original poem – Page 73 – don't confuse the narrator

small worlds

Reading about Makemake on the BBC reminded me of a poem I wrote back in 2006 when they demoted Pluto from planet to dwarf planet.

In the dog house

My Very Excellent Mother used to be
the soul of generosity, and her beneficence
a universally-acknowledged truth.
Around the world, students rejoiced
when they recalled that she
Just Sent Us Nine Pizzas.

But as time passes, so it seems, the universe
contracts; mom’s liberality is capped
and scientists decree that students
will make do with
Nothing.

Supperless
I’m banished to my room. I must redo
my fourth grade science project.

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in the woods

Sunlight filterd through trees by a stream

I find by chance that someone has include my poem Vignette as an example in a writing exercise for students.

It has been attributed to me, and the poem is available online, so I don’t think there’s a big problem. I do, however, wish that they’d contacted me and told me they wanted to use it. After all, it’d be nice to be told they thought it was good. Equally, it’d be useful – though not as nice – to know if they were using it to demonstrate what /not/ to do.

I don’t seem to have posted it on the blog, so here it is:
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poetry on the bus

The village bus station looks quiet in the photo. Not so the journey into Madrid this morning.

En el autobús,
las viejas cotillean;
sólo los hombres casados
pueden dormir.

Roughly translated:

On the bus
old biddies gossip;
only married men
can sleep.

I swear you could tell which guys were used to nagging wives: they simply closed their eyes and nodded off as if the screeching voices were a lullaby.
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perspective

So much depends

on whether it was
a red wheelbarrow
or an orange cementmixer

on whether it was
glazed with rain water
or shaded
from the setting sun

on whether there were
several white chickens
or just the one, escaped
from the neighbour’s yard

on whether it was
early twentieth century
industrial America
or rural Spain in 2012

on whether it was
William Carlos Williams
who saw the scene
or me.

For the chicken in question,
much more depends
on whether my cats find her
before the neighbour does.

versification on a theme

The theme for this year’s National Poetry Day in the UK is stars. In conjunction with this, the Poetry Society ran a competition with the theme stripes for Stanza members.

I often wonder how judges can hope to choose ‘the best’ of a competition’s entries when all the poems are different styles and topics, so I definitely like competitions that either suggest a theme or demand a specific poetic form, as I feel there is then at least one identifiable point of comparison.
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