Do we really understand poetry?
Do we really understand verse?
Does our education stifle us?
Does it make our understanding worse?
Is that alliteration working?
Does that couplet rhyme quite right?
Does that stanza make you tingly?
Does the tone give you pure insight?
Do we really understand poetry?
Is it still much too obscure?
Does our education damage it?
And make it less than pure?
J R A Gigney
(31 August 2013)
Inspired by an interview on BBC Radio 4's Saturday Live with Michael Rosen...
Saturday, 31 August 2013
Thursday, 29 August 2013
Lonely
No-one asking to me.
No-one listening to me.
No-one to hold.
No-one to love.
Just lonely,
Just alone...
Frustrated by life.
Frustrated with my lot.
Frustrated by everything.
Angry at everything.
Just lonely,
Just alone...
J R A Gigney
(29 August 2013)
No-one listening to me.
No-one to hold.
No-one to love.
Just lonely,
Just alone...
Frustrated by life.
Frustrated with my lot.
Frustrated by everything.
Angry at everything.
Just lonely,
Just alone...
J R A Gigney
(29 August 2013)
Tuesday, 27 August 2013
Saturday, 10 August 2013
Dead
Joseph Alejandro Zachary Querry was dead. Unequivocally, undeniably, irrefutably dead. Of course it was Tuesday and, from his sixteenth birthday until now, he had spent every Tuesday dead. It was just something he liked to do.
At first people had thought it just a little strange but, over time, they had grown used to it. He could even spend a Tuesday at work dead and no-one, not even his usually picky boss, was bothered anymore.
This particular Tuesday was, however, different. Yes, Joseph was undeniably dead as usual but the look in his eyes was one of fear rather than the bland contentment that was usually there.
Joseph had watched his usual Monday fare of science fiction and horror movies and, at midnight, had promptly died. As usual the television was left on and, as usual, Mr Lockhart, Joseph's grumpy neighbour, was periodically banging on the wall and complaining about the noise. This prompted the usual entry to Joseph's apartment of Mr Percival, the building superintendent, to make sure that everything was turned off. This particular Tuesday, though, the look on Joseph's face disturbed the usually sanguine Mr Percival. He'd entered the apartment using his master key and, as usual, uttered the words, "dead again, huh, Joe!" Then he had turned off the TV and DVD player before looking at Joseph. The blank look of fear on Joseph's face scared Mr Percival so much that he wondered whether he should call the police. He decided against that course of action because the police knew Joseph well and were liable to believe that this was the usual Tuesday death they'd come to expect from Joseph over the years. So Mr Percival just left Joseph as he was and exited the apartment. He soon put the niggle of doubt out of his mind and went about his usual daily business.
Joseph just sat there in his slightly reclined reclining chair. His arms and legs were limp even though dead people go through a period of rigour mortis. Yet this never seemed to happen to Joseph. His body was prepared for what his friends always called Resurrection Wednesday.
Sometime after lunch, which he usually took at around half past twelve, Mr Percival decided to check on Joseph again. He was still a little worried about the look on the face of his tenant. This was despite the regularity of Joseph's death event. Once back inside the apartment Mr Percival went straight to look at Joseph.
"Boy, " Mr P said aloud, "ya don't look well! In fact you look like you've seen a ghost. Yup, that's it. You've seen a ghost and died outright this time..."
Mr Percival allowed his voice to trail off as he thought he heard something. He shook his head and then there it was again. A slight tapping. It seemed to be coming from the window.
Mr Percival moved quietly to the window and peered around the half drawn curtain. There was nothing there but he heard the tapping again. He jumped backwards and accidentally knocked into the chair that contained Joseph.
The chair flicked into its upright position and sent Joseph's body thudding to the floor.
"Sorry Joe," Mr P said in a timid shaky voice, "didn't mean to disturb..."
The tapping became louder.
"Mr Lockhart? Is that you?"
"Nah," came the semi-faint reply, "it's me! Out here! On the fire escape!"
The voice that Mr Percival had heard was not only surprising, but unmistakably Irish. Mr Percival moved to the window and looked out. He didn't immediately see anyone, but instinctively looked down and was surprised to see a very small man looking back up at him. Mr Percival smiled a slightly worried smile.
"Would you let me in man! It's raining out here and I've got work to do and other appointments!"
Mr Percival unlocked and then opened the window. The little man clambered into the apartment. He stood silent for a while and stared at Mr P.
"So what are you doing here?" The little man asked.
Mr Percival was temporarily speechless. All he could do was stare at the little man who was particularly ordinary looking. When Mr P did find his voice all he could say was, "shouldn't leprechauns be all in green?"
"And just who said I was a leprechaun?" The little man said angrily, "where does it say that an Irishman of lower than average stature has to be a leprechaun?"
Mr P looked somewhat embarrassed, and mouthed an apology.
"Just because you're slightly taller than average doesn't mean you're a giant, does it?" The little man snapped.
Mr Percival shook his head. The two looked at each other for a while.
"So why are you here?" Mr Percival's question broke the silence and the little man moved over to Joe's chair by way if an unspoken answer.
"Oh now this doesn't look good!" The little man muttered.
"What doesn't look good?"
"Found your voice, huh?"
"What doesn't look good?" Mr Percival pressed his question home, "and who the hell are you?"
The little man turned his head to look at Mr Percival. It was only now that Mr P noticed the striking grey colour of the little man's eyes.
"Well I'm Garret O'Philately, and I'm here to make Joseph Alejandro Zachary Querry undead."
Mr Percival blinked. "And so what doesn't look good then?"
"Well it looks like he's dead!"
"But that's normal for him."
"No! I mean he's really dead rather than temporarily dead..."
"So what you're telling me is that he won't be alive later?"
"Exactolutely!"
"Oh!" Mr Percival looked at Joe. "How did he get temporarily dead in the first place?"
"Well, he wanted a day off every week."
"So do I!" Mr Percival indignantly, "but I don't want to be dead on that day. I want to do things!"
"Good for you!" The little man chuckled, "but you don't work for The Dead List Bureau!"
"What's that?"
"The bureau that keeps records of all those who have died or are about to die."
"I don't understand."
"Don't worry about it. Thing is employees of the bureau have to spend any days off they want dead."
"And what have you got to do with that, Mr O'Philately?"
"I'm a deader." The little man could see that Mr Percival was puzzled, "I control the death and undeath of bureau employees. Joe Querry's one of my clients."
"Ah!" Mr Percival was still a little perplexed.
The little man stared at him. "You don't have to worry about it. All you've got to know is that there's a vacancy in your building, now, and that you have to re-let the apartment."
With that statement the little man, Garret O'Philately, turned towards Mr Percival. His eyes seemed to glow.
Mr Percival's world went dark...
An alarm clock was bleeping loudly. Mr Percival woke with a start, and then noticed that his doorbell was ringing. He got himself up and noticed that he was already dressed. The doorbell rang again. Mr Percival pulled himself out of his strange stupor and went to answer the door. There was a young man standing outside. A vaguely familiar young man.
"Oh, er, hi, " the young man said, "I understand you have a vacant apartment here?"
Mr Percival blinked, "um, yes we do."
"Oh good! Viewing isn't by appointment only, is it? I'm not inconveniencing you, am I?"
"Oh no! That's okay. Only thing that might help me is if you tell me your name..."
"Querry. Joseph Alejandro Zachary Querry..."
Mr Percival stared at the young man.
"Have we met or something?" Joseph asked.
J R A Gigney (March 2013 - 10 August 2013)
- created on an iPad Mini -
At first people had thought it just a little strange but, over time, they had grown used to it. He could even spend a Tuesday at work dead and no-one, not even his usually picky boss, was bothered anymore.
This particular Tuesday was, however, different. Yes, Joseph was undeniably dead as usual but the look in his eyes was one of fear rather than the bland contentment that was usually there.
Joseph had watched his usual Monday fare of science fiction and horror movies and, at midnight, had promptly died. As usual the television was left on and, as usual, Mr Lockhart, Joseph's grumpy neighbour, was periodically banging on the wall and complaining about the noise. This prompted the usual entry to Joseph's apartment of Mr Percival, the building superintendent, to make sure that everything was turned off. This particular Tuesday, though, the look on Joseph's face disturbed the usually sanguine Mr Percival. He'd entered the apartment using his master key and, as usual, uttered the words, "dead again, huh, Joe!" Then he had turned off the TV and DVD player before looking at Joseph. The blank look of fear on Joseph's face scared Mr Percival so much that he wondered whether he should call the police. He decided against that course of action because the police knew Joseph well and were liable to believe that this was the usual Tuesday death they'd come to expect from Joseph over the years. So Mr Percival just left Joseph as he was and exited the apartment. He soon put the niggle of doubt out of his mind and went about his usual daily business.
Joseph just sat there in his slightly reclined reclining chair. His arms and legs were limp even though dead people go through a period of rigour mortis. Yet this never seemed to happen to Joseph. His body was prepared for what his friends always called Resurrection Wednesday.
Sometime after lunch, which he usually took at around half past twelve, Mr Percival decided to check on Joseph again. He was still a little worried about the look on the face of his tenant. This was despite the regularity of Joseph's death event. Once back inside the apartment Mr Percival went straight to look at Joseph.
"Boy, " Mr P said aloud, "ya don't look well! In fact you look like you've seen a ghost. Yup, that's it. You've seen a ghost and died outright this time..."
Mr Percival allowed his voice to trail off as he thought he heard something. He shook his head and then there it was again. A slight tapping. It seemed to be coming from the window.
Mr Percival moved quietly to the window and peered around the half drawn curtain. There was nothing there but he heard the tapping again. He jumped backwards and accidentally knocked into the chair that contained Joseph.
The chair flicked into its upright position and sent Joseph's body thudding to the floor.
"Sorry Joe," Mr P said in a timid shaky voice, "didn't mean to disturb..."
The tapping became louder.
"Mr Lockhart? Is that you?"
"Nah," came the semi-faint reply, "it's me! Out here! On the fire escape!"
The voice that Mr Percival had heard was not only surprising, but unmistakably Irish. Mr Percival moved to the window and looked out. He didn't immediately see anyone, but instinctively looked down and was surprised to see a very small man looking back up at him. Mr Percival smiled a slightly worried smile.
"Would you let me in man! It's raining out here and I've got work to do and other appointments!"
Mr Percival unlocked and then opened the window. The little man clambered into the apartment. He stood silent for a while and stared at Mr P.
"So what are you doing here?" The little man asked.
Mr Percival was temporarily speechless. All he could do was stare at the little man who was particularly ordinary looking. When Mr P did find his voice all he could say was, "shouldn't leprechauns be all in green?"
"And just who said I was a leprechaun?" The little man said angrily, "where does it say that an Irishman of lower than average stature has to be a leprechaun?"
Mr P looked somewhat embarrassed, and mouthed an apology.
"Just because you're slightly taller than average doesn't mean you're a giant, does it?" The little man snapped.
Mr Percival shook his head. The two looked at each other for a while.
"So why are you here?" Mr Percival's question broke the silence and the little man moved over to Joe's chair by way if an unspoken answer.
"Oh now this doesn't look good!" The little man muttered.
"What doesn't look good?"
"Found your voice, huh?"
"What doesn't look good?" Mr Percival pressed his question home, "and who the hell are you?"
The little man turned his head to look at Mr Percival. It was only now that Mr P noticed the striking grey colour of the little man's eyes.
"Well I'm Garret O'Philately, and I'm here to make Joseph Alejandro Zachary Querry undead."
Mr Percival blinked. "And so what doesn't look good then?"
"Well it looks like he's dead!"
"But that's normal for him."
"No! I mean he's really dead rather than temporarily dead..."
"So what you're telling me is that he won't be alive later?"
"Exactolutely!"
"Oh!" Mr Percival looked at Joe. "How did he get temporarily dead in the first place?"
"Well, he wanted a day off every week."
"So do I!" Mr Percival indignantly, "but I don't want to be dead on that day. I want to do things!"
"Good for you!" The little man chuckled, "but you don't work for The Dead List Bureau!"
"What's that?"
"The bureau that keeps records of all those who have died or are about to die."
"I don't understand."
"Don't worry about it. Thing is employees of the bureau have to spend any days off they want dead."
"And what have you got to do with that, Mr O'Philately?"
"I'm a deader." The little man could see that Mr Percival was puzzled, "I control the death and undeath of bureau employees. Joe Querry's one of my clients."
"Ah!" Mr Percival was still a little perplexed.
The little man stared at him. "You don't have to worry about it. All you've got to know is that there's a vacancy in your building, now, and that you have to re-let the apartment."
With that statement the little man, Garret O'Philately, turned towards Mr Percival. His eyes seemed to glow.
Mr Percival's world went dark...
An alarm clock was bleeping loudly. Mr Percival woke with a start, and then noticed that his doorbell was ringing. He got himself up and noticed that he was already dressed. The doorbell rang again. Mr Percival pulled himself out of his strange stupor and went to answer the door. There was a young man standing outside. A vaguely familiar young man.
"Oh, er, hi, " the young man said, "I understand you have a vacant apartment here?"
Mr Percival blinked, "um, yes we do."
"Oh good! Viewing isn't by appointment only, is it? I'm not inconveniencing you, am I?"
"Oh no! That's okay. Only thing that might help me is if you tell me your name..."
"Querry. Joseph Alejandro Zachary Querry..."
Mr Percival stared at the young man.
"Have we met or something?" Joseph asked.
J R A Gigney (March 2013 - 10 August 2013)
- created on an iPad Mini -
Thursday, 8 August 2013
Questions From a Depressed Man
Hello?
Do you know what it's like to feel alone?
What it's like to feel abandoned by a friend,
Who you thought you could trust?
And over something you couldn't control...
Do you know how it feels to be asked to censor yourself,
When the only outlet to vent your frustration is this?
Do you know how it feels to be dying inside,
Because people you care for,
Don't seem to want to know you anymore?
Despite the support you gave them!
Do you know how it feels to have no reason to live?
And do you know how it feels to know that you've told the truth,
But haven't been listened to?
Do you know how much the truth can hurt?
If you could change things would you?
I know I'd try...
J R A Gigney
(8 August 2013)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad Mini
Do you know what it's like to feel alone?
What it's like to feel abandoned by a friend,
Who you thought you could trust?
And over something you couldn't control...
Do you know how it feels to be asked to censor yourself,
When the only outlet to vent your frustration is this?
Do you know how it feels to be dying inside,
Because people you care for,
Don't seem to want to know you anymore?
Despite the support you gave them!
Do you know how it feels to have no reason to live?
And do you know how it feels to know that you've told the truth,
But haven't been listened to?
Do you know how much the truth can hurt?
If you could change things would you?
I know I'd try...
J R A Gigney
(8 August 2013)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad Mini
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