Friday, 29 September 2017

TO BE OR NOT a tribute poem

to go or stay
or runaway
avoid delay

of my being here
of my being there
of leaving now
wondering how

of roundabout
of hereabouts
of this residence
a missing presence

in this empty house
in this empty mind
in making decisions
to just unwind

of being unable
to decide about
coming home
coming home

to a empty house
with a empty mind
and not being able
to just unwind

to go or stay
or run away
without delay

After the style of addenda 23 by Samuel Beckett 

Thursday, 28 September 2017

A mask a scarf
it's the light of the sun,
it's the glitter of the dew
it's a life begun
it's a blade of grass,
it is white, it's the dark,
it is black ,it is light,
it's a glow, it's a spark.
the clutter of life,
a word  in the ear,
the noise in the night,
the point  of the spear.
the centre of the world,
a walk in the park,
the look in the eye,
the song of the lark
it's the colour of the moon
it's the sound of your voice.
it's a chair, it's a stair,
it's a promise, it's a choice.
and the seconds tick by
of the time running out
it's the ifs and buts,
it's the uncertainty.
the arch, the shade,
the sheet, the bed,
the rhythm of the tide,
a garden shed.
a branch, a twig,
a hearty cheer,
a lock, a key,
the start of the year.
the star  of the east,
the middle of the day,
the breeze in the trees,
it's a trap, it's a stray.
a hole, a ring,
a laugh, a scream,
a shout, a song,
the end of the dream.

and the seconds tick by
of the time running out
it's the ifs and buts,
it's the uncertainty.

inspired by the style of the lyrics of Antonio Carlos Jobim's English song lyrics to 'The  Waters of March
Hear me recite this poetry on this YouTube link

Sunday, 17 March 2013


Go to this YOUTUBE link under the name ichthyschiro  to hear me read many recent poems aloud in (250) clips including my structured prose and phrasis verse.Here are the words thereto on the keynote clip thereon.The youtube link will also link to all the other  that I have uploaded under name ichthyschiro


What intimacy is its cause,perhaps

an immaculate conception of words;

too swift to comprehend,see or

recognise.The moment is there

and then is not.Gone with the wind

the seed of idea remains, to

germinate and gestate,fanned by a

mental fragrance of elation.Slowly

self-transcending a word into a phrase,

a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme

rides a waterfall of cadence,

into a chasm of verse. Terse or

long, the sonnet becomes a little song,

struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon

my page;a bastard-born of pain