Words words words

Richard's Poetry Weblog

They Give Us a Black Sun

They give us a black sun,
A poetry of the absurd,
Wailing strained metaphors
To programme word by word by word;

They give us rock and roll,
Regimentation of the beat,
Electronic identity,
Programmed tweet by tweet by tweet.

So where is there more substance,
Where can I begin to belong?
And where to read the meaning
In the phrases of the birdsong?

The sun breaks through – a gentle heat –
We, too, sit and write – word by word.

Third running post

Yesterday afternoon I felt awful, at least under the weather. My legs
are tired. In the autumn I was doing about 30K a week and since the
beginning of December its been 38K. I was thinking perhaps I need
another rest day … but then I read through the running posts that came
up with the tag-surfer. And out I went, running carefully and
attentively, but running.
Thank you fellow running bloggers!
It was peaceful out – there’s a little bit of rain in the air, as there
always seems to be in this moon, the last before the new year, and so
the locals were safe in the dry. I noticed that it’s so easy for me to
get into running along looking into an empty space about 2 metres in
front of my chest. Must try to stop that ….

Second running post

On Monday I ran 12km in 56 minutes and felt great. Twenty years ago I
ran a 10K charity race in 45 minutes. As I crossed the line, the
announcer said something like – and these are still the runners …
I floated home and walked backwards down the stairs for three days. I
still don’t do enough stretching – on Tuesday’s run my right calf
ouched, and again on Wednesday. Rest days! I just like running as fast
as I can, as far as I can … what’s that patience thing again? So I’ll
go out this afternoon, unless the interview turns up for today …
tomorrow is teaching day – walk there and back and sleep most of the
afternoon. I’m hoping to be up the another 12K on Sunday.

The Dioxin Blues

Four chlorines on two benzene rings
again, four chlorine two benzene ring
four chlorines on two benzene rings
(not knowing they dance in the colour’d light)
four chlorines on four chlorines on
two benzene rings and here we can eat the rats
eat the plastic
and we sustainably use
oh so organicalically
their sweet shit to fertilize these oh so
lovely bright green veggietables (not knowing
in das collar’d light day dance) we eat.

The owl in spectacles, a strange receptacle, for love.
The owl, spectacled, strange strange strange receptacle,
for love four chlorines, for love, four chlorines …

the claws swing round you as you dream
the crabs are bitting you you scream
the claws swing round and round you you dream
crabs bitting you bitting you you scream

First running poem

I was thinking of you and your butt
when you’re running, as I was running
the other day, how it sways and, as might be,
how your running skirt flicks up with each stride.

I had been thinking about my toes and when
your butt flashed into my mind, as it were
serendipitously, my fascination
with your anatomy and my toes, juxtaposed,
really, honestly, improved my action.

First running post

Running is important to me. My sandles are on the verge of falling to
pieces. I’m trying to do a more barefoot but my bigtoes seem to cramp
in a little and crush the next poor pinkie, so I get a nice blister on
the pad and there’s also a bruise under one of the nails. I did manage
a 6’12 mile on Sunday though. Man! I was hungry afterwards. I can’t find
the magnet for my Catseye – no more numbers to play with for the weekday
runs on the pavements. The shorter run is up and round the “river”.
Takes about 20 minutes I think. The longer one is along the front, over
one bridge onto the island and back down past the fishmarket and the
high school. Poser. That’s about 40 minutes.

The Pose Technique has made a lot
of difference recently, although I only dip into the articles, find
ideas to play with. These weeks, I’m thinking that the littletoe touches
the ground first, but that may change.

The current bunch of aphorisms, to help me through the miles …

* Running is, ummm, ancestral, is that a good word?
* Barefoot is the natural way.
* If something is hurting, I’m doing something wrong,
* which is not always doing too much.
* Don’t allow myself age-related excuses.

Country Monkey Blues

Update 2021-02-12

Most of the poems published here before 2010 I relocated to:


Yesterday, I posted here again after a lengthy hiatus.