark,
Shall the sun shut down, so surely, my dreams?
Never to notice, so novice the wretch,
Seedlings of stories ascend from the ash?

Let not the light mark the last of our meetings!
In dreams, our condition (though dismal in truth)
Will soar past restrictions of spiritless flesh
And bring in a bounty; unbearable joy
In fiction I find you, though facts be unkind
In dreams you adore me, by day you are gone
My mind be my master – what matters the world?

– Kell Willsen 

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The Inadequacy of Language

Can any words describe my dear?
What depths within, what grace without,
When love-in-action makes it clear
That words cannot be set about.

But words are all I have, so please,
Accept the love poured into these,
Forgive that I must tell, not show it,
Your distant, yet devoted, poet.

– Kell Willsen 

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Pretty

Oh, what a pretty thing is love!
And so are you.
As pretty as a collared dove
Oh, what a pretty thing is love!
Reminds me of
That blasted bird’s non-stop “hoo-hoo”
Oh, what a pretty thing is love!
And so are you.

– Kell Willsen 

On Fiction

A sestina

So spin for us a tale
With hidden seeds of truth
Suspended in a lie.
Wise words for those who hear,
Bright gems for those who see;
Now let the fiction grow.

The simple facts will grow
To be a thrilling tale
But still, within, we see
The origins of truth
By sifting what we hear
We deconstruct the lie

But let the fiction lie
And let the stories grow
There is no malice here
In spreading such a tale
While all still know the truth
Unchanging as the sea

And so, until the sea
Shall dust and barren lie
Shall fiction hold the truth
And let the story grow
The wisdom of the tale
Is there for all to hear

And those who will not hear
And those who will not see
Enjoy the simple tale
Dismiss it as a lie
The seed will only grow
In those who seek for truth

As fiction holds the truth
So truth is ever here
Where there is room to grow
Upon the endless sea
Immortalised to lie
And thus concludes my tale

That this is truth, now see
Sestina here shall lie
To fully grow this tale.

– Kell Willsen

Procrastinator's Pantoum

Playing catch-up isn't fun
Time is fleeting, all too short
Chasing deadlines at a run
Often glimpsed, never caught.

Time is fleeting, all too short
Moments of a brief respite
Often glimpsed, never caught
Rushing onwards out of sight

Moments of a brief respite
[[Write a line here to repeat]]
Rushing onwards out of sight
[[Need to make this verse complete]]

[[Write a line here to repeat]]
Chasing deadlines at a run
[[Need to make this verse complete]]
Playing catch-up isn't fun.

– Kell Willsen

Light Verse

April is the cruellest, um, I mean poetry month. The internet is breaking out in ballads, getting drenched in doggerel, and lighting up with light verse.

Light verse is often set in opposition to “serious” poetry, an insubstantial bit of froth compared to the deep, intellectual, and meaningful efforts of Real Poets™.

“The interesting thing is that you don’t often meet a poet who doesn’t have a sense of humour, and some of them do keep it out of their poems because they’re afraid of being seen as light versifiers.” — Wendy Cope

The finest celebration of light verse I’ve read lately is Diary of a Somebody by Brian Bilston. This delightful slice-of-life mystery comic thriller holds a whole year’s worth of poetry which, in the words Bilston’s hated rival, Toby Salt, “lacks gravitas and soul”. But not even Salt could claim that Brian Bilston’s work lacks heart. 

The book makes a lot of references, and there is a helpful list in the back in case you don’t recognise anything. The jokes are funnier if you spot the references, but I think most of them stand up quite well just on their own (well, maybe not 27th June).

Where is Toby Salt? Who is Liz interested in? What terrible secret is hiding in the shed? Will the man at No. 29 ever put his bins out correctly? All this, and plenty of light verse, in Diary of a Somebody.

Lesson: Don't let fear of ridicule stifle your voice. 

Spring

Come the Spring, come the rain, come the greening leaves,
Come the days getting longer, the evenings bright,
Hear the birds making homes in the shady eaves,
Hear the bees softly drone in the morning light,

See the coats coming off, showing shorter sleeves
See the snow clinging on to the mountain heights
As the year comes of age, so the heart of Spring,
As the youth of the year, is a fleeting thing.

 – Kell Willsen

Magnificent Difference

Magnificent panorama
Slow-motion natural drama
A million years in the telling
And barely begun, compelling
Each step of man's advance, mal- or beneficent
To factor in Earth's structural magnificence.

That difference in scale at once
Brings home our insignificance,
And shows the power we command
To treat the planet out-of-hand
Blind, blunt, relentless progress shows us, in a sense,
That nature and her children aren't that different.

– Kell Willsen

Not So Much of the “Common”, If You Don’t Mind

It’s very well to tell me I should use my common sense,
But senses are susceptible to all kinds of pretence.
I do not trust my eyes or ears, I daren’t follow my nose,
(It sticks in where it shouldn’t be, inviting nasty blows)
While taste and touch just sit around, as passive as you please.
I do not think that common sense is any one of these.

As for my other senses, as intangible as air,
I doubt that I would find much commonality in there
My sense of humour is a joke, my sense of timing’s slow,
My sense of the occasion never knows when it should show.
As for my sense of balance, that’s been slowly winding down
'Til it’s quite a big achievement to stand firm on solid ground.

I had a sense of fashion once, I’m not sure when or why.
But if we wait here long enough, it might come wandering by.
For all the good that does us – look, I hate to let you down,
But I have to say I think you’d better try another town.
It seems I have no common sense, you’ll have to look elsewhere.
My senses, like my self, are all incredibly rare.

– Kell Willsen

Gorilla

What you’ve got here, is a gorilla
Can’t be more helpful than that
Learn to train it, you can’t contain it
Gorillas can stomp you flat

It’s in your life now, this gorilla
What to do next’s up to you
You can’t contain it; learn to train it
There’s not much else you can do.

I know you don’t want the gorilla
But it has decided to stay
Learn to train it, you can’t contain it
Or wrestle the thing out the way

It’s a three-hundred pound gorilla,
People are going to stare
You can’t contain it; learn to train it
You can’t just pretend that it’s not there

So go on and train your gorilla
You’ll find it well worth the strife
Learn to train it, you can’t contain it
But you can still get on with your life. 

– Kell Willsen

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Inspired by “The Gorilla in Your House“, a disability analogy which grew out of a discussion on the old BBC Ouch! message boards.

Compare and contrast “The Spoon Theory” by Christine Miserandino.

Optimism

I haven’t met with much success
In fact I’m barely getting by,
Though failure dogs my heals, I guess
I’ll always have just one more try.
Though I may never “do or die”
Or shake the world, I’m not without
My own, unfailing battle cry:
“I’m often down, but never out.”

It’s tempting simply to regress
To sweet inaction, days slip by
In peaceful slumber, but unless
I stand again, I’ll never fly.
Despair may sing its lullaby
“Give up, give in, drop off, drop out.”
My stubborn soul will still reply;
“I’m often down, but never out.”

So onward, to a clearer sky
Soon all dark days must turn about
Let this persistence signify
I’m often down, but never out

– Kell Willsen

Frozen

Apathy, unfeeling emptiness,
    is both more and less than nothing.
True nothing offers space for new growth,
    but apathy stifles all hope.

Emptiness too vast for happiness
    paralysing and unending.
No sadness, no anger, just nothing,
    Forever and for evermore.

Happiness, a distant memory,
    taunts me with its elusiveness.
I don't mind; I feel nothing at all,
    not even regret for what's lost.

When feeling returns to frozen limbs
    the first sensation is acute pain.
When feeling returns to a frozen heart
    the pain can be unbearable.

So don't be upset by my coolness
    when you try to make me happy.
My heart is just beginning to thaw;
    releasing pent-up tears at last.

– Kell Willsen