Note: This poem is intended for performance. It is written in two alternating voices. The first is the poet. The second is the poetry tutor commenting on the poem. I've divided the sections with a ~
A clutch of swifts
pass overhead,
their bracketed wings
partition the sky.
~
At the start of a poem,
noticing birds
(or a particular quality of daylight)
is just good manners.
It is like saying “hello”.
~
Across the lake,
the processing plant
sighs at its own reputation.
~
It is important to notice
ugly things too,
because that shows
you are gritty.
You may also notice:
a thrown away lottery ticket,
a pair of shoes hanging from a power line,
a homeless fellow.
~
These smoke stacks were once deemed grand,
beacons of human progress
now they only seem to point towards the weather,
as if the guilt is too much,
they want to give themselves up,
turn their insides to steamless
museums of a bad idea.
~
Here the poet uses a “Big Thought”.
A successful “Big Thought”
will invoke in the audience a “poetry nod”.
A “poetry nod” is more powerful than a round of applause.
It is second only to a “poetry gasp”.
A “poetry nod,” within the right circles,
can make a writer’s career.
~
The sky is a white board.
~
It is important to compare the sky to something.
Anything really.
The sky could also be:
wet concrete,
bubble wrap,
the colour of a maternity ward,
~
The sky is a white board.
The swifts teach physics
in dive-bombs and loops.
The lesson is perfect
but brief, erased
as quick as its written.
~
An extended metaphor
is a form of mating display.
The length of the image
roughly corresponds
to the poet’s bedroom performance.
~
The sky is a white envelope,
stamped by the sun,
franked by swifts,
addressed to the distant mountains,
courtesy of the tree line.
And the letter inside says
Dear Distant Mountains,
I’ve been meaning to write for a while.
I’ve been so busy recently,
it’s been mental. I know we haven’t seen
each other in ages.
I’ve been putting on weight again.
I know you always said you liked
me with a bit of meat on.
Everything else is pretty normal with me
I suppose. Same old same old:
bit of cliff erosion,
the odd tidal wave,
a giant squid the size of your arm,
and anyway, I just wanted to say
that I miss you. I hear you’ve been
spending time with the clouds.
They’re so clingy. They don’t give
you the space you deserve.
Maybe we could meet up some time
at the beach, like we used to.
Anyway. I’ll see you round maybe.
Take it easy big guy,
Love,
The Sea.
~
The mention of death, love, time or the sea
is known as a THEME.
When two THEMES collide
the poet is said to be: DRAWING PARALLELS.
If a poet fits all the THEMES
into the same poem at the same time
they are known as a VISIONARY.
~
As the day darkens, lights stutter
on across the processing plant,
constellations of sodium lamps
clinging to pipes and walkways.
There’s always one half of the planet in shadow
and, looking down from a short haul flight,
a city may be a decent likeness for a clear night sky
but we forget that the pretty lights
of our brightest cities
are just a mirror
for the stars that they obscure.
~
There are at least three ways
to finish a poem.
It is generally considered good practice
to mention “the stars” somewhere
in the final stanza.
You may also mention:
“dust suspended in the air.”
You can also let an audience
know that a poem is going to end
by “Panning Out” –
if you are talking about a man,
then start talking about his house,
then start talking about his road,
then the town he lives in,
then his country, and so on through
continent, hemisphere, planet, galaxy until
the man is just a speck of suspended dust
in the endless void
of resonating poetry
that lives and dies
beyond the realms of time.
Or you can just use a rhyme.
