Shortbread and Sequins



First morning in Luxembourg: beautiful fog this morning across the whole world.

What would people like to hear about today? You can suggest whatever you like and , as always, I will try to incorporate EVERY response into tonight´s poem! Keep your answers coming in and please repost Simon Welsh Poetry on your homepage so friends can join and add their suggestions too. Very much love for a beautiful Friday, Simon xxx





Shortbread and Sequins

There’s a man who shouts, “BUTANO!” as he walks along the sand
Selling canisters of butane you can carry in your hand.
And everyone can barbecue: this seems to give him reason
To walk along the beach accosting tourists during season.

But though I like the beach I also love to stay at home
Eating shortbread while I type, while my mind and fingers roam
Across the keyboard with excitement as these words just keep arriving:
When I’m doing this my soul is positively thriving.

The flow of rhyme and rhythm keeps me focused and defined;
It’s cognitive: a therapy to hypnotise my mind.
But this is just what works for me like ‘walkies’ for a dog:
A simple way to meditate and clear away the fog.

If I were Harriet, I might accessorise a shoe -
Sew on tons of sequins or stick them on with glue,
Or maybe I’d paint Jessica, big breasted, on the heel.
It doesn’t matter what we do. It matters how we feel.

Paint a shoe or write a poem. Do the ironing.
Just make sure that WHAT you’re doing helps your heart to sing.
The singing heart, spontaneous, combusts all lies to light
And the human it belongs to sleeps soundly through the night.

Truth is not so easy when you have to show your feeling.
But silence, like a coffin, has no space, and there’s a ceiling.
I had a dream I told this to the noble Dali Lama,
And he said, “Have you heard the bed song by Amanda Palmer?”

I hadn’t. So I listened. And the lyrics made me cry.
They reminded me to spread my wings, to tell the truth, to fly,
And mostly to thank all of you for helping me write this.
But let me tell you now. It was NOT a piece of piss!

Friday 9th November 2012 © Simon Welsh Poetry