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First Impression 2016 Copyright Steve Garrett 2016
Steve Garrett has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this Work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the Author.
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Cover design: Steve Garrett 2016
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Contents Going Coastal Verbal Abuse A Riddle Meat on the Edge Branwen BeComing Welsh Porn Stretcher Dough Boy Fragility Odysseus OMG Jogging Your Mind I Opener The Cumpleat Angler Shit4Brains The Big Secret Manformation Summer Love Sea Campion A Titanic Love Affair Valleys Girl Hope Sprung Stuffed The RelationShipping Forecast Reflections Feeling and Dealing NYE SHORTS Horizontal Take Air Healthy Eating Eclipse Pain and Gain Salvation Unprotected Rowing
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Going Coastal
He is rock; she is wave. She connects him with the ocean’s soft strength; source of all life. He grounds her in solidity. Without her, he is inert; lacking spirit. She needs his strength to open herself against. Their clashing is a caressing; as her soft strength slowly sculpts him into forms he could not have imagined, and reveals his hidden shimmerings.
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Verbal Abuse
I know I shouldn’t kick a word when it’s down; but poets have a long tradition of beating up language to get the results we want. And if there’s an audience baying for blood as a lion of writing tears apart a gladiator of good grammar; so much the better. Making clusters of letters submit to my perverted linguistic desires is sweet revenge for all those times when words had the upper hand; teachers and pedants chaining me to their rules and regulations in the concentration camps of lexical correctness.
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A Riddle
“All my thoughts are mental constructs created by my ego-‐mind; distracting me from experiencing the fullness of each present moment,” he reflected; “Including that one!” And smiling, he poured himself a glass, and started singing.
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Meat on the Edge
Squashed fox in the middle of the road; brave crow diving in for fleeting eating, during rare moments of respite between flattening tyres. Some days I feel like that fox; some days like the crow; some days the cars. Today I’m a detached observer, watching in a rare state of equanimity.
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Branwen*
I invoke Branwen on this night; she’ll help ensure our love stays bright; with hearts and loins of one accord, and passion’s nectar fully poured. When she’s invited to your bower, and you surrender to her power she’ll make sure that love is long and all your feelings free and strong. This Venus of our Northern Seas, who lives to give, and loves to please, will never stand to be tied down; she’ll slip away without a sound. Never at your beck or call; be grateful when she comes, at all. * Branwen Daughter of Llyr was a Goddess of Love and Beauty who features in the Second Branch of the Mabinogi which tells the tale of how war broke out between Wales and Ireland
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BeComing Welsh!
I hear there’s no word for ‘art’ in Balinese. For them, creating is just something everybody does; as naturally as breathing. Is this why it’s not possible to translate ‘orgasm’ into Welsh?
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Porn Stretcher
A mars bar for the heart; a quick and sticky fix for his sudden hunger; eaten in secret and alone. An addictive hit, no sooner consumed than craved again; all form and no substance. A Whopper held in the sad hands of that sexual couch potato, while the pornopolists smile; knowing he’ll keep coming... back for more.
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Dough Boy His heart is soft as bread; and whenever she puts the knife in he knows he’ll soon be toast. She’ll butter him up; lay it on really thick, and just when it begins to sink in, drop him. He always falls wrong side down, of course.
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Fragility Their love was built on thin ice; carnivorous fish circling hungrily in the shadowy deep beneath; no wonder he felt nervous whenever things got heated between them. .
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Odysseus With shy abandon, and a shining smile, you lie before me, your landscape bared. Bright poppies beckon and bob as I hunt for deer deep in your forest, seek swollen fish in crystal rivers, and devour them hungrily, until Venus' soft song entrances me to rest, inside, and beside, you; nymph of the woods.
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OMG
Although I’m officially an atheist, part of me still hopes the Christians are right, and there’s a God somewhere, looking out for me; and forgiving my unbelief.
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Jogging Your Mind
Unless you’re in a hurry, running is surely the worst way of wasting time and energy. Equalled only in its uselessness, by the writing of poetry. But at least my words can raise a smile (occasionally) .
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I Opener "What kind of man am I?" he wondered, inspecting his reflection once again; seemingly blind to the self evident truth that he's the sort who spends far too long looking in mirrors.
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The Cumpleat Angler
‘That was nice’, she said afterwards, as I smiled smugly, ‘but not what I’d call making love”; My face, and everything else, fell. ‘I appreciate your efforts’, she continued, ‘but an orgasm isn’t what it’s about for me any more; I’m quite capable of doing that for myself.’ My balloon of self-‐regard was deflating even further. “I’m looking for connection at a deep and intimate level’; I realised then, that my sexual scorecard had depended on making her come. Angling for that shy fish, I’d learned where it liked to swim and the best kind of bait to use; where to cast, slow or fast; being careful never to fall in. Sometimes retreating, staying alert to any flash of silver; and sensing whether to pursue, or wait quietly for more signs of life. Staying focussed when I felt a bite, until the hook seemed fixed, then pouncing to reel her in; holding firm as she flailed and curled, in thrall to some unstoppable force, before dissolving into surrender. Such sublime shimmerings had always been richly rewarding for me; but it seems I had been only been chasing a tiddler; the big fish was in another place altogether, and so large it could only be be ridden, not caught.
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Shit 4 Brains?
“Oh man, I love this place! So beautiful; peaceful; clean open spaces, feeling connected with nature. Nothing like it. Time to go home now, but I’m gonna come back soon . Don't worry about the empty cans, bro; the tide’ll wash ‘em away”.
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The big secret.
The more time we spend together, the more I realise the person you think you’re with, and the person I think you’re with, are not the same; and that my mask combined with your projections has created an imposter pretending to be me. And I can’t know how you so clearly visible in front of me think you look. I automatically assume it’s the same as how I see you, but inside, you have no face; only formless, flowing waves of feelings, ideas and perceptions. (Just like me). Because our self love is so blind, we often act the part, we feel ourselves to be, and revere celebrities for their superficial perfection. Enviably solid seeming to us, off screen they no doubt feel as unsubstantial as we do; caught between image and existence, in an existential emptiness which can only be filled by love.
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Manformation
Loving you from his wilderness, your man will not send flowers or write luscious words of love; his heart will be too full with thoughts of hunting; making fires; writing love poems; and finding wood to build a bed in which to ravish you.
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Summer Love
My lips are crowded with kisses which plead to be released in your direction; a burst of bright butterflies seeking a spring flower’s sweetness.
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Sea Campion
Fragile, yet resilient; shunning a secure home to grow in, you thrive on edges and ledges. Petals, open and shining, reach skyward to reveal a circle of seeds which dance on the sea’s breezes.
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A Titanic Love Affair
Like a ship lost in the mists of hope, and caught in currents of misplaced affection; I crashed into the iceberg of your heart, and sank.
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Valleys Girl
Her river’d valley called him ceaselessly. Slipping down soft hillsides, he sowed secret seeds of hardy perennials in partial reparation for damage done, by the men who’d mined there before him.
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Hope Sprung When the springs of our desire sagged like a mattress which has cushioned one too many nights of love, it seemed potentially to be a sign of mutual maturation, until one burst through and stabbed me in the arse. (That was one wake up call I did listen to!)
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Stuffed
Her stuff was strong stuff, but it was the wrong stuff; she gave out no free stuff and had so much ‘not’ stuff that even her hot stuff did not feel like great stuff and shrank all my big stuff.
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The RelationShipping Forecast
Hot air is coming; but it’s just the calm before a storm. Gale force winds; freezing rain. A cold front will follow; floods next. Dark clouds everywhere. Visibility? Nil! Best not go out for a while.
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Reflections
An orange moon emerged from the cloud-‐smeared horizon, as we stood scanning the oily water which rhythmically licked the sea-‐eaten stones beneath us; placed with such determination to keep the changing tides at bay. The walls we built had stemmed the ebb and flow of our feelings; and when storms breached our defences, we shored them up instinctively with more rocks of self-‐deception. Now all barriers are down; and as waves wash through, we surrender to this timeless truth: only the spirit inside us can keep our feet on the ground and our heads above water, when love’s tsunami comes.
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Feeling and Dealing
I used to think love was like money, received as a reward for good behaviour. Yet, however much I collected, my heart account never seemed to balance. I suspected identity theft; collected proof of deposits made and sought new sources; followed trails of lost love, to request repayments. But all my hoarding was to no avail. Finally, when I’d lost all hope of holding on to love, I found a plentiful source inside me; and discovered the miraculous fact that the more I gave away, the more I got back!
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NYE
With a mutual intention for our hopes to take flight, we lit the paper lantern held tenderly between us. It burned slowly at first; sputtered, then flared, igniting the thin paper covering. We doused the flames quickly, but a charred wound remained so ascendance seemed unlikely. But it tentatively rose up, to become a star in the night sky; and those of us who looked up smiled with renewed faith in the power of believing.
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SHORTS
Horizontal Making laugh with you, my body cries tears of happiness. Take Air I cut holes in my pockets so nothing could collect in them to weigh me down.
Healthy Eating It’s all gone peach-‐shaped; your ripe fruits now hanging just out of reach.
Eclipse Her lips eclipsed all other lips with kisses that were astronomical.
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Pain and Gain
Love’s sharpened blade slips into my heart’s hard shell, to prise it open.
Salvation When your red sea parted, I rode ahead recklessly; seeking salvation.
Unprotected That ringing sound is my armour falling. I’m much lighter now. Rowing We’re in deep water but I’m not worried; you float my boat so well.
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Steve Garrett Steve lives in Cardiff and writes poems for our challenging times. His writing covers some ‘big issues’, from global warming to relationships, with a humorous touch, aiming to entertain and intrigue. Steve’s wry observations of life and love are wary, but not cynical –still hopeful, despite life’s many paradoxes and disappointments, and inspired by the belief that insightful words can help us know and appreciate ourselves and each other better. “Your poems have a warm, wry quality which you combine with incisive insights”. Gillian Drake: Roundyhouse publishers. ‘Steve has dug deep…but several readings may be necessary to appreciate the writer's pithy revelations’. Tony Webb: poet, writer
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