THE SEMINAR SERIES

Poetry Workshop – Submissions

March 23, 2010 at 5:52 am (Uncategorized)

We have got in a number of great poetry submission from our workshop participants. On the basis of the submissions I think we can conclusively say that the Seminar-workshop was a real success and Siobhan did an excellent job of bringing out our creativity.

Everyone has had a week to fine tune and edit their works and I now have the pleasure of posting them here.

If anyone else would still like to submit any of their work, please feel aboslutely free to do so, the more the merrier.

And with that, on with the show.

(apologies for any formating changes, a consequence of the limits of this site)

**************************

Paper

Oh my dear paper

Were you not the

one who qualified

me as a master of arts ?

Were you not the one

who was picked  on the street

by the street urchin ?

Why do you play

too many roles

to place yourself

in this mundane world?

Can I fly like you

quite free in the air

as the leaf in the Ode

to win the West Wind ?

None needs you

these modern days

of mobile phones

no more tree-felling

no more tree slaughter

Oh my dear paper

You do do me

Every single day

Either as a degree

From the varsity

or as a letter

to work somewhere…a great favour

~  Lakshman S

……………………………………………….

‘Notebook’

Unwilling murderer of trees

my mood holder

you are filled with me

my humid night-time thoughts

and crisp morning ideas

and still you gift me space

consistent escaper of monotony

my still silent traveller

one day

you’ll own all you can of me

(no more will you be my alternative refuge

where I pour myself out with tea and a blanket,

or my sticky, thirsty self,  on the balcony)

and we’ll let go

you’ll live on my desk

~ Laura Hadfield

……………………………………..

Swipe Card

My staff swipe card lives

and gives

a roof over my head,

smoked salmon in our sushi,

bruises from falling off BMX’s,

only from this.

Only

it is not self-aware

or I am not aware

of it.

If it could see itself;

a cord, sapphire blue, pilled,

it’s centre bound to be,

bound to me,

plastic.

~  Aysha Vitapa-Aspinall

…………………………………………..

THE CLIMB

It fits my knife like a glove, this hand scarred by so many slashes and scrapes,

the accidents just waiting  to happen to a boy years ago

who has nevertheless survived until

now.  Just now

I found in my pocket again

this dear old friend

my knife. My life

plays back  to me as I open the blades

one by one

flashing in the sun

each scratch and nick

in the stainless teeth

recalls one hack, one chip of my axe

on the long climb up the ice

dark north face of this winter mountain

whose top sways dangerously close now through the cloud

so when I look back

down

into the sparkling green

of my childhood valley

2000 metres

and 46 years below

I don’t know

whether to fall or fly

to grin or to cry.

~  Charles Hadfield

……………………………………………………..

Lake Tekapo

Do the souls see

every big sky cold mountain day

from the milky water grave

that took them?

No postmortems just

inquest rulings of accidental deaths.

Yet no stories of hauntings

or monsters from the deep;

no gossip trade of phantoms, ghosts,

or the lake that keeps her dead?

There is a pulse in the landscape that

cradles this lake, that echoes

in every stone that is stumbled over,

every gushing sweet salmon filled river,

each bunch of wind thrashed tussock grass,

on the mountains where snow falls, settles and melts;

and above it all is a sky so big

that clouds must ask permission to enter.

Yes.

Under this big sky bright star night

A God is close.

~   Rosemary Ayers

………………………………………………

Wings

We are bare and

you just hang. Overcast,

starry-eyed, us little people

under your weight, sky.

Dan plays a little

on the crap guitar

and I write some words.

I am heat,

prickly of wool

and what we make

and lets go,

lets just go,

lets just dissolve,

let go.

And before sun-up,

some time within,

my paper arctic and dank

and its lines

and your sounds

carry in seagulls

wings.

~  Aysha Vitapa-Aspinall

……………………………………………………

.

They’ve gone again, all four pairs.

for Rosy.

I’ve searched by the sink, on my desk,

at my bedside, in my handbag

where I find your gift, this case,

red tapestry with elephants

two shades of blue, smelling

of mints and off duty,

neglecting to protect and have

my glasses at the ready.

Yes, you know this is not the first

time I find myself half-blind

and will not be the last

so for tactile visibility

you chose red and elephants

because they never forget.

~  Bernadette Kenny

…………………………………………………

Sky

Sky is the limit

Was the first sentence

I heard as a boy

of four years old

from my grand old dad

who has left me alone

to find the real truth

“Sky is the limit”

I looked at the sky

with the bare blank  heart

first  it was blue

then it turned grey

and then it got ochre

with the day’s sun set

reflecting the thought

blue meant peace

grey meant anger

ochre sacrifice

of a Hindu saint

whatever the color

the sky remains same

as a Wordworthian in me

thought of a thought

that this good old sky

links cosmos

where I may see

my departed dad

who lives with my mum

who bid a farewell

five years ere

sky is the limt

yes sky is the limit.

~   Lakshman S

……………………………………………………

Full Metal Jacket

The Lipstick is her ammunition

A golden bullet that she

fingers with affection;

rubs it’s ridges

with genie-lamp hope.

The casing is tarnished

except for the

pretty, shiny

ring at the

stopper; she wishes

someone had put one

like that on her finger.

Without it’s cap

it’s a spent shell.

She twists out

the last application

of her favourite shade

‘Wine with Everything’

then purses her lips a little.

She bleeds.

~   Rosemary Ayers

…………………………………………

(inspired by an item from the handbag- cheque book)

The Consumer

Currency…

Coated in every hue

morphs basic brown to radiant blue to

shiny golden hues

enticing addicted appetites.

Teased by mutant mouths, frantic fingers tap

seeking satisfaction locked in gratifying walls of stone

The M and M’s of money world

escape spewing down a drain

wide awake and waiting.

~ Raewyn Gregory

—————————————————————

Please feel free to leave any comments.

We would really like to hear back about which ones you have really enjoyed