Poetry – Inside my head

Inside my head

I was enjoying myself playing with this idea. This was the second in my tumble drier trilogy. I didn’t quite get the scan quite how I wanted but I found that if you say it in a certain manner you can get it to work. (Thanks to Ian Cropton for getting me to address that last stanza.)

Communication is amazing.

All those neurons firing away in the dark, creating patterns of electricity that somehow have meaning. Evolution is wonderful.

I know that if I really peered inside at an operating brain all I’d see is dull grey blancmange. But I can fantasise.


Inside my head

There’s a hurricane inside my head;

A firework display of sparks.

Ideas spin like electric storm

In crescendo of fits and starts.

A tumble drier churns them round

As around they spin and fall.

A blizzard of electricity

In a scintillating squall.

I round them up like a herd of cats

And try to tie them down;

To translate them into the black and white

Of advective and noun.

This is them upon this page

Frozen as if in blocks of ice

No longer spinning in a rage;

Words will have to suffice.

I hope that when you read these words

The energy cascades.

That you see the colours that were in my head

And you will be amazed.

Opher 5.9.2015

Poetry – Rumble, Tumble, Rumble

Rumble, Tumble, Rumble

I don’t know how this creative process works. I just imagine my head as a whirlpool of electricity, all those sparks jumping around. Each one is an idea. They swirl about in a hurricane of madness. My job is to catch them, tie them down and translate them into words.

The words are symbols for concepts. The concepts are wild, free and glowing with life but the words are black and white.

If I do my job right (which I occasionally do) those black and white symbols will light up as iridescent jewels in your mind and live again.

It’s a nice concept isn’t it?

This is part two of a trilogy on the same theme. I seemed to need to rework it in different forms.


Rumble, Tumble, Rumble

Rumble, Rumble

Churn and Tumble

Sparks and Electric Storm.

Fireworks and explosions

In scintillating form.

Within the tumble drier

The ideas come and go

Spinning in their fury

In their iridescent flow.

I trap with my magnetic net

And attempt to glue them down.

But I know they will lose their sparkle

Trapped in adjective and noun.

Opher 5.9.2015

Poetry – I Hold My Breath

I Hold My Breath

I find it amazing that I can have ideas, thoughts and images in my head that I transform into solid words. I can write those words as symbols using letters. Someone else who I have never seen can come along and scan those symbols, fused in ink upon a page, and translate them back into thoughts, ideas and images. They can communicate the same visions and feelings I was having at the time.

My visions are frozen into concrete meaning forever.

Long after I am gone people will be able to scan those symbols and understand what was going on in my head.

Isn’t that astounding?

From the universe within my head I speak to the universe within your head via coded messages.

I hope we see the same pictures!

I  Hold my Breath

I hold my breath

And exhale it into these words

Trapped in ink upon a page.

I scan my thoughts

And pour them out

To be imprisoned in symbols.

I snare the moments

In my mind and freeze them

Forever into this ice.

I sense my feelings

And express them in inadequate

Markings on paper.

I speak from here

Inside the depths of my head

To you who might be reading.

Somehow against all the odds

You see the black and white

And recreate the colour pictures

That I envisaged.

Communication is the wonder of life!

Opher 23.8.2015

Poetry – Across the bounds of reason

Across the bounds of reason

From here in my head to your eyes

Across the bounds of reason

Is a leap of imagination.

Between us lies the universe

A tangled web of conjecture

With reasoned insinuation.

From here to there is too far

To be sure of anything

Least of all substantiation.

And from here to here is too near

To form an opinion

When all life is just infatuation.

What I see may be as it seems

Or just one of my dreams

Without seams to separate me from the gleam

That streams

From your eyes

Across the enormity of size

Despite it all we may yet be real

With time stood still

In a smile

Opher  8.12.96

We all live in universes within our own heads. Nobody knows what goes on inside that world; nobody can be sure that the colours are true or the symbols we use convey the same meaning.

I have my philosophy and who can ever understand?

We try to communicate between the polyverses of our existence. Reason tells us that we must fall short.

Our consciousnesses are islands; our words are semaphore messages across a void.

Poems are written in Morse Code with rhythm and rhyme to make the journey sweeter.

Even our own perception of reality is partial and subjective. We do not even see the universe we inhabit. I am in love with the mystical force of celestial magnificence. I cannot convey it.

Yet communication is all we have, and we love and reach out with sight and touch to taste each other’s worlds.

Has Everything Become Cheapened because of the Technology Boom?

Once upon a time there were just two channels of TV. Once upon a time there were phone boxes and, if you were lucky, a home phone. You had to book a call to Australia. Music was on vinyl. We had BBC Radio and the odd Pirate Radio station.

Now we have computers, TV channels coming out our ears, mobile phones that take photos, videos and do your shopping for you. Music is digital. You can buy it with a flick of the thumb.

But is it better?

4 million channels of crap. Everything available 24/7. Shop til you drop. You can watch anything, anywhere if you’re willing to pay.

Where is the fun of anticipation? Where is the excitement of discovery?

When something is rare or not easily available it seems to me that it takes on a greater importance. It is valued more and savoured.

Too much choice; too much availability has taken the spice out of it, devalued it. Everything is now consumable and cheapened.

“57 Channels (And Nothin’ On)” – Bruce Springsteen

I bought a bourgeois house in the Hollywood hills
With a trunkload of hundred thousand dollar bills
Man came by to hook up my cable TV
We settled in for the night my baby and me
We switched ’round and ’round ’til half-past down
There was fifty-seven channels and notin’ on

Well now home entertainment was my baby’s wish
So I hopped into town for a satellite dish
I tied it to the top of my Japanese car
I came home and I pointed it out into the stars
A message came back from the great beyond
There’s fifty-seven channnels and nothin’ on

Well we might’ a made some friends with some billionaires
We might’ a got all nice and friendly
If we’d made it upstairs
All I got was a note that said “Bye-bye John
Our love is fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on”

So I bought a .44 magnum it was solid steel cast
And in the blessed name of Elvis well I just let it blast
‘Til my TV lay in pieces there at my feet
And they bsted me for disturbin’ the almighty peace
Judge said “What you got in your defense son ?”
“Fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on”
I can see by your eyes friend you’re just about gone
Fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on
Fifty-seven channels and nothin’…