just before the blue dressing gown

June 12, 2009 at 7:36 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 26 Comments
Tags: poetry, writing

“All theories are just post-facto excuses for past practice.”
La di dada flounces out of the room in a huff of petticoats and perfume.
The plates on which the sandwiches were served are trimmed with spring flowers. Such a boring old fuddy duddy sideways and later smile apologising oh I didn’t know it was Sir T.S. Eliot stirring

Lemon into her tea

…who has never taught Creative Writing,” as a kind of in-joke on his CV
until one had responded quoting himself, “the complete anonymity of the artist, haha,” a quick and gentle teasing over one long afternoon and
outrageously delightful pastries denying the grey flow of rain drops
streaming down the window.

You can tell he is in love because he no longer knows what to say and all the false bluster like the wind outside has fallen away.

26 Comments »

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Paul,

You do playful so well. Li di dada flouncing! Made my boring Friday Night 🙂
Cool, happy to help, Maxine.

Comment by Maxine— June 12, 2009 #
This is great. You’ve created such an atmosphere inside and out- characters, dinnerware, rain. I love it. Have a nice day.
Thankyou. You too, Michelle.

Comment by Michelle Johnson— June 12, 2009 #
Your writing shimmers and sparkles with the thoughts, feelings and experiences of real life. I love how you indulge so many of the senses with your words by offering up a range of sights, sounds, smells and tastes…just wonderful.

I love your last sentence most of all, such a beautifully written line and an eloquent exploration of language.
As is your lovely comment, Tracey. Thankyou.

Comment by Tracey— June 12, 2009 #
quite a delight… needed to read something like this today… spirits have indeed been raised in me,

and i thank you…
And I thankyou too, Chico.

Comment by Chico Mahalo— June 13, 2009 #
Beautiful poem
As well as all explanations of why you choose something are post-facto inference of the decision, so are theories and practices.
I learned that love repels blusters and attracts the smell of all kind of fruits, flowers and wilderness marvellous smells.
Thankyou, Mariana. Love can do many miraculous things, I think.

Comment by mariana— June 13, 2009 #
the way u make magic masterfully Paul and fun too! is amazing
As are you, Tipota!

Comment by tipota— June 13, 2009 #
this poem is delicious … literally.
Literarily? Haha, thankyou Aletha.

Comment by Aletha— June 13, 2009 #
that last sentence just knocked me out, kid.
Shall I start the ten count now? We’ll put it down as a TKO, I think, Jason.

Comment by jason— June 13, 2009 #
Though I’m just another of those women who come and go, talking of… oh, goodness, I just SO love visiting here, Paul 😉
No such thing as ‘just another of those women’, Elizavetta. I’m glad you enjoyed the visit.

Comment by Elizavetta— June 13, 2009 #
Lovely, venture another for “preludes”?
Yes, preludes are my favourite things.

Comment by Bonnie McClellan— June 13, 2009 #
beautiful! there are days like this, sometimes too many 😦 … very beautiful!
Thankyou, Ms Mist.

Comment by Mental Mist— June 13, 2009 #
Funny 🙂 La di dada hahaha that’s just great.
The last line was the best. I’m totally reading the ‘he’ as ‘you’. Go. Love. carpe diem!
It wasn’t me, Harmonie. “Every writers voice is an artificial construct,” he says blushing and running, hiding.

Comment by harmonie22— June 13, 2009 #
you are really rather delightful
Why thankyou, Samantha, so are you.

Comment by Samantha— June 13, 2009 #
No-one does so much in such a little space quite like you do.
Is it a rude joke? Haha, no it’s not, thankyou Simonne. Poetry is about compression. Energy is compressed in the language and then released into the mind when read.

Comment by Simonne— June 13, 2009 #
surreal poets dream. very interesting 🙂
-and the women come and go-
Interesting is good. Thankyou Jessie.

Comment by jessiecarty— June 14, 2009 #
I’ve always liked the word flounce, it can indicated haughtiness or femininity. The words you choose are what fascinate me, because you can interpret them on a few levels. It doesn’t hurt to bring your sleuthing skills when reading your blog. Pastries and rain, an interesting contrast. Precision, you write with the knife edge of precision. That’s what I think anyway.
I do try for precision, Val. Thankyou.

Comment by valbrussell— June 14, 2009 #
*shivers* — I love it all, the contrasts on multiple levels: the flounces and the fuddy duddy, the pastries and the raindrops, falling in love dispersing false bluster.
Cool, Thanks, Thomma Lyn.

Comment by Thomma Lyn— June 14, 2009 #
i like that your poems laugh.
They do laugh, sometimes heartily and sometimes at the cosmic joke.

Comment by paperslightertext— June 14, 2009 #
of course he is in love–how could he not? what a wonderful conclusion and brilliant title takes us around and around around like the petticoats of huff and puff
Indeed, he has no choice, AP. Thankyou.

Comment by art predator— June 15, 2009 #
I have had one of those afternoons with outrageously delightful pastries. Nothing like it. You got it in one, Paul!
Cool. I’m glad you day improved. Outrageous pastries are a soruce of great comfort, indeed.

Comment by Selma— June 15, 2009 #
“You can tell he is in love because he no longer knows what to say and all the false bluster like the wind outside has fallen away.”- it is exactly how it does usually happen. I wish him the best of luck 🙂
Thanks, Annamari. I will pass on your best wishes.

Comment by Annamari— June 16, 2009 #
This brightened my afternoon… then led me to imagine Eliot taking a creative writing class. Then made me think, “yes, my CV needs more jokes”.
Cool. My whole CV is a joke, Stu. Congratulations again.

Comment by Stu— June 16, 2009 #
This is a common thank you comment
From a common reader and writer
He could be something else
If he really tried
But he wasn’t going to be
He’d settled for what he turned out to be
Nothing special, nothing extra-special
Quite common, extra-ordinarily common
Nobody could be more common
He was unique.

Comment by Anonymous— June 18, 2009 #
And just when he thought
He was gong to oblivion
Along with all the other commoners
He stopped.

Comment by Mr. Divine— June 18, 2009 #
He decided right there and right then
To declare who he was
Without jest or a lovely string vest
Or a disguise or a pink elephant surprise
To poke his features right at you
To wave around like a lonely cloud
Wandering into jungles of mistletoe
And kisses that reached the lips of womankind
Into the minds of agitated minds
And …

Comment by Stephen Ford— June 18, 2009 #
[…] a hard life being famous and poor, I tell ya. You don’t want that, son. Anonymous is of course a prerequisite for the artist since only the most vain would assume that you know me […]

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