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Winter is coming… Again

Winter is coming… Again

(International Poetry Day 21 March, 2018)
The spring just turned and fled
Before my very eyes.
One day the warmth came, gone the next,
And again the dreaded ice.
I wonder if this year at all
We’ll see anything but snow?
The white sheen spread across the land –
Though romantic – now must go!

© The Hairy Teacher, March, 2018

It comes naturally

It comes naturally

The giant drill bit seering the muddied earth
A choir of angels in tow with every twist
The coil resounding the voices aligned
Till the foreman’s call brings silence.
Then the majorettes come-screeching
Whining? Marching?
Tap-dancing a tattoo?
From a whisper to a roar
Though not yet a low flying jet.
Is it Paddy’s day? New York?
Is spontaneous celebration the order of the day?
Surely not! And then-
Then two workmen appear…
Pushing three lockers on wheels
Grim faces hiding, like the shut doors,
What’s really going on inside.

Le Petit Esprit

Le Petit Esprit

A broader understanding spilt through the cracks
Poured through,
Pored over
But initially, accidentally
I opened up, my brother
Or at least found reason
And now sit-
A yesterpast-
Less vacant
More fulfilled
More enlightened
But less alive.
The numb-drum moments our debauchery
Inclined us to graves -pre-humously-
Inclining us to states debilitating…
Yet invigorating.
For was it not today in the half death
(Not the Petit Mort)
That I did not waver.
I stood profound
And let the criticism wash over me:
Not insulted- but defined.

Olay Ulay Down

Olay Ulay Down

The flesh attacks itself and in so doing, the mind
But the mind itself attacks prevailing over discourse-
The mind itself runs riot creating possibilities
And those self-same eventualities arise in the broken flesh.
My body is the sum total of misdeeds and misthinkings
Of a fight externally bound, as well as internal.
No man is an island and even where he makes it
The mind itself constructs the tidal wave that breaks it.
The shattered illusion of independence, of an individuality
Lies forlorn, abandoned, once the mind erupts.
The vacant words however hollowly expressed,
Ring beyond their definitions – spell of madness.
And so the flesh upon itself does pounce
But because the mind’s its cruel master,
And so intent on its determination…
But sometimes its merely degeneration.

The Library

As of February this year I will be starting up a library section as part of my service and students are free to choose from a list which I will publish online and which I will then deliver to them at our next meeting. The books will include, mainly, fiction but there are also some course books and grammar books which I will be pleased to offer. A comprehensive list will follow shortly.

Thanks

Martin

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