Writing the Olympics, throw the superlatives.

London, a badly surfaced road, sometime in August. Bradley Wiggins, rides a bicycle steadily, taking care not to be crushed by a taxi, blown apart by a rogue backpacker or happy slapped by a local teenager. Overhead, the sound of planes can be heard, accompanied by more planes, beeping car horns and the flash of digital cameras.
This is just any other day, it is any other month, it is any other place, give or take a couple of acoustic details. This is the day we will all live every time we leave our houses in a morning- except just for this month, this somewhat special occasion when we can actually choose not to talk about the weather, gripe about the price of milk or moan about the length of time spent queuing up for things. This month, we can unite over common ground and choose, amidst bleakest of long term prospects, to actually celebrate some achievements.

The London 2012 Games has led a furore of opinion and dominated the news with politicians and dignitaries fighting amongst themselves for photo opportunities and retweets- everyone from Boris Johnson to Morrissey has had a go, and with mixed success. To think that London has been magically transformed in a year is a triumph. This time last August we were streaming live pictures, from many of the same places, but in that short space of time the flames have somehow accumulated- as if gathered in copper petals- and become a symbol of strength, unity and achievement.

The Mayor of London led the way with the soundbites, 'call me jingoistic' he said,

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Children

I'd like to start by wishing all you lovely readers out there a fantastic new year. I've enjoyed being a part of this blog over the past months and noticed as I was writing this that we have passed 11,000 hits. Thank you to the regular bloggers, thank you to the guest bloggers and thank you to you guys (and gals) out there for reading.

On with the blog then and, I feel I should apologise. Last week I completely forgot about writing a post until late evening, Christmas day. If you were wondering why David Riley's post was up for two days, it was firstly because he made the effort to blog in time for Christmas and mostly down to me being on a bus, drinking. 


Our first theme for 2012 is Children. As this is a poetry blog, I was immediately drawn towards looking back over the children's poetry that inspired me to love writing. The Spike Milligan stuff we've covered here before. My first poetry book, again covered here before and so, I became increasingly frustrated and decided I needed a new angle.

What we have here then is a bit of an insight. A look toward the future, from the past. Nobody is pregnant. Nobody is planning on being. I just thought it made an interesting concept for a poem. Oh, and though it is only a first (okay, third-ish) draft, it does mean 2012 has already been more productive than December 2011, one and a bit days in!  



 Children

 Sitting back, swallowed up in a tin box of smoke we saw stars
 between the stickered mementos, stuck up on a chipped windscreen
 and I remember you said, never. You never want children.

 So soon in, with each first date still marring the framed sky
 you were quite clear. Under the past we looked up to you said you knew
 for sure, just exactly what we were in this for.

 So in the park, I wasn't sure I heard at first
 the hyphenated name that passed your lips and mailed to me,
 a half perhaps that came and went like dandelion seeds.

 Those same seeds that grew like weeds on every bitter path
 we went to pave. Between the cracks, old poet's names peeped through
 with my eyes (not my first choice) and your cheeks.

 And over time those seeds of doubt have manifested
 into conversations had. Grown oversized to cloak the rockery
 still half undug but long forgotten- those arguments can pass.

 We talk of names now. On the strict proviso that not yet-
 the time not right and sure, I love the sound of that
 for once you know, I guess you know. I will gladly know.



Thanks for reading folks, have a great 2012.
S. 

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Smoke, Stanzas & the Approaching New Year

This week's theme is Resolutions. I don't usually make resolutions, but this year I'm thinking I might...

For me, 2012 will represent 10 years of being a smoker and I'm starting to think that it is time to quit, but I'm a little worried. I'm worried that a lack of nicotine will affect my writing, that by doing away with bad habit I will also do away with poetry...  When I write, I also smoke (a lot). When I struggle to find the next line, I roll another roll-up. When I can't think of the right word, I roll another roll-up. When I reach the end of a stanza, I roll another roll-up...  As the paper and tobacco begin to burn, as my lungs gradually fill with smoke, my mind starts to wander in a manner that is freer and less pressured. And, usually, I discover that missing line, that elusive word, that next stanza.

(I've reached a point in this post where I don't know what to write next so, in typical bad habit style, I have rolled a roll-up.)

Therefore, I'd like to quit smoking without quitting poetry - whether this will happen remains to be seen!

Thank you for reading and wishing you all a happy New Year,

Lar

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