Thursday, 25 December 2014

Different Shades of Christmas Grey

Glowing sky and rising sun
Cast golden rims to trees and things
Casting shadows on the ground
Moving fast it fades to grey
Here it starts another day

It’s Christmas day
And time to play
Open prezzies,
Have some fun
Lots of food, a big fat tum

Others pull the covers high
And later have a little cry
For those they’ve lost
Or far away
For some it’s just
A sad, sad day

A quiet reflection on the meaning of Christmas and on what a sad time it is for some.

Alistair J Parker
25th December

A Christmas Wish

A special day
I love you true
Happy Christmas
From me to you

Your hugs I crave
And kisses too
Thank you for
Just being you

Time does pass
And love does grow
I love you more
Than you could know

To my wife Irene

Alistair J Parker
25th December 2014

Monday, 8 December 2014

The Snapshot

Stand there
Not like that
Like this
That’s right
Move your hand
Turn your feet
Toes apart
Comb your hair
Look this way
Look at me
No not you, you
That’s just right
Smile
Keep it still
Say cheese
SNAP
That’s got it
Nice one

8th December 2014

Alistair J Parker

This poem was written in response to the snapshot photograph below. I used the snapshot as the basis for my PhD Thesis. It is one of three poems inspired by the thesis, the other can be found here.




Wednesday, 3 December 2014

The Camera is a Clock

Tick Tock
Click snap
Wind it on
Don’t forget
Don’t want doubles
Just a sec
Wait a minute
Just a tick
Snapshot
Selfie
Click Click Click
What’s the time?
I don’t recall
Smile please
That is it
Want to see it
What a face
Lovely hands
What time is it?
I don’t know
It’s not a clock

Inspired by Roland Barthes comparison between the mahogany body, brass trimmings and mechanical tick of a clock with the similar construction of old cameras and the mechanical click of the shutter, in his book Camera Lucida.

Alistair J Parker
3rd December 2014



Tuesday, 2 December 2014

Alistairs First Day at School

First Day at School Snapshot













A snapshot found
Between the pages
Of me it seems
Just one of many
A Family snap
An awkward pose
Upon the path
Standing alone
I clutch a book
The polished shoes
My cap in place
Stand just there
Dad speaks to me
You look the part
We stand there tall
Our shadows fall upon the wall
His sleeves are rolled
On muscled arms
He points the camera
Doesn’t look

He’s looking down 
But not at me
I’m framed within
The tiny box
The lens it squints
With just one eye
Smile he says
I hear a click
Just one more
Should do the trick
He winds the knob
It clicks again
Not sure I smiled
No not again
The ritual unfolds
Just as before
One quick snap
A special day
What was the day
I don’t recall

First day at school
That could be right
A little note
May shed some light
The words they say its 53 
That can’t be right
Would make me nine
The date I’d say is 49
The photo’s mute
It cannot tell
Memories I need
To break the spell
I know the place 
But not the day
Remembering, it’s hard to say
The written facts 
Stand in the way
Frail memories 
Have gone away
What was that very special day
This is a snapshot of me taken by my father on the occasion of my first day at school, probably my second school but that is another question and the basis for a PhD thesis that I am researching and mentioned in the words of the poem. I am standing outside of the Prefab bungalow on the Belle Vale estate on the outskirts of Liverpool, where I lived from age 4 till 8. 
Alistair J Parker
2nd December 2014 



Monday, 1 December 2014

I can't Write Poetry

Strange things happen. About eighteen
months ago, quite out of the blue I felt the
urge to write a poem. I was driving at the
time and I was thinking about the walk to
shore from my grandfather' s house that
was a familiar part of my summer holidays
as a child. I was on my way to Lancaster
University. When I arrived I went for a
coffee, pulled out my note book and started
writing. The words just came, why I am not
sure. Hitherto I had considered myself
incapable of writing a poem. I enjoy poetry
and I admire those who can write it, but
never me.

So why did I start writing poetry? I am not
sure, it may be an age thing. But they keep
on coming, often in the most unlikely
places, what I call my "bog seat moments, 
because that is where and when I seem to
 find inspirationdon't think Wordsworth 
has much to worry about but eighteen 
months on I find myself with a collection 
of poems. So here is my first book of poems 
and the nostalgic thoughts that are often 
associated with them. 

My first book created in Blurb for my own
amusement and as a gift for friends and 
family I called Remembering, because as I 
said earlier the first poem I wrote was about
remembering the place I spent so many of
my childhood holidays and many of the
other poems are also inspired by nostalgic
memories.

For a limited time you can download the
PDF version of the book here.
The file will open on most computers but
if you have a problem download a copy
of Adobe Reader to view it.

PS I am about to publish my second book of poems!