Poetic musings

As well as climbing mountains, rock-hopping, swimming, reading and traveling, one other of my major hobbies is writing.  I have been writing a travel journal (in true Jane Austin, blank page and pen style) since 1st January 2005, documenting adventures, now in it's 13th volume.  I also like to write poetry on life, consciousness and the human condition, and here is a selection of my personal favourites:

 

The Brain Drain (written to help remember facts for an undergrad exam!)

 

My action potential has given up firing 
The axon is only there for admiring 
The dendrites are snapping, the soma is lacking 
The terminal buttons will soon end it all! 

 

All this emotion has gone to the dorsal 
My powerful brain is just a mere morsel 
The pulsating lobe, the sulcus will explode 
I really cannot see what is the matter! 

 

The corpus callosum needs cutting in two 
The hippocampus has forgotten what to do 
The pons is popping, the medulla stopping 
The massa intermedia will soon tell the world!

 

Copyright. 2014 Samantha Brooks

 

Ode to my Father on his 71st Birthday

 

There’s no such word as can’t
So I looked it up
He was right;
Night night sleep tight,
Grumplin, don’t put your elbows on the table
Can you swim 10 miles on your birthday, Yes, I think you’re able!
Go knock ‘em dead kiddo, there’s no such word as can’t

Don’t say what, say pardon
And don’t shout from the next room if you want to speak to me!
And don’t forget to check the oil in your car!
(Yes Dad! - )
There’s no such word as don’t

He was king Canute of the Grand Union Canal
With his sailors cap and barge pole, and those sluice gates!
I watched in amazement as the guillotine came up over the water
Swinging the paddle key in my hand
As we said goodbye on the road trip over France to Spain
My make-up melting in the Spanish heat,
I was no longer a little girl, but a woman about to leave
Going off to explore the world, would it be possible?
Show ‘em who’s boss, he would say!
There’s no such word as can’t!

 

Copyright. 2014 Samantha Brooks
 

 

And Those Beautiful Women

 

And though those beautiful women

Left your heart hungry to adore

The darkness seeping wound from Cupid's arrow

Narrowly escaped to puncture

The healing will, controlling your heart, 

To love always, once more

 

Copyright. 2014 Samantha Brooks

 

 

Love's Sweet Kiss

Love is the answer and we know it for sure.

But what if our questions are never so pure?

Into love's sweet sorrow music feeds the abyss.

Playing on until our endless kiss.

Sweet and twenty my youthful lips caress my ageing mind's eye to touch you.

And yet, while it may not endure, my love delays.

 

Until my last breath, and may that delay be lengthy,

I kiss the life I love so much.

 

And in answer remember, that nothingness,

That abyss, is love's sweet kiss.

 

Copyright. 2014 Samantha Brooks

 

Today I had breakfast with a homeless man

 

Today I had breakfast with a homeless man.
He laid alone on the path dozing, a formless pile to the passers by
Until the morning sun met his face

And humanity began to stir.


Today I had breakfast with a homeless man.
I planted the seed of an idea in the mind of a woman.
Sitting watching him out the window from her breakfast table in the warm cafe
People walked by averting their disgusted glare, but I made her see his eyes.


Today I had breakfast with a homeless man.
I ignited the fire fueling the waitress's steps skipping across the street
The cafe owner smiling to the waking up of the man as the sunlight bathed his face
A croissant and warm coffee in the hand of the waitress paid for by the woman.


Today I had breakfast with a homeless man.
And three people who felt the warmth of my love.
As they allowed it to flow freely through them
On the dawn of a new day.

 

Copyright. 2015 Samantha Brooks

Grenfell

Gren - a unit of fineness of precious metals
Rendering the measure of the hundreds of precious people who fell that night
Equal in their terror, as the flames rose, around women, children, men, old, young
No living body can calculate, in the aftermath, the sum of negligence
Funds squandered, tax evaded, cheap materials chosen
Encapsulating those who had no choice but to reside in a death trap
Living in the lap of those around them who bask in luxury
Love, not celebrity or politics, will measure the cost of those precious fallen

Copyright. 2017 Samantha Brooks

Diana

In the place of moral -
Twenty years’ ago,
A queen did ponder,
The fairytale of yonder -
Her motley crew in tow.

The Blair Witch project,
On morn of death - 
Huddled together,
Through stormy weather;
Retelling the tale of Macbeth.

An Islamic Queen?
Preening on yacht,
Ambitions of ex -
To stir up and vex,
At the birthday party wedding plot.

The light in the tunnel snuffed out,
A candle in the wind;
Knarled metal, photo, stuffed toy,
Leaving behind each boy,
Growing weaker in mind.

And so too, thirty years -
Images older,
Queen of heart?
A bad start,
Monarchs colder.

History books,
What will they say?
Queen Camilla,
Licking envelopes manilla,
With her Prince for a day.

King Charles, waits forever -
Now finally his throne!
His sons wait cutely,
To end royal duty,
Sapphire cuts: overthrown!

Copyright. 2017. Samantha Brooks

 

The Pen Is Mighty, Mr Warty Brain

 

When I was a little girl, of about four, or five,

My parents bought me dancing shoes, and a flowing skirt, to jive.

It spiraled and rippled when I whirled up the breeze,

Around my shoes, tapping music on the light-footed floor to tease.

And I went to those lessons, dancing, with skip -

With anticipation of the magic that would rumple and rip.

Giving my shoes lines, crochets and quaver;

Grabbing the hand of my superior, the dance instructor, to savor.

A towering man with a Catweazle voice.

 

I looked up – and quivered. Stop.

 

A quavering quiver that lasted the length of the ballroom sessions -

What was that on his chin?

A wart – a dark mound of skin – with a few thick hairs protruding;

A flaw that tainted my magical world of dance and music,

A repulsing blow, nothing too serious, and a part of life but -

Re-pulsing my heart still!

 

As was then, so is now.

One small defect; an eye closing minute-long wink,

Faking contemplation of the seriousness,

With a Hooded Claw voice, of my academic dance.

The pen is, less useful but mightier than the word, he thinks.

And with that, the shoes come off, left -

In the corner of the room.

Creativity hangs limp,

Stylus scratching in repetitive motion.

 

Until somebody – me? changes the record.

Puts red ink in the pen.

Writes new music, dancing on.

Copyright. 2017. Samantha Brooks

Lemn Sissay, Why?

Looking for the name

Emoting the shame

Mothers love snatched

Norman seeking.

 

Something more than family

I am myself

Streaking paint

Satan I ain't on the journey from

Adolescent to adult.

Y?

Copyright. 2017. Samantha Brooks

Amazing Grace.

Never before have I watched a face, so

Ornately etched in amazing grace, oh!

Riveting it is, but even better with wordity,

Mouthed from a well, deep in absurdity.

And yet, beyond the pale finds sweet not acid,

Never will this child – thank God – be placid.

 

Manacles leave murky marks on this sleuth,

Arid family history, soaked in truth.

Raining like droplets collected in palm,

Keep hands cupped child, save memories from harm.

 

Going to a new place now, cupped hands wrenched,

Releasing 11-year memories, trousers drenched.

Everything now child, a contrast to then;

Everything now man, better than then.

Now is your future, sir chancellot,

Worry not now, no need to lance a lot.

Ornately etched in amazing grace

Oh!

Dark beauty - your ancestry - reflected in face, so.

Copyright. 2017. Samantha Brooks

Impulse Control = Creativity


Impulse control - not what it seems;
Not what it sounds -
It doesn’t kill dreams.


Controlling impulses – like singing a song;
Tune doesn’t go wrong -
To a noisy throng.


Impulsivity - allows not delay;
Can’t mind the gap -
Thoughts kept in a trap.


Self-control - fosters creativity;
Rodin perched observing city -
Of dreams for eternity.


No imagination - without impulse control;
Stimulus-response becomes very droll -
Without gap or delay you’re stuck in a hole.


Creativity builds - vision in mind;
Impulsivity renders vision blind -
Control supports vision to find.

Copyright. 2017. Samantha Brooks

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