THE BOMB

3 Votes

This is a poem loosely based on my experiences as a soldier in Northern Ireland, specifically in South Armagh.

It’s a bright day in the Province

         And Jack Frost is about

         All’s quiet on watch

         And then, there’s a shout

…

         The roar of an engine

         The squealing of tyres

         Burning the tarmac

         Like foul-smelling pyres

…

         The police station’s gates

         Are closed and locked tight

         But the van doesn’t care

         It’s in its death flight

…

         A pale, frightened face

         Is glimpsed through the glass

         As it sped past the sanga

         In its deadly last dash

…

         It burst through the gates

         With a rending of steel

         Shouts of fear and warning

         Rang out loud and clear

…

         The soldiers inside 

         Back from a three-day patrol

         Had just climbed into bed

         When they heard the call

…

         To gather their guns 

         And whatever they could

         Flack jackets and boots

         Then get out on the run

…

         They ran up the road

         And dived into a drain

         With guns pointing outwards

         Just like they’d been trained

…

         Bomb disposal was called

         Nearby streets were all cleared

         As the chopper was landing

         We all heard the jeers

…

   Of the tricolour crowd

  Which had gathered to see 

The Death and destruction

That was meant to be

…

They sent in the robot

To have a first look

with its black rubber tracks

A camera and hook

…

As the robot drew near, the crumpled  van roared

Air filled with flame and sharp steel

Brick dust, glass, and an internal door

To add to the squaddie’s ordeal

…

Three soldiers were injured that Christmas Eve morn

And a republican boy in the crowd

The police station? …. Well, it was gone in the blast

With three of its walls torn down

…

It’s an endless war, all in God’s name

Steeped in the politics of the past

One day, we’ll get out of this game

Green and Orange … together … at last.

(God willing!!)

Any critique is warmly welcomed, as usual. If you don’t like it, please tell me why. If you do like it, let me know in the comments

A Poignant Journey of Love and Loss

2 Votes

THE VOID …

A TALE OF LOVE AND LOSS …

This is a tale of a love so strong,
It burned like the eternal flame
It filled our hearts with an unshakable bond
And our souls with love untamed.

For fifty short years we traveled life’s road
Together we laughed and we cried
All the while our love’s light glowed
We were always side by side.

Then I kissed her soft lips gently, closed eyes,
Smelt the Lavender she wore when we met.
Held her hand as she gave her last earthly sigh
And took her last walk with Death

For those fifty years we were two hearts beating
And now, I’m still feeling your loss
In the next incarnation I know we’ll be meeting
Again, as we have in lives past.

We found each other, and will once again
Then we’ll love and we’ll laugh in the heat of the day
And dance in the cool evening rain
Then swim naked in the salty blue bay

And fill the void with love...

Patrick Pinder

I don’t write much poetry nowadays, but I do so enjoy writing the amount I do, and the above poem is one I’d been thinking about since Christine, my wife of 50 years, died. So, here is the result of my thinking. I hope you don’t find the subject of death a morbid topic, but I write what I feel, and that, for me, is creative writing. That is what poetry is all about for me. I also dabble in short stories and am presently exploring the world of prose … wish me luck !! …. Comments and critiques of my work will be warmly accepted. I can’t improve without ‘experts’ telling me what I’m doing wrong, or telling me I’m on the right track. I’ll be back later in the week.

INTERNET MADNESS!! !! And WALT WHITMAN

7 Votes

As some of you may know, I publish a Vlog on YouTube (steelcityman) and during the COVID-19 pandemic and the consequent lockdown and restrictions on traveling, I’ve been doing poetry readings each day rather than a generic Vlog. The latest reading I did was an excellent poem by the very influential American poet, WALT WHITMAN. Its entitled, ‘O Captain My Captain. It’s been immortalized in modern times by the late ROBIN WILLIAMS in the film ‘The Dead Poets Society’. In the Vlog, I read the poem and did a brief analysis of the metaphors involved……Trying to upload it to my YouTube channel, however, was a very different kettle of fish !! After 30 hrs of uploading it was still only 52% done !! ….. That’s where the INTERNET MADNESS comes in! The Upload speed is driving me crazy ! At this rate it will take in excess of 60 hrs to complete the upload of a 2G/byte file to YouTube!! I know I’ve mentioned it before, but I am living in an ‘Internet Black Hole’ that even the late Stephen Hawkin wouldn’t be able to escape from !! Anyway I’ll keep trying and wait until something better than a length of copper wire is used to connect me to the outside world. In the words immortalised by CAPTAIN OATES, “I may be some time” …………. ( before Fibre optic is discovered in the postal district of S35 !! ) It’s rather ironic that I have just paid over £50 to WordPress for a domain name and the ability to include my vlogs into my Blog !!! Ha! That’s a bit rich isn’t it?

Because the vlog has not been uploaded ( I’ve since scrapped the process until I’ve scratched my head enough to come up with another solution ) I’ve decided to write the poem in this blog for the delectation of anyone who is not familiar with WALT WHITMAN and ‘O Captain my Captain’, I must admit, Until I’d seen the Dead Poet’s Society, I’d never heard this poem myself. One last word before I launch into it….. I am NOT going to write the verses in the shape of a ship !!! If you want to see that, please refer to the Wiki link above and you can see Walt’s original manuscript……..

OH, CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN

Oh, Captain, my Captain our fearful trip is done, 

The Ship has weather’d every rack,

The prize we sought is won,

 The port is near, the bells I hear,

the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel

, the vessel grim and daring,

But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen, cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells.

Rise up – for you the flag is flung – for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths,

for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call,

the swaying mass, their eager faces turning,

Here Captain, dear father, this arm beneath your head,

It is some dream that on the deck You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchored safe and sound,

it’s voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won,

Exult O shores, and ring O bells But I with mournful tread

Walk the deck my Captain lies Fallen, cold, and dead.

WoW !! That is a a powerful poem and one I return to every now and then for the pleasure of reading WALT WHITMAN, poet extraordinaire. O Captain! my Captain! was written after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and is known as an extended Metaphor type of poem. Also classed as a mourning poem, or an elegy. During the Civil war, Whitman moved up to Washington D.C. where he cared for the wounded, and many of his poems have the war as a theme. In O Captain! My Captain!, the ‘Fearful Trip’ that the ship and crew undertook, is a metaphor for Civil War and the Prize they sought and won was the victory over the Confederate cause. The ship itself was the NATION which the Captain (President Lincoln) steered to victory. As the war was won, Lincoln was assassinated, hence he was ,’Fallen cold and dead on the deck’ of the victorious ship. Like I said Earlier, “It’s a powerful poem and one I revisit from time to time.” ……

Anyway, I’ve waffled on far too long now, I’m just thankful it’s been a very warm and sunny end to the month of May and I’ve been able to compose this blog outside, amidst the birdsong and buzz of Bumble Bees.

I follow many bloggers, too many to name them all, but of all those I follow, and remember, although I don’t comment on as much as I should, I do read your work, there are two bloggers in particular I will mention who have inspired me tremendously, both in my writing and my outlook on life, they are ;

CAROL. A. HAND with her blog, VOICES FROM THE MARGINS which she describes as , “A welcoming place for resistance to the forces of oppression and hegemony.” Carol is a truly inspirational human being and a writer of the highest order.

ELLEN HAWLEY — with her blog, NOTES FROM THE UK An American in Cornwall, Ellen gives her perspective on the quirky side of life here in the UK …Of course Ellen is much more than a blogger, she is a published author as well. Her sense of humour is second to none and she weaves it skilfully through her work. I would describe her work as “a riveting read ” One read and you’re hooked !!

THANK YOU LADIES

Creative Writing and Lockdown….

2 Votes

Afew months ago I enrolled on a short Creative Writing course, (inspired by no less a personage that ELLEN HAWLEY, Author and Blogger extraordinaire). I thoroughly enjoy reading Ellen’s blogs and I have often wished I could write with the same flair and professionalism that she does. I want to be able to write interesting ‘stuff’ like her, ‘stuff’ which makes you want to read on to the very end, and which elicits a sigh of satisfaction as you reflect on the content read. Follow the link above and sample Ellen’s work, I guarantee you’ll go back for more ……

On the course, there were only seven people, so it was intimate, almost one to one tuition and Rachel, the tutor, certainly knew her ‘stuff’. We had only finished the second session when COVID 19 reared it’s extremely ugly head … Just as the creative juices began to flow !! It was with a heavy heart that I read the ‘e’mail telling us the course had been cancelled due to Covid 19 and the country, nay! the world, had gone into lockdown. A few weeks later I received another ‘e’ mail from the community education charity, which organised the course, inviting the course participants for an online version of ‘Creative Writing’. It was to be via ‘e’ mail, so in line with the government’s social distancing rules. I’ve just handed in my third session for evaluation and critique. It’s been really enjoyable, I’m learning stuff and as a bonus, it’s put me back in touch with my steelcityman blog, can’t be bad !

I’d like to share a small piece of work which I did after talking about emotions and feelings and incorporating them into the diary of a fictitious character ;

DIARY OF A DESPERATE MAN

SUNDAY 5th FEB…… It’s cold and very frosty this morning. When I looked out of the window, or tried to, the glass panes were etched with Jack Frost’s tell tale patterns, so I decided to stay in bed longer and save money on the heating. Last week I reported to the landlord, that the electric fire had lost another bar. However, he hasn’t even been round to look at it, the bastard ! He makes me so angry ! I get frustrated, and even depressed since I lost my job at the factory. Yes, I stay in bed a lot … but then I get bored and have to get up and face this life. I always hated Sundays, but now I’m not working, (who wants to hire a 59 year old ?) every day is a Sunday. It’ll be tea time soon and having missed lunch, I’m ready for my tea. I think I’ll then take a book to bed while there’s still some light to read by. I’m reading Dickens again, Great Expectations …. Ha! that’s rich.

MONDAY 6th FEB….. I didn’t sleep a wink last night; bloody neighbours partying ’till 0300hrs ! I so wanted to go round and give them a piece of my mind, but they are the kind of people you don’t mess with. They’re scary… well, they scare me and I’m not as young as I used to be. I stumbled out of bed at 0600 hrs, and as it was a bright Winter’s morning, I got dressed and walked down to the cafe for a rare treat of tea and toast made by someone else. As I walked home and turned the corner at the bottom of my street, I noticed my noisy neighbours flash car parked away from his house. I walked past with a smile, and looked back with satisfaction at the deep scratch in the metallic paint across all the nearside panels. I think I’ll sleep better tonight. No lunch, Spam fritters for tea and bed with Dickens again. At least it’s warmer in bed. TUESDAY 7th FEB …… Up at 0900 hrs , called the landlord about the electric fire. No answer. Left a message. Called again at 1000 hrs. Answer machine, so I left a message. I took a walk in the park but it was so cold, the wind blew straight through my jacket and I had to come home, via the cafe. Just had a cuppa, money’s getting short. Don’t think it will last until my Job Seekers goes in on Friday. At home I called the landlord again .. no answer. I’m going to get on to the Council Housing Dept., see what they can do to help me. Something need to be done to leeches like my landlord, quick to take his rent but won’t get anything fixed !! baked potato for tea…a treat, then bed with Dickens again (the neighbours will be talking !) Lately I find I’m jealous of Pip, having a benefactor. How stupid is that ?

WEDNESDAY 8th FEB….. Stayed in bed ’till 1100 hrs for warmth. Outside temperature was -2C. The one bar electric fire wouldn’t help, so I didn’t switch it on. I had £2.80 left of my allowance and £14.35 in my bill tin. I threw caution to the wind, walked down to the cafe and ordered a full English for £2.60. I’ve been thinking of selling my General Service Medal for some time, and although it wouldn’t raise much money, it would keep me going for a few weeks. It’s only a medal, a few ounces of memories. I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in warm surroundings. All I missed, really, was some company. I’m getting bored talking to myself. Some say it’s the first sign !! I smiled to myself on the way home as I saw the neighbours flash, scratched, car being taken away on a tow truck. It’s amazing how little can drive a man to vandalism. No book tonight, Pip had got his just desserts and lived happily ever after.

THURSDAY 9th FEB…… A little warmer this morning, which was good for my visit to the Job Centre. Got the same spotty faced, arrogant, woman/girl I usually get. When she sees me coming into her booth, I always get a knowing look and a smirk. It irks me. I got threatened with benefit sanctions if I didn’t put more effort into finding a job. What a bloody system ! Feeling angry, defeated, depressed and desperate, I dragged myself homewards. I’d walked about two miles when I saw a wallet in the weeds at the bottom of a wall. I pocketed the wallet and hurried on my way. I can’t remember arriving home until I stumbled through the front door, and then I realized someone had been in my flat. The mat in front of the fire had been disturbed and there was a note on the fire surround. The bloody landlord had let himself in to look at the fire ! The note said he would try to arrange an electrician for next week. Next week !! I nearly cried !! Then I felt the wallet in my pocket. I opened it and saw the wad ! I counted £1860 in £20 notes. “Call me Pip” I exclaimed. I was on a see-saw… keep it…hand it in…keep it…hand it in. I decided to sleep on the dilemma and decide what to do in the morning. Went to bed late. Didn’t even have tea.

FRIDAY 10th FEB….. Didn’t sleep a wink, again. However I decided to hand the wallet in at the police station in town, much as I needed the money. All night I thought about how I could spend it. I quite enjoyed spending the money in my thoughts … but … I was brought up with a moral compass and it pointed in the direction of right. Toast and tea and off I went to the police station. The Desk Sergeant looked at me with surprise in his eyes, counted the money and told me it had been reported lost this very morning. Lots of questions, who I was, where did I live? etc, then he thanked me for my honesty and put the wallet in his desk drawer. I spent the rest of the day kicking myself for being so honest, yet knowing I did the right thing. Didn’t feel like having tea, so I went to bed with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr. (From Here To Eternity)

SATURDAY 11th FEB….. What a day !! I’m laid in bed thinking of Phillip Pirrip again. It’s nearly midnight and I’ve just fallen into bed. It started at 0800 hrs when I was woken up by an authoritarian knocking at my door. I opened the door thinking the neighbours had found out it was me who scratched their flashy car. Instead there was a gent in a dark blue, pin striped, three piece suit, white shirt with a yellow tie which was tied in an immaculate Windsor knot, He introduced himself as the owner of the wallet I had handed in, and the police had told him I was responsible for finding it. Reluctantly, I invited him in to my sparsely furnished, run down flat and offered him the only serviceable straight backed chair. He’d come to thank me, which he did, and to find out what kind of person would give back that amount of money. His name was Sir Denzil Forthright and he was the Tory MP for the posh end of town. He summed up my situation without me giving much away, then took out the wallet I had found and pushed £100 into my hand ! “Don’t tell the Social” he said with a grin. Then added, “If you want a job, report to Bright’s Engineering, personnel Dept., on Carry St, next Monday, 9am prompt. It’s only a labouring position to start, but there’s scope to do better if you’re up for it. That is the best I can do for you. You see, it’s not just for the money you returned, the wallet contains a lock of my late wife’s hair, which I treasure greatly.” He opened an almost invisible zip inside the wallet and showed me the lock of red hair. I’m sure there was a tear in his eye when he stoop and said, “Be there my good man, cheerio and thank you for your honesty.” Seems that not all Tories are black hearted so and so’s after all. After he had gone, I made some tea and let it sink in what he had done for me, £100 !! and better than that, I had a job !! I could tell that spotty faced girl/woman with the smirk, at the Job Centre, where to go !! I had been tempted, but resisted and got MY just desserts. I really did feel like Phillip Pirrip, young Pip. Monday would be a day of GREAT EXPECTATIONS indeed for me and my new beginning.

Well…. That’s about it for today….Any critique you leave will be most welcome. I was going to do a piece about a Walt Whitman poem, but it’s such a nice day I’ll leave that little gem until tomorrow. STAY SAFE PEOPLE AND LOOK AFTER EACH OTHER.

Vlogging Lockdown Poetry:

A Creative Exploration

3 Votes

VLOGGING WITH ‘LOCKDOWN POETRY’

Hi, a rare addition to this page of poetry, with a shout-out for my Youtube channel, steelcityman Why steelcityman ?, Well I was born and bred in Steel City…SHEFFIELD, even though I now live in LEEDS, WEST YORKSHIRE, I’m a Steel City man at heart.

LOCKDOWN POETRY…

In The dim and distant past of panic and lockdowns, thanks to COVID ,! I decided to explore poetry as a subject on my Youtube channel, steelcityman . I dedicated a few weeks to this theme. I wanted to see how well it resonated with my followers. ( If you follow the link it will take you to the video content page of the channel )

Please let me know what you think of the poems I chose to read on the lockdown vlogs. I’ve been thinking of doing more. Feedback would be very useful….

The poetry I chose to read and analyze on the vlogs are some of my favourites, and a few newly discovered ones. It’s quite an eclectic selection, ranging from the powerful content of Maya Angelou and Walt Whitman to some of the humour of Pam Ayres, as well as some that really do need explaining to understand the real ‘stuff’ behind them. Once again, the link to follow is … steelcityman