Come Again?

Doing a bit of industry research one evening I come across this book of poetry, “Dung Beatles Navigate by Starlight”.

I know I can give as good as it gets on the waffle game (and I’m not talking about sweet treats) but this is next level:

The book’s description reads:

These poems explore the boundary between science and poetry, and juxtapose the lexicon of organic chemistry, in particular, with a botanical discourse which is more conventional in poetry, but which the scientific treatment defamiliarises. Far from being abstruse and heavy, the treatment here lightens the subject with an imaginative playfulness, as in ‘The First Green Human: The Observer Interviews Clorinda’, where Marvell’s pastoral character is turned, through a journalistic register, into a personification of current ecological concerns.

My reaction?

I’m done. No way can I compete with that level of blurb-ery (#ShouldBeAWord) talent (and I’m not entirely kidding).

In other news, Mumma B says she’s reassured in knowing that her daughter isn’t the only one who can spout waffle. Whoop.



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Sometimes it’s Hard: A Poem for Lockdown

A quick something I pulled together on a ‘work from home’ coffee break. I’m certainly no poet, but every minute of creativity helps.


Sometimes it’s Hard

Sometimes it’s hard to be strong,

Always tough, never wrong,

To be your own cheerleader, all glitter and smiles,

Hiding away all your wiles.

Being that Goddess, proud and stiff,

Forgetting they were the stuff of myth.

Sometimes it’s hard to be defiant,

Always immutable, never a tyrant,

To absorb words as tiny letters, strung in voice,

And to blink away the pain, like you have a choice,

Laugh and joke and go with the show,

Let the pain flow later, when nobody knows.

Sometimes it’s hard to be one human,

Always demanding, never realistic,

Using rhymes to romanticise, and cover the cracks,

Thinking the world could fall gently into verse,

If only.

Sometimes it’s hard,

Just hard.

When some say stay and others shout “move!”

And you’re stuck in the middle, not knowing what to do.

Because to blame the world is arrogance, to blame yourself is pathetic,

So where do we turn when homes become prisons?

The unused vocal cords darken with rust,

And what few words remain fail me.



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What It Must Feel Like to Fly

What it must feel like to fly,

To ride up high and touch the sky,

Flapping till done to avoid the gun,

What is must feel like to fly.

What is must feel like to swim,

To move with fins more gracious than limbs,

Eyes open wide to spy Captain Bird’s Eye,

What is must feel like to swim.

What is must feel like to run,

To rush in the sun because it’s such fun,

Starving in the heat because food is deplete,

What it must feel like to run.

What is must feel like climb,

To creep towards the divine on trees old as time,

Avoiding falling branches and McDonald’s cattle ranches,

What it must feel like to climb.

What it must like to slide,

To be so incredibly sly and feared kingdom wide,

With so attractive a skin to make handbags in,

What it must feel like to slide.

What it must feel like to walk,

To talk the talk, pile food on the fork,

Gorging on resource without remorse,

Nothing to despise but no pay rise,

Bearing no strain but visible weight gain,

Looking with envy at pictures on the telly,

To destroy and slaughter without a single thought after,

What it must feel like to walk.