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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Sat Aug 28, 2010 9:16 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The wasp has landed on my Plotinus
Lying open on the patio table
He's reading it!
Doesn't he realise it's upside down?
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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Mon Sep 13, 2010 10:07 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The friend with whom I had a meal
Had a raven on his nose
Though puzzled I did not feel
That I could such a question pose
As, why is that raven on your nose?
And so the words remained unsaid
And we talked of other things instead.


Last edited by Peter Blumsom on Sat Oct 12, 2013 7:55 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Mon Mar 05, 2012 7:45 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The bird in your head
Has shape but no Form
The bird on the roof
Is the bird in your Mind,
Has both shape and Form
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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Thu Mar 08, 2012 11:01 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Before me for half a mile now is a shiny red bus
It is looked upon as a child looks
Lacking second sight, he sees all now in the sacred hour
Nowhere else, nowhen else. “Look Mum, it’s a shiny red bus.”

As I move the knight my grandson says,
“I knew you’d do that, now you’ve won.”
Drat it! I thought, he was supposed to have won this game!
Take his mind away, “John, I saw a shiny red bus.”
“Where was it going?” "Not sure" I mused,
He might as well have asked where did it come from?
"I last saw it going up the hill, and it disappeared."
“Granddad”, he said, gazing into the distance,
“Shall we put the pieces away? Let’s make a plane instead.”
John gazes into the distance quite a lot,
As I did at his age. “You were always looking at the sky”
My Auntie Flo once told me. This I have to say I love in John
Though others it worries. “And what happened then?” he said,
“When?” I asked, startled. “When it disappeared.” “Well
I suppose it was still there, sort of somewhere.
It didn’t vanish, you know, it was still a bus.”
“I know that Granddad, Of course it didn’t just disappear.
Things don’t. Here’s paper, make that special one, where
You bend the paper all over the place. That’s a good one”
'Perhaps he’s a poet.' I thought. 'He’s looking over the hill,
For the bus and all the other things that disappear – trying
to make sense of it all.' I thought I’d have fun
“But perhaps it did disappear” I said in earnest.
“One minute it was at the top of the hill, then it dropped
Down the other side” “No, no, Granddad it was still there
On the other side. It’s just that you couldn’t see it."
"How do I know. If I couldn’t see it, how do I know it was there?”
“Because that’s what happens. Look, Granddad,
Listen to me. Supposing you saw a red bus…” “A shiny red bus”
“What does that matter, Look, look suppose you saw a shiny red bus
It’s just come over the top of the hill, you wouldn’t expect it to disappear
(now this is promising – I thought.) “Why should it disappear?”
I ask, “Because you’re on the other side – imagine – and this
Bus…” “Shiny red bus, John, we mustn’t forget that.” “GRANDDAD!!
STOP!” silence … then. “Look you’re on the other side of the hill
And say I’m here, and a shiny red bus comes over the hill,
And disappears, you say. But I’m looking at it now, so it wouldn’t
Just disappear. Things just don’t, not in the daytime do they??”
(Promising indeed) “But I didn’t say it was daytime did I, John?”
Startled look, and suddenly I’m anxious. After all
Conversations with eight year olds contain a precarious balance,
Not to be betrayed.
“The trouble with the plane you want me to make
Is that it always nose dives. When I was your age,
They seemed to soar. Maybe I’ve forgotten something.
Your little darts always fly much better”
Silence ….
“Granddad, things don’t disappear do they?”
“No, they don’t John, I was pulling your leg just a little.”
He looked relieved and began to make his dart.
“This’ll be the best ever. D’you know, we make these at school.”
It didn’t take long, and he was up on his feet.
“Watch this, Granddad!” he said, and with an expert swing of the arm
Sent the dart sailing across the room. Then it seemed to pause,
Hang in the air, and then without warning swooped round the door post
And disappeared into the next room.
We both looked for a moment,
But I never said a word.


Last edited by Peter Blumsom on Wed Feb 22, 2017 4:31 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Sat Jun 23, 2012 6:58 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wherefore do you go wandering?
Is there a place to see?
You might come to a crossroads
And then where will you be?
At a crossroads gathering
Violets you might spy
A maiden by a sign post
She might hold you with her eye
She might point you to some forest
And say that way is fair
Or over yon mountain
There are fine places there
And down that lane are hyacinths
Their scent will cast a spell
And down this path narcissi
To cast you down to hell
No daisy chain will help you
Retrace your steps from there
For a sudden wind will rise
And lay the daisies bare
Far better vain creature stop
You wander in your sleep
Take these violets and return
Or else the world will weep
Or else the world will weep.
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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Tue Jul 31, 2012 5:23 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Blank Universe

Commemorating NASA's frail, brave and beautifully silly Mars probe "Curiosity"' on its successful (hopefully) descent onto the surface of that unknown and unpredictable entity we call The Red Planet heroically described in true rock'n'roll fashion by NASA's Adam Steltzner on BBC Horizon's "Mission To Mars". Curiosity will then become a wanderer upon a wanderer - Planet means 'wanderer' in Greek. How unlikely is the Universe?



The history of the mind
Is not chronological
And no genesis may be found
Along the dusty corridors of mortal time.
Time, Cronos, is the shadow of the moment
Cast as a fictional path
In both directions, past and to come.
No truth can be extracted from it;
The star systems, the Milky Way,
The constellations, island galaxies,
Are centreless.


We know more than the antique Greek
Who assumed his blessed plot
The turning moment of a discoid cosmos.
The Romans ventured no further.
We know more than Ptolemy
Who, with the rising sap of knowledge,
Plotted an astonishing universal dance
To accommodate that still central view
(So if man were to remain One,
The universe was compelled to trip
The light fantastic.)


We know more than Copernicus, Galileo,
Tycho Brahe, Kepler and all those other
Night gazers,
Who transferred centrality of power
To Sol. He of the fiery chariot
Was the new ruler, and transplanted Earth
Danced lonely with all the other vassals
Around Apollo, sat upon his burning throne.


But not for long, for the age of reason
Disgorged the age of the machine
And new thinkers, who knew how to calculate
But had not read the classics.
They had no respect, those ones,
For men in robes and addled brains,
And the fierce expectations of a former age
Were rent down like a curtain of dreams (pelmet too!)
From behind which, for so long,
Bearded schoolmen had speculated
Upon impressive but unlikely absolutes
(In matters we now consider largely relative).


We, oh we and this goodly lump of rock
We sit upon as merest microbes,
And that divine lamp
Which sprays the sky with just enough light
To make us fear the dark,
We oh we, all of us reside
Merely in the suburbs
Of a great celestial metropolis
The Piccadilly Circus of which
Lies, not a few miles from here
(A few stops on the tube)
But is measurable only in parsecs,
As the photon flies,
(No straight lines here).


It is so uncomfortable a thought
That we solve the problem
By not thinking about it.
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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Mon Jun 10, 2013 10:00 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

A Manhattan Conceit

I stopped as she walked by,
And she, caressed so by my eye,
Also stopped and turned towards me.
I averted my clumsy gaze desperately
Into some shop window
As if its random contents had so caught my attention
Oh God, I thought, Of all things
It's a shop full of mirrors
And in each one her eyes were angled
Towards me,
Escape was not an option
Countless eyes and countless faces, all of her,
Each smiling expectantly at this averted face.
Beyond embarrassment I was, a cornered fox,
Or a dried out toad waiting to become roadkill.
But wild abandonment clutched my heart
And I thought, Pete, now something truly heroic
Of you is required;
I pulled a deep breath and turned towards her.
"Why should I seek images" said I
"When the reality is so much more beautiful?"
(Did I say that? -Yes, you did!)
Her smile faded in the presence of the unexpected
And I searched for cracks in the pavement
Through which to make my getaway.
There were none ....
And then, after silence, like a peal from heaven, she laughed,
And I laughed, and we laughed. "That", said she,
"Is either the worst pick up line I've ever heard ...
Or the best."
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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Sat Oct 12, 2013 3:31 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The Whole We Know

A light switch is touched in the dusk
marking joyful exchange and communal activity;
and, somewhere in time, a dog barks, along the way.
So, all our hereafters are measured in heaven,
each transient joy, a full joy in its transience;
on the rising tide the wind spends its fortune
but receives recompense from the moon;
and the sun spreads its adoration
over green plains of grace deep below;
the parts we see fulfill the whole we know;
and activities in time and beyond time
commune at the equinox, a place of transitions
where each task we perform turns a page in the universal book,
and has things of wonder in it that if we knew
we’d hardly dare, or have the words, to tell.
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Peter Blumsom



Joined: 09 Mar 2007
Posts: 1093
Location: Wembley, London, UK

PostPosted: Wed Feb 22, 2017 4:21 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The boy is walking up the hill
His destination is home-after-school
I know ... he lives up there
But there are other forces at play - a fantasy perhaps
He walks stiff-legged - rocking from side to side
Like a robot
I hope he isn't practising to be an adult.
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