Cantabria

Beauty, she lies, all gentle curves,

And soft, smooth contours,

Radiant and glowing in the warm Spanish sun.

The rounds of her mounts takes my breath away,

And the lush forest waits invitingly below.

The blue of her eyes is in the endless sea,

Surrounded by the rich browns of sun kissed skin,

The warmth of her skin reflected in a loving carefree attitude,

Which only enhances her physical beauty,

Here I feel at home,

Slowly traversing her hills and valleys,

Oh Cantabria, I’m glad I’m here with thee.

I wrote this poem on 21/04/2011 while on a bus trip through Cantabria, a province of Spain, on the way to meet a now ex-girlfriend who was working in Donostia/San Sebastian in the Basque Country/Spain.

I was in love at the time and excited to see her after a couple of months working in Germany; the beautiful northern Spanish countryside made me think of her…

Sexual unity?

We’ve all been out there,
Running the rat race,
Not realising,
We all got a slap in the face.

We’re all in there,
Chasing the girl,
And all that's happening is,
We’re being taken for a twirl.

Because all around this world,
This wide, wide world,
There’s a boy,
There’s a girl.

She’s singing a sweet song,
He’s drooling,
She’s stringing him along, 

He's fooling.

He buys her a drink,
And is starting to think
He’s in with a grin,
He’s in to win!

Is she too thin?
No, he can’t wait to begin,
Begin what? Tonight,
There’ll be no begin-ning,

Both are trying to fill,
The gaping hole inside,
Inside comes outside,
Both know they’re being lied, to.
 

But where they’re looking,
They’re not going to find,
The thing to set at rest,
Their mind.

Where was love lost,
Along the way?
A long way, back?
To far to track?

Because in a culture,
That’s all about sex,
What comes nex-t?
Thousands of people all vexed?

Where did we lose,
Those religious values,
That see sex and love,
To be cherished?

But they perished,
Not that I wish to return,
Or turn, back time,
It’s impossible and not required.

Rather to realise there’s a hole,
That can only be filled by love,
And friends and community,
Not in simple sexual unity.

I started thinking through this piece on the way home from a night out partying in NZ in early 2012, observing and listening to the other passengers on the bus. 

I finished it off as a stream-of-consciousness spoken-word piece for the dVersePoets prompt on the fractured nature of the modern world, in which Western culture is, I think, losing sight of what is important while we all chase personal pleasure.

What do you, about both the poem (which needs to be read out loud in spoken word style) and the subject it tackles?

When it becomes just about sex then sexual unity gains immunity, from love. It stops being an affair of the heart, and that apart it can only lead to falling apart, for a start. It becomes an art, the art of seduction, in all a reduction of a human relationship, the Intro-duction of self-satisfying, selfish self-gratification which leads to the striation of society.

The story of stuff (Christmas reflections)

Do they ever wonder,

Those poor Chinese,

Where their goods go,

And who they please?

While we turn a blind eye,
And  buy all that's cheap.
 But how can we justify it,
And our humanity still keep?

But how can you change,
 A system built on greed,
With desperate workers,
who have families to feed?

You can buy locally made,
Or Fairtrade goods.
But this won't change the system,
We're not out of the woods.

All that's left,
Is to use your Voice,
And help others to see,
That we have a choice.

This isn't the only way,
That it can be,
We can have a world,
Where all are free.

I had thought of them years earlier, but originally wrote just the opening stanza as my Christmas poem for 2011, while I was thinking about where the gifts we received had come from.

I'm re-posting it now for the http://dVersePoets.com poetics prompt 'buttons', as one of the stereotypical products that come from sweatshops across Asia is obviously clothes.

For the dVerse Poets who read this post I encourage those of you, who haven't already, to slick on the 'Social Justice' tag and read some of my other poems on similar subjects

I would be interested to know what you think!

25/12/2011

This question came to me while thinking about sweatshops a few years back; it seemed apt to think about it again just after Christmas.

If you want to know more or how you can help the fight against abusive sweatshops (those which pay virtually nothing to workers in dangerous conditions) check out the UK organisation No Sweat's website: http://www.nosweat.org.uk/  

Post-Christmas micro poem:

Back after Christmas/My pen working again//Only question is/Did hols muddle my brain?// (Hope u all had a good break!)

Tuscan romance

 Tuscan romance

The spring sun is shining, the birds are a’flight,

As we weave our way through the Florentine light.

Filtered by green trees on the side of the road,

Bordered by clear rivers which for centuries have flowed,

We wind our way into the clear mountain air,

With our trusty Vespa to take us there.

Our destination unknown, but we know what awaits,

For in a Tuscan romance, good food and laughter's our fate.

I wrote this poem in mid-2011 while staying in Italy with my then girlfriend, and Italian.

Her family had a holiday house in the seaside town of Viareggio  in Tuscany and one beautiful day we had taken a drive up into the stunning hills and mountains that rise up in the hinterland. We visited a beautiful old church up on a hill surrounded by vineyards, had a delicious lunch and extremely flavourful Chianti (a local red wine) at a small family run restaurant that looked out over the valley. 

What a day in bella Italia!

Have you had any similar traveling experiences that inspired poems? Feel free to post them here if you have.

I couldn't decide to go or not one way

Two paths diverged in a forest one day,

But I couldn’t decide to go or not one way.

I stood at the fork and my mind did sway,

Till the sun did the inevitable and had its say.

So I curled up and down my head I did lay,

Until the morning woke me up with the suns first ray.

I’d hoped for inspiration, a dream of the way,

But nothing was been forthcoming and I was left with the day.

To decide, to decide, but my mind did stray,

So at that fork I did stay, I did stay.

I didn’t take any path or less traveled way.

And that I regret every night and every day.

For to make a decision to go one way,

At least the decision is made, let come what may.

I am not the worlds greatest decision maker (maybe because I am a Gemini if you believe in star signs). I can make big decisions when they have to be made but it is the little ones that stump me; lamb korma or buttered chicken, chocolate mousse or a hot fudge brownie etc.

This poem was obviously inspired by Robert Frost's great 1920s poem 'The Road Not Taken', and was my attempt to deal with this flaw in my character and get through to myself that in reality not making a decision is worse than just making on and enjoying the ride.

What do you think?

And do you have any feedback on the poem? Should the fourth line rather say "Till the sun began to set and had it’s say"? 

Could the eleventh line rather be "I didn’t take any path, I kept the decision at bay,"?

(This poem was posted for the dVerse Poets Pub poetic prompt 'Choice'; Thanks guys! )

 Another form of choice, this needs to be updated but valid.

Why work?

They say that work defines you,

But is that ok by you?

It wasn't ok by me,

Until I thought, maybe it should be.

Buddhists see work as an outlet,

For creativity, innovation, effort.

A rewarding experience that makes life,

Whole, allows you to keep a family and wife.

They say 'If you do a job you love,

You'll never work another day'.

But could this true I wondered?

As all around me advertising thundered.

'You need to work to be able to consume!'

The latest car, house or experience,

An iPod, iPhone, iPad, it all,

But what if, I, don't want to?

What if I want to work not for money,

But for the love of using my skills.

I don't work to kill, myself or others,

I work to bring life, end strife, help mothers.

Everyday I'm blessed to wake,

Because I'm inspired to go to work.

I'm inspired to inspire, and light a fire,

And never work another day, until I retire.

I wrote this poem for the dVerse Poets pub poetics challenge or writing a poem around the theme of work (as you may have guessed!)

I made a decision a number of years ago to never work for money, but rather to always work for something I love and believe in. This has led to work for a number of not-for-profits, environmental/sustainability organisations and now the child focused humanitarian organisation World Vision.

I love it.

I often arrive at work and suddenly think about how lucky I am to be paid to do what I love, and to help others at the same time, whether (hopefully) inspiring youth in New Zealand to be all that they can be, or raising money for our community development work in the Third World.

This poem is written as a spoken word piece so read it out loud and please let me know what you think!