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Poems - Alan Edward Roberts
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Thu Nov 27, 2008 12:08 pm    Post subject: Poems - Alan Edward Roberts Reply with quote

Testament

Stories shift, and we need to sing; to mark
ends, beginnings, light, warmth, love,
the unexpected opening of time,
without denying the devastations,
the daily alienation,
those times when we are sunk below the line.

Yesterday, I drowned; I sense, I fear
tomorrow, I will again be
twice-bound.
Can I stay free?
Mud is as clear;
can you / I tell what is in store?

A life play arises, it seeks resolution …
and time passes.
Always.
Away from solution.

Are words valid? …
“Millions of fool errors” …
Inconstant …

Untrue.

I stand by this, that I can grow so that
in me as much as in all things, the Lord
may live, to sing in truth the song of praise.


(Lines written originally as part of a play for voices)


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Mar 20, 2013 6:29 am; edited 7 times in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Fri Nov 28, 2008 12:01 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thread

I once saw the sun. Not
the thing in itself, but
on a grey October morning,
in a hedge-walled garden,
the washing-line of a long-distance
spider-thread
crossed my path. And there,
within the early morning
pearls spread microscopically
along the line,
was my deliverance.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Jan 20, 2010 1:24 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Tue Dec 02, 2008 1:08 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Classroom

The pen is mightier than the sword. It sings
with the rhythm of the mind.

Listen: listen to other pens as
they murmur, describe. Mark:
mark the sound of this pen
as it freezes and
moves on, patterning
the unconscious into the conscious.

Shapes: rounded, flowing, ready for recall.

Morse-code whispers; the room
heavy and light with silence.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Jan 20, 2010 1:21 pm; edited 2 times in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Thu Dec 04, 2008 12:47 pm    Post subject: Song of Innocence Reply with quote

A Blakean Dream

In a world where none is One
sleeps the goddess Tuscany.
Hills and groves and towns and sun
dream how they could all be free.

The goddess wakes, a being lives,
journeys far cross space and time,
livens all with bright-hued gifts,
giving love through artists fine.

Painters paint the world alive,
poets make the being sing,
sculptors make cold stone thrive,
musicians make heaven ring.

Thus a law of give-and-gain
makes the goddess brighter too.
Here and now it’s much the same,
Tuscany, a world-wide view.

Each child knows a Tuscany,
a deity, gold, blue and green,
in a land of memory,
a multicoloured, perfect scene.

Only faith can make that scene
come alive and laugh and play.
Otherwise the dream's a dream,
practice let’s the vision stay.

Let the goddess guide you on
As you journey near or far.
Be unbound by your horizon
And you’ll reach a final

Star.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Mar 20, 2013 3:13 pm; edited 7 times in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Mon Jan 05, 2009 12:25 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Then

And on my tongue your song was singing
sparkling like kingfisher over the river.

And in my mind your rest was given,
darting messengers no longer janitors.

And at my centre the loadstone balanced
diamond true in the nexus of movement.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Jan 20, 2010 1:23 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Tue Jan 13, 2009 10:17 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

You

You gave to the humble caterpillar
his articulated spiky carriage.
You gave to the flawless thoroughbred
his high and kingly demeanour.
You took from the trickster all laughter,
the clattering bones of a long-dead comic.
You gave to me and took from me
and stayed with me in the dark of the furnace.

You saddled up the small white donkey,
ready to carry the master.
You sharpened the spear of the sceptic,
to pierce the hide of pretension.
And at the caesarean point without existence,
gave birth to the jewel of a rain-soaked rose-stem.
And at the setting of the fire-red harvest,
shot through the blood-moon with mercurial silver.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Jan 20, 2010 1:22 pm; edited 2 times in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Tue Jan 19, 2010 1:24 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Ditchling Beacon

It is afternoon. February. Half-an-hour
until a meeting; after one hour of motorway driving
down from the city. The sound
of the engine now gone. Silence, except
for the tread of my shoes
in the crisp crunch of hilltop snow.

Ten minutes, but ten minutes,
one minute, is all time. To the north -
a toy-town counterpane of rural England.
To the south – iced sun reflects gold-silver
beyond the land. And the whale-backed,
arctic-bright downs instance
the immensity of nature.

Iced fingers, the sense
of air in the chest;
a moment of finding, being free
from the quest.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Jan 20, 2010 1:22 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Wed Jan 20, 2010 12:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Puzzle
(after Catullus)


I feel love when love is granted,
anger when respect is denied.

Why is it a puzzle
When these two en-tango me
in a dance of death?


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Tue Jan 26, 2010 11:22 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Mon Jan 25, 2010 9:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Circle

This ring is magic, do not
transgress.
Inside is life - you could destroy;
watch out,
your part is played by eyes.

On reddish sand within the circle set out at the beginning
sit his mother, father, sister, aunt, uncle. The boy
patrols the edge, fiercely defending the circumference
with a hand-honed spear. Chanting, spear-thrust,
chanting, the beat of stick-upon-stick, spear-thrust;

and something cracks,
for a watcher, for one of those beyond
the limit set. At the end of the ceremony
this awkward unhandsome man is warming; not a man
of words, not one to reach out beyond his own circle.
A fire would like to thank somebody for making his world
less cut-and-dried, for a good morning, for the sense of some emotion
released.

The engine starts up; one by one
the watchers step up on to the bus, back
to Alice and from there to the city, Melbourne, Toronto, London.

The next day the sun will rise again; another ceremony, a new
setting and unsettling, maybe, of limits; a new statement
of the law; a redrawing and maintenance by family of a circle.

On this day, a man thanks the driver for
taking him to this place, finds some form of speech
to relay, to one he takes to be his own kind,
some wider recognition; tears are shed. On this day.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Fri Jul 10, 2015 7:27 pm; edited 6 times in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Tue Feb 02, 2010 10:57 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Caprice

Everywhere you turn there are goats.
Everywhere you go there are turns.
Turning goats are everywhere.
Whirling nannies eating scraps of paper
And exuding irritation.
Where are they from?
I turn a corner and more are turning.
But these turn anti-clockwise.
Why do some goats turn clockwise
And some turn anti-clockwise?
How can you tell a goat from a clock?
And why would you bother?
Brother sister father mother son daughter.
Where are the kids?
They’re turning.
Fast, faster and faster.
Under the feet of the nannies.
Where are the sheep?
Indeed.
The sheep sleep shattered and slain
Sending somnambulant rhythms
That somehow overturn the goats.
And sheep may safely graze.
The goats have travelled full circle;
The goats have been. And gone.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Sat Feb 13, 2010 10:27 am; edited 1 time in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Sat Feb 13, 2010 10:25 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Loss


1

If I should know you then what is your name?
You stand before me untitled, unmet
because unlabelled. I am embarrassed
as I key-search frantically the locked vaults
of memory. I know you and could
put a name to you once.
But not at this time.

2

Keeping in touch.
With sound.
With sight.
With touch.
With life.
Whose life? The life … young life, new horizons, the family.

Years.
The house.
The garden and lawn and sunshine and bird-song and child-calls.
Departings.

Gone.

Still here, some things.
Now.
Now and then.
Sometimes.


(Lines written originally as part of a play for voices)


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Mar 20, 2013 6:31 am; edited 1 time in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Wed Feb 24, 2010 9:34 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

A Koan for the Young Carpenter

Joseph is not your father. Who
told you that? Joseph
never slept with your mother
before they were married. Joseph
never slept with your mother
until you were born.
It was a strange business,
a strange business. Too
unsettling to tell the full
story. So who is your father?


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Fri Jan 30, 2015 9:56 am; edited 1 time in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Wed May 26, 2010 7:13 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The last days of Anglo-Saxon England


(978 - Corfe Castle, Dorset;
The internecine martyrdom of Edward,
king of the English)


Bad counsel is
now red.
Blood deed has made
brother king
in brother’s stead.

Beware:
The kingdom
will split before the Dane.
No English king
will endure again.


(1066 - Senlac, Hastings, Sussex;
The final defeat in battle
of the old English aristocracy)


The ear
hears silence fall from hill
to marsh.
No sounds now
call.
Recall – reversals,
run through with blood-cries.
They
turn the day and lead on to praise.

The eye
is torn asunder.
Horse-feet
trample men’s bones
under.
“Housecarls fall
after heroic stand”.
Horse-men
move on to claim the land.


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Tue Mar 13, 2012 3:36 pm; edited 3 times in total
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Fri Jun 04, 2010 8:31 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Sensing an Orange

A good baseball fit to the human hand.
Pockmarked, scarred.

Compliant to pressure, ready to be thrown.
Heaven, earth.

Light, almost white where it reflects light.
Pear-shaped, dense.

A touch colder to nose than to hands.
Vanilla, bland.

Volcanic spray, an interior ocean.
Zestful, sharp.

Inside-out, softness like brushed cotton.
With a plug, lime-green.

Tasted, the trajectory
of a tiger.
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Alan Edward Roberts



Joined: 26 Nov 2008
Posts: 188
Location: Twickenham, London, UK

PostPosted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 8:35 am    Post subject: Song of Experience Reply with quote

William’s Legacy
(In August 1803 the poet William Blake
was arrested in Felpham, Sussex)


August Twelve, a nation at war.
On England's coast,
a hunting season
declared
upon her prophet;
in the ears of a soldier, sedition;
in the eyes of an English jury, innocence.

December, two centuries now passed. I walk,
feel a winter suction of sea-in-shingle,
a stone-throw from
Blake's ground:
timber-frame, solid flint,
thatch - beached now amid
inter-war pastel, dark millennium sobriety.

The living word withdrawn, sucked back
from the coast to loom over Mammon.

What lines has the songbird yet to speak
to those encased in brick, mud, glass, pain?


Last edited by Alan Edward Roberts on Wed Mar 20, 2013 3:52 pm; edited 5 times in total
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