Words words words

Richard's Poetry Weblog

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

I got in touch with an old friend because I felt some worry for her
during the fires in the summer.
With a rann again, runaway, sing it to the rally, O!

She wrote back to say she was OK and had known something was about
to happen because she was reading stuff from Operation Terra.
With a rann again, runaway, sing it to the rally, O!

After a week of wondering what on earth to say to her I asked, I
hoped in a friendly chatty sorta way, if that was not a suicide
cult like Heavan’s Gate.
With a rann again, runaway, sing it to the rally, O!

She said it wasn’t, but those that knew …
With a rann again, runaway, sing it to the rally, O!

With Bill Haley we’ll be bopping
Unless we stop for shopping
We’ve got too much bloody trouble
So we choose the body double
To be or … there’s a third way!
Lishen caresfilly what de bird say
Solipsistic ego?
In that whale-back’d cloud we’ll go!
A tautololololological nonsense
To ease the coward conscience.
With a rann again, runaway, sing it to the rally, O!
With a rann again, runaway, sing it to the rally, O!

Ophelia! Don’t go, Ophelia …
With a rann again, runaway, sing it to the rally, O!

A rune tune

This sign, O_O , doth here represent the baffled silence
of one particular english language learner:

Yeah, I use runes .. O_O
Runes! .. O_O
Runes? .. O_O
Runes are .. you have this bag, and in this bag
Are stones. And on each stone
Is a rune! .. O_O


I knew she’d never be a teacher, although she’d still want to try.
So I hid my face and wondered, should I laugh or should I cry.
Didn’t anybody tell her, didn’t anybody say?
All day smoking marihuanna, slowly sweep it all away.
So I had to quit the country, run and leave it all behind.
I swear I tried my best to help her, I didn’t mean to be unkind.

And so on.

“Daughter” ((in A))

I went out to see my daughter rolling in the snow
She was two years short of twenty and I thought she didn’t know
How fetching she looked
When her skin was all aglow
As everybody knows who saw her
Rolling in the snow

I told my fair young daughter she shouldn’t really go
Out into our garden a’rolling in the snow
She answered it made her
Body all aglow
To know the neighbours watched her
Rolling in the snow

I asked my lovely daughter if she didn’t mind to show
So much to the neighbours when she went rolling in the snow
People she told me
Had a strong desire to know
The secrets of her body
Rolling in the snow

And there were all the neighbours standing in a row
Looking at my daughter rolling in the snow
With cameras and notebooks
They let everybody know
The beauty of my daughter
Rolling in the snow

King Lear I(i)

I’ve not seen Lear played, so it’s all in my head. These lines …

Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter,
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty,
Beyond what can be valued rich or rare,
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour,
As much as child e’er loved father found;
A love that makes breath poor and speach unable;
Beyond all manner of ‘so much’ I love you.

Gushing sentimentality, end-stopping hard on “father found”, perhaps Gonerill must pause for breath, then “a love that makes breath poor”. Is this not very funny? “… and speech unable” – obviously not, it is Cordelia that is ponderous tongue’d.

While the desp’rate wretches Iraqis houseless
Must bide the pitiless pelting Desert Storm,
Why read these old words?
Don’t let the disney get you down, boys!
Don’t let the disney get you down!

It’s a weak plot that’ll suffer from a spoiler … we know what will happen, we know she’s insincere extremely. This pantomime. Cordelia is not churlish (Lear is sugar-drunk on flattery) and there she stands a dowry in herself, “will you have her?”, something sexual in this, in her fine white robes.

I must read fear-of-vagina-in-king-lear.pdf

which is at hschelp.wordpress.com