Poetry

‘Daily Scrip’ and other poems

By: Stephen Kingsnorth

Daily Scrip

It’s pit against mind behind screen.
And is it evens, you can win?
Addictive, just one dose a day.
Why is it, Wordle, reaches parts?
If logic leads your disciplines,
your bell rung lexicography,
your mind is scrabbled, words approved,
or you’re a chancer, pin stick time;
I don’t care for the time, New York,
except poor spelling, over pond.
I keep my methodology,
like mother’s secret recipe.

I’ve had a few ‘phews’ in my time,
I’m told I’m ‘splendid’, ‘great’ sometimes,
once even, that ‘outstanding’ mark.
‘impressive’, one place that’s report.
It’s something, to be online praised,
when sales technique is not the line.
I wonder what first-time-win says,
a google ‘cheat’ – let’s call it out?
Like snooker, then, what is your break?
Though I’m not bothered, for myself –
it’s not for sharing, in my case,
self-satisfaction’s where I’m at.

Though I find it’s a hobby shared,
topic, discourse – dog walkers mine,
though shush, don’t tell me, panic time,
inadvertent spoiler alert.
I can’t learn more about the game –
that google search reveals today’s,
an unintended consequence –
and can’t erase that wordsearch known.
But unlike warning, football scores –
stray lines from internet impose;
I then lay slow guess strategy
to justify conclusion reached.

So beyond first, right justify,
some exotic, then commonwealth;
I only know my plump is poor,
as serendipity in play.
I try ruler and it’s rupee,
I go for hasty, nasty’s sought,
I avoid prick, that’s what it is,
so only elder’s near the top.
Double letters, U.S. spell,
I’m fighting on too many fronts,
but I keep record, every one,
for surely no TV repeats.

I’m writing now because the break
has surpassed fifty, 100%;
but when I fail, entitled break.
Save midnight brings my on call night.
Agora used my little Greek,
while nasty, tacit, panic, shire,
proxy, robot, wince at crimp,
left ultra, shard, aroma, pleat.
I can’t stay now – I have that job –
it’s nearly twelve, few seconds left,
so brain must get in Wordle gear –
will, one day, my first guess appear?

###

Our Bodies in Solar wind

But what is ours, and who are we
but stellar dust in company;
planetary to sub-particle,
this all, momentum, whole shared, be,
a complementary mystery?

Red shift, expanding universe,
disc dropping, fireside in the sky,
from blade, waist, lust red, silken slip,
in squirrel rush, fir quiver brush,
laze drift fall leaf to leave with grace.

Saturn rings, music of spheres,
summits haloed mountain mists,
flecked iris roundels point us out,
fur squirls curtailed, blot panda smudge,
and cross ringed trunk, reveal its age.

As Venus shines, the morning star,
see phosphor, marsh, willow-the-wisp,
here’s bright eyed children in delight,
both glow worms, fireflies trailing light,
by tidal growth, green waves glow bright.

With dreaming mares, moon quarterback,
full silver ripples drip reflect,
where curly age try floating boat,
fox chases hares, snow winter clothes,
mercury columns climb, reduce.

Comets curl by in scheduled flight,
and oxbows form where streams retreat,
our race relapse, or hurdles leap,
low life hurls claws from veldt to prey,
and burning grass frees underlay.

Categories: Poetry

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