#29 - Seven (by Lewis Buxton)

 
The other men fumble for a special number

something remarkable that’ll change the outcome

of the game and remind them of Sheringham,

Roy Keane, the little known Jeremy Alliadiere

 

or, most beautifully of all, the lucky seven,

which will lay on their back like the sun’s rays.

These days it’s Saka, Ronaldo, or Michael Olise

but before it was Cantona, Pires, David Beckham.

 

I’ve never gone in for that sort of thing

I’d pluck out eighteen, forty four, a bad

squad player somehow come up from the youth team.

 

Things only mean if you want them to mean,

and as I join the clutch of hands in the kit bag,

The number means nothing, only fingers brushing.

 

 

Lewis Buxton is a writer and theatre maker. His work has appeared in The Independent, Poetry Review, The Rialto, and Magma amongst others. His first collection Boy in Various Poses was published by Nine Arches Press in 2021. His new show ‘FRIEND’ is touring in Autumn 2024. He lives in Norfolk.

#28 - all we gotta do is get a preacher

Number four of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words’

Drawing on ‘Dance of the Seven Veils’ from Exile in Guyville by Liz Phair. With (more) apologies...

A prophet rolls in on the wind and dust

that cakes the court and chokes all idle chatter ‒

a burning pilgrim laying bare the matter

of piety, society and trust.

So dance your dance and claim a gift that must

both lift the otherworldly veils and shatter ‒

a gift upon a heavy silver platter,

your gift of pain and joy, of dream and lust.

Then Johnny, you could rent me by the hour ‒

I’d open up just like some precious flower

whose scent may cause a man to lose his head,

but all that eyes and heart and tongue devour

will never get to grace our marriage bower ‒

‘cause Johnny, my love, you’re already dead.

RJT

#27 - Yellow, Red, White, Black

 Finally, we get to the core of the Classical Planets, watching Fay Roberts talk about the Sun.

We have a thousand names, we die each night
and then return to bring life to the land
our greatest gifts are knowledge – heat and light
united to help people understand

that hiding from our gaze will never work –
we dominate the sky from end to end
and our devoted fans would never shirk
from nominating those whom we must mend.

See, scientists and poets know the score:
that where we love too deep we surely hurt
the innocents who otherwise might soar
but plucked they plummet to their just desert.

They know that, given time, we’ll swell and burn
all those who stayed nearby done to a turn…

Narcissus sundiscs, because sometimes you have to obey the first thing out of the Google search algorithm. Image from the Thomas & Morgan gardening site.

#26 – Ophelia of the Bathtub

Highgate Cemetery is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries. It is located in the London Borough of Camden, and was originally consecrated in 1839. One of its more famous residents is Elizabeth Siddal, artist, artist’s model and poet. In 1851, Siddal modelled for John Everett Millais’  famous painting, Ophelia, laying in a freezing bathtub to emulate the drowning of Shakespeare’s ill-fated heroine. 

Ophelia of the Bathtub

I want you to imagine how if felt

to hold that blighted posy in your hand.

You found the swollen river, and you knelt

Then – breathing deep – abandoned life on land. 

The creeping cold might chill unwitting flesh

and turn your pretty blush to icy white

but Art is worth the sacrifice and fresh

aesthetic flair’s emboldened by the sight

of veils afloat. The dainty wedding lace,

all soaking wet and rippled on the skin;

the deluged comprehension in the face.

The hope of final rescue, wearing thin. 

Now lay, palms raised, and lips a shade apart,

and think about the maiden’s broken heart. 

LM 

Listen to the poem 

Ophelia by John Everett Millais

#25 - Seven Fukujin: Benzaiten

 

We’re seven Gods of Fortune. After all

the boys can offer you, I’ll take my turn.

The arts that fill your day are my concern:

the frosty morning Turner on your wall;

the noonday warmth in every verse you learn;

the evening wreathed in Chopin’s last nocturne;

my works contain the talent to enthral.

 

For what are lengthy days if they lie fallow?

A life bereft of art is hardly living –

refreshment meagre, meditations shallow.

I offer beauty – paramount, life-giving.

Art begets art. Compassion breeds.

You’re hungry. I got what you really need.

 

AWB

(image credit: Celeste,
Random Colours)

#24 - Paridae

Number seven of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words’...

Within the Aves there’s a family

where elocution varies on the fly ‒

the English often make it rhyme with ‘sky’,

Americans pronounce it ‘parody’.

However we conceive its prosody,

whatever way we try to classify,

there’s one thing that nobody can deny ‒

they are exemplars of things feathery.

Whenever noisy, social song is heard

their many species flit among the trees,

the Rusty, Dusky, Ashy and the Blue ‒

it’s safe to say that any hue will do.

So lift your head and turn to face the breeze,

and welcome home this paragon of birds.

RJT

#23 Hatter, not Hater

Fittingly running late (but quickly), Fay Roberts channels Mercury...

Prince Popinjay they call me, fly-by-night
Reticulating errand-boy and fraud
(I’m seeking your attention – please applaud!)
My brother named me patron of the sleight
As I touch down, more errant sparks take flight
My many talents follow me abroad
(Apparently my stock has really soared)
They say I’m easily bored (I think they’re right).

Erratic pizzicato? Maybe not…
Reticulating– wait, I said that part…
I lost my train of thought, so time to hop
Aboard the latest vehicle that’s hot
Had I the time to finish what I start
Gods know I’d love the chance to finally stop.

Rapidly turning GIF of Mercury (probably nicked off NASA), taken from GIFER.com

#22- The Silent Woman

Brompton Cemetery is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries. It is located in the Royal London Borough of Kensington and Chelsea and was originally consecrated in 1840. One of its more famous residents is Fanny Brawne, the fiancée and muse to English Romantic poet John Keats. When word got out about their relationship, sometime after Keats’ death, the press vilified Fanny Brawne for being unworthy of the affection of such a great literary hero. Plus ça change, amirite? 

The Silent Woman 

I am the silent woman - letters lost -

and so they choose to reconstruct me whole

from his words only - oh! but at what cost?

As misinterpretation takes its toll. 

I wish to be a book myself, intact,

and not a hasty postscript on a page.

Instead my name is slandered and attacked,

and I am now a conduit for rage. 

Society abhors a woman’s worth

and reconsiders only when she’s dead;

I hear their words reverberate through earth,

not dampening the roaring lies they spread. 

I am the poet’s widow, come what may,

my reputation built from mis-fired clay.

LM

Listen to this poem

Photo Credit: Wikipedia

 

 

#21 - Seven Fukujin: Fukurokuju

 

Just close your eyes. And face towards the sun –

appreciate the blessing on your skin.

A lucky life’s the right of everyone:

the blithesome boon of seven fukujin.

 

We’ll grant you lengthy days, and feasts to fill them;  

a castle to protect your laughing children;

a love to make the Earth beneath you shift:

all human bounties lie within our gift.

 

the chief of these is luck – or kismet, karma –

the serendipity of cosmic dances;

the happy fluke of how the dice may fall.

 

So here’s the deal: you cultivate your dharma,

and us, we’ll strive to consecrate your chances –

We’re seven Gods of Fortune after all.

AWB

#20 - Baise-moi

Number three of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words’...

The French have many ways of saying ‘kiss’

(though ‘French kiss’ simply isn’t one of those,

it tends to just appear in English prose)

and listing some might go a bit like this ‒

there’s bisous bisous when friends reminisce,

embrasser gets you through the highs and lows,

plus biser for a peck on cheek or nose.

But one of them can be quite hit-and-miss:

while baiser as a noun is pretty sweet

(its practice is unlikely to disturb)

be careful not to use it as a verb

with any random stranger you may meet ‒

for if, by chance, their jaw don’t hit the floor,

you’ll end up with more than you bargained for...

RJT

#19 - Dodging the Obvious

Far from home, but inspired by our planetary twin so close at hand, Fay Roberts (with a little help from zir friends) addresses Venus, another of the Classical Planets:

Now heralded by conches, you emerge;
adrift no more, your light is always there.
And though you rise and fall, your fateful surge
impels your host to heights beyond compare.

Your blissful dissonance beguiles our rest;
your messages of hope inform our dreams;
though many only see you at your best,
still others fall to wanton, guileful schemes.

It seems you run more hot, support less life
than Gaia, standing in the line of fire,
and those who skip the research offer strife
in your name to us souls blown in the gyre.

Though maiden, mother, victor, bearded, bald,
in any guise you’re more demand than skald.

Processed using infrared and ultraviolet (IR1, IR2, UV1 [283nm, 365nm]) filtered images of Venus taken by Akatsuki on August 24 and September 4 2016. JAXA/ISAS/DARTS/Kevin M. Gill via Wikimedia

#18 – How to be dead

West Norwood Cemetery is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries. It is located in the London Borough of Lambeth and was originally consecrated in 1837. One of its more famous residents is Mrs Isabella Beeton, whose book ‘Mrs Beeton's Book of Household Management’ was a seminal instructional text for middle class housewives in the mid-nineteenth century.

How to be dead 

It takes some getting used to. There’s a knack

to coping with the stillness in your chest. 

The strangeness of the quiet and the lack 

of breath and mood and motion, when at rest. 

It’s not a state to seek before your time -

Lord only knows, we need your kind on earth -

but sure as taxes tax, and poets rhyme, 

your end will come, as certain as your birth. 

But nothingness is tough to contemplate;  

the mixture of relief and doubt and dread. 

Take comfort in your universal fate:

coz hierarchies don’t concern the dead.

It takes some getting used to. There’s a knack

to coping with the quiet and the lack.

LM

Listen to the poem here

Photo credit: Wikipedia

#17 - Seven Fukujin: Jurōjin

 

Assuring you a long and healthy life?

I rather think that’s my domain, old bean!

One constant thought to pierce you like a knife:

your years are finite; death comes unforeseen.

 

But I’ll be here, exchanging blows with brevity –

a duellist fencing fickle father time.

A prayer to me will guarantee longevity,

and Socrates’ old wisdom is no crime.

 

Sit back, relax, and have yourself a peach –

Enjoy the peaceful garden, filled with light.

A mortal’s grasp should e’er exceed his reach,

and reaching, grasp exceptionally tight.

 

And when the time-bell calls – your days are done –

just close your eyes and face towards the sun.

AWB

#16 - La Mer(de)

Number one of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words’

A re-imagining of the track from ‘Horses’ by Patti Smith. With apologies...

This sea, this sky, are stitched up with the land

as horses’ hooves shape iamb and trochee ‒

some simple syncopated poetry.

A boy steps forward, lifts his arms, the sand

cascades like blood-red water through his hands.

A girl leans on the parking meter, she

will dance in tongues, converse elliptically:

unlearn, untwist, uncover; understand.

Behind the mirror, Johnny conjures dreams

where butterflies are flapping in his throat,

where silver horses range the in-between.

The mirror cracks, with silence and with screams

that coalesce as one transcendent note ‒

and Johnny falls deep into the machine...

RJT

#15 - Eclipse Us

Lackadaisically lunar, Fay Roberts dashes in under the closing door of the day with a take on the Moon, as part of zir examination of the seven Classical Planets.

We’ve longed for you as long as we have gazed
above our darkened state to raise the stakes,
and every nation large or small has praised
that glass in which we magnify mistakes.

You fill our nights with wonder and we miss
your silver bars when you have ducked from view.
While lovers tumble, grapple, howl, and kiss,
your visage blushes red, and royal blue.

As tides cannot be conquered, and the light
that hides in stubborn syzygy can’t die,
so you, our nearest neighbour in the fight
against our murky nature must not fly.

Strange forces change the nature of our tryst,
but, as we drift, please know your view is missed.

– FR

Lunar Libration with Phase October 2007 by Tomruen via Wikimedia

#14 - Back to Black

Abney Park Cemetery is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries. It is located in the London Borough of Hackney and was originally consecrated in 1840. In 2007, Amy Winehouse filmed the music video for Back to Black in Abney Park Cemetery. 

Back to Black  

When royalty first came to Abney Park, 

the monuments all craned to take a look,

the bushes combed their leaves and smoothed their bark,

and grasses, in excitement, reeled and shook. 

The spirits of the cemetery stirred

as soulful melodies were sung aloud,

and though they couldn’t make out every word

the filming drew them close, this ghostly crowd. 

A London graveyard is a sombre place,

and phantoms, left behind, are prone to ache,

but Amy was each spectre’s saving grace,

and so, the loveless gathered in her wake. 

It was as though she’d been this way before, 

where each soul dies a hundred times and more.

LM

Listen to the poem here

Photo credit - wikipedia

#13 - Seven Fukujin: Bishamonten

 The dangers of this world and what is in it?

Precisely why you need a god like me!

This life’s a battle – I can help you win it,

(but bear in mind: I rarely work for free).

Now, many call for skulls, or thrones of gore –

a sacrifice before they offer favour:

your firstborn plus two hundred fattened boar,

(your daughters to be auctioned off to slavers).

 

Not me. I simply state: laws should be obeyed –

those formal codes of manners and convention.

If you behave, then count upon my blade,

to execute that lifelong intervention:

defending you in war and hostile strife;

assuring you a long and healthy life.

AWB

#12 - Oedipus at Colonus

Number six of George Carlin's ‘Seven Dirty Words’

After Sophocles...

The storytellers, oracles relate

how I have earned the enmity of men,

how I have killed one of my kin and then

slept with another, slept and sealed my fate.

The whims of law and history dictate

if ignorance is a defence, and when

the wheels of war and time roll on again,

if all our little lives are worth debate.

So lead me sister/daughter through the grove

and raise my eyes to what I cannot see,

then I will bathe and pray and shed the knave.

Go tell the world that, at the end, I strove

to cleanse the land of all impurity

and gift one man the secret of my grave.

RJT

#11 - Ostinato

Today Fay Roberts examines Mars, and takes in all sorts of cultural wayposts as ze goes (some expanded on below the image).

But now the intro’s done, it’s far too late:
the hot-head with the coldest heart is here;
the tension mounts, you must accept your fate,
for here is one that you can love and fear.

Relentless, red, his pockmarked visage looms,
all atmosphere is drained and breathing grows
so difficult; the coloniser booms,
crescendoed to fortissississimo.

Though many find him lurid and profane,
here’s some who laud him guardian and more –
a route to honour and their rightful gain,
the means to set foot first on further shores.

But while they claim he represents their sex,
there’s more to manhood than a single X.

Mars GIF courtesy of Best Animations (no clue who created it though, sadly)

Some explanations may be necessary – ostinato is a term for “a motif or phrase that persistently repeats in the same musical voice, frequently in the same pitch,” which I first encountered in the description of Holst’s first piece in The Planet Suite – Mars, Bringer of War, where the intro’s percussive motif is played col legno, with the strings of the stringed instruments being hit by the wood of the bow. The piece builds to the loudest dynamic in formal, “Western” classical music: fortissississimo (ffff).

Any other interpretations in this poem… well, that’s up to you…

#10 - The Parakeets of Nunhead Cemetery

Nunhead Cemetery is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries. It is located in the London Borough of Southwark and was originally consecrated in 1840. Like many places in London, and other cities in the UK, Nunhead cemetery is home to a number of non-native species, including the beautiful, raucous ring-necked parakeet.

The Parakeets of Nunhead Cemetery 

All souls, in granite slumber, stir to life,

surprised by sudden throaty, screeching calls.

A ring-necked parakeet has brought his wife

to nest within the mausoleum’s walls. 

These feathered captives slipped their iron cage

escaping from a cramped menagerie, 

and, courting consternation and outrage,  

they made their home in Nunhead’s ancient trees.

When London cemeteries are so sad

and local birds so dull and seldom-seen,

in deep November, can it be so bad 

if through the granite grey, there flashes green? 

A gloomy graveyard, now alive with squawks; 

the perfect way to brighten winter walks. 

LM 

Listen to the poem here

Photo credit: unsplash.com

#9 Seven Fukujin: Hotei

 

A home, a hearth, and something worth defending?

Is someone getting broody over there?

Does instinct urge you to produce an heir?

Secure genetic legacy unending?

Or else, it’s more for family – you’re intending

to lead a joyous band of offspring fair,

who’ll often make you laugh (and sometimes swear);

a life of love (and frequent moneylending)?

 

A small remembrance will secure my blessings,

since – though your love’s a fortress, all-embracing –

you can’t protect them each and every minute.

I’ll keep an eye, and see how they’re progressing

along life’s shining walkway, always facing

the dangers of this world and what is in it.

 

AWB

#8 - long ago and far away

Number two of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words'

A reworking of one of my own poems - ‘A Boat Made of Bottles’ from ‘The Vodka Diaries’...

Build me a boat made of bottles ‒ elope

by latitudes ever illusory,

by winds and by waves all imaginary ‒

a craft of confusion, vodka and dope.

Riding the currents with just enough rope,

murmur a mystery meant only for me ‒

two lovers adrift on a wine-red sea

with a cargo of tears, kisses and hope.

I dream you build a harbour, that I may

be able to return again one day.

But all my fantasies extinguish trust

as good intentions crumble into dust.

For lives are built together, not alone ‒

good luck, and may your journey bring you home.

RJT

#7 - A Jovial Lay

Delayed due to migraineʼs bitter curse, Fay Roberts explores Jupiter, the largest and oldest of the Classical Planets.

High winds above this bright and stormy night
sing shrill, warm hallelujahs to the king
who dwarfs the other monarchs in his might
and main, amassing wards in lieu of bling.

Wives and daughters, lovers, fools, and more
attend his majesty, the first to rise
and dedicate his thunder to the score
of all aoidoi laid upon the skies.

But kings should hear, as bards know best of all,
that hubris has a knack for bringing low
the mightiest, and even kings can fall
and break their pride on what they used for show.

When destiny contracts from near and far
you’ll either end up dust or as a star.

Jupiter, © NASA/Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory/Southwest Research Institute via Wikipedia

#6 - A Balancing Act

Kensal Green Cemetery is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries. It is located in the Royal London Borough of Kensington and Chelsea in London, and was originally consecrated in 1833. One of its many famous residents is the Victorian Tightrope Walker, Charles Blondin. 

A Balancing Act 

A man can rest his weight upon a wire

above a town or raging waterfall

but can he master all his base desires

through sheer audacity and foolish gall? 

Sometimes I am the tightness in the rope,

sometimes I am the yawning black abyss;

I tread the air to struggle and to cope

with all that I am not, and all I miss.

I’ll carry you, a pilgrim, on my back,

and see you safely to the other side.

We’ll navigate the narrowest of tracks:

twelve thousand inches long, three inches wide. 

I bless the boys below who tied the knots; 

this clichéd metaphor is all I’ve got.

LM 

Listen to the Poem Here 

Photo credit: Wikipedia

 

 

#5 - Seven Fukujin: Daikokuten

 

A bursting belly and one sated soul

is well and good – but why not five? or twenty?

He brings a feast to fill your empty bowl,

but one good harvest gluts your life with plenty.

 

Me? I think longer term, devise and plan –

this planet offers bounty to the willing.

Renounce the stopgap slop of Fishy Man:

a prayer to me is future-proof fulfilling.

 

You teach a man to fish – y’know the rest –

this hackneyed saw is centred on “himself”.

My field is wider – there’s no use pretending:

 

You teach a man to grow, he builds a nest,

with future dinners lining every shelf –

a home, a hearth, and something worth defending.

 

AWB

#4 - burn all the liars

Number five of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words’

Borrowing (with all apologies) from ‘Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle’ by Kurt Cobain

Allegedly the response Frances Farmer gave when asked her profession by the police...

One day, they say, you will come back as fire

that sweeps in vengeance down through Puget Sound

to raze diseased Seattle to the ground ‒

one day, they say, you will become desire.

One day, they say, you will burn all the liars

whose fictions twist the wide-eyed world around

in halls of ash where hypocrites are crowned ‒

one day, they say, you will escape the pyre.

Proscenium arch and movie camera frame

a woman chained, an antiseptic bed,

a fading tableau of vicarious shame,

a kind of triumph for the honest dead,

as cops and robbers play their endless games ‒

we still remember every word you said...

RJT