Thanks Billy,
Good Luck in the finals
Michael (MV)
Billy wrote:My poem is still available.
Billy wrote:My poem is still available.
FranktheFrank wrote:1. ieuan ap hywel
2. ieuanaphywel@aol.com
3. This poem is my own and original work
4. this poem is unpublished
5. I am not represented in this current IBPC
6. my poem is as follows:
Pot Belly Ruminations (1982)
by Ieuan ap Hywel
Workshop lights illumine his office, heat from the pot
belly permeates the oak planked walls. Egbert rattles the
stove door feeding anthracite nuts. He hums a song
of a life lost, his homesickness palpable in his fado.
John is looking edgy, the CNC powers through the cycles,
he worries about intersecting curves and the blend-in
of polar coordinates. Id decides to sit with him later,
silently as in a Calvinist church.
Id muses on the the new breed of men, au fait with digital
code, but can't scrape in a white-metal bearing. A shout rings
out over the workshop noise, 'Put your feed up, you wally.'
Davey scurries to react, wrestles with the gear levers
and restarts his machine, the screech of tortured metal
changes to that of a comforting purr and the soft rattle of blue
hot chips against the saddle, changing purple as heat disipates.
Evans drifts in late, he'll leave it unsaid for now, wife trouble.
He starts his machine and the thunder of the reciprocating
slotter shakes the workshop, he's taking his grief out on the
couplings. Id concerned, stares through the window till
Evan spots him and calms down.
Nonita enters without knocking, deposts a bundle of shedules
over his shoulder onto the desk and presses her breast against
the nape of his neck.
'Don't let Cerys catch you, you'll be crow bait.' She laughs,
Cerys knows she has a thing for him, he's safe,
but she wishes he wasn't.
'Critical path will be in later, Applicable Jones wants you at the
eleven o'clock, says the reversing rougher is on hold, urgent to
switch all work onto the frigate.' Non sings him the info
in the lilting song of a Celt.
The giant, Evan Villarino of Puerto Madryn wants comforting,
his nephew has been called up by the Junta. Id has none to
give, how could he, his brother's boy can't be contacted;
now he's with the Guards.
Cerys cries at the gathering that evening, when he tells of the
offer of a directorship,
'They won't let me leave, MOD insists you see love,
this bloody war. Anyway, what would I do, you busy
all day with the church and the grands and me just sitting
here, it's not as if I can write poetry now, is it love?'
End
note to Michael: is it possible to preserve the speech italics if the poem is elected to go forward.
And thanks for your seconding of my poem, much appreciated.Billy, has your status changed?
If your poem is still available & eligible, let us know in this thread.
bernie has your status changed?
If your poem is still available & eligible, let us know in this thread.
Frank, has your status changed?
If your poem is still available & eligible, let us know in this thread.