Chivonne Head is a poet from South Yorkshire. She writes about love, loss and family, not necessarily her own. She runs a monthly open mic poetry night at The Bridge Inn in Rotherham.
Poems
And the man of stone moves away On growing up without a father Tree of life Idioms for idiots? For Frazer Temperance Movement Chinchilla
And the man of stone moves away
Sympatico with the man of stone who skimmed across the water and sun kissed ripples were angels halos multiplied space and added on time. Time a ricochet, time a crescendo. The parting of the water, blue curtains, as clouds watch’d on, parting the same. Revealing an audience of one, Himself. Now a wholehearted ripple with each daredevil bounce, a full circle of droplets, low on the horizon fragments the stillness, of God’s deep mirror. Moving on, Away from me, away from me. Into the abyss, Giving it a kiss, a kiss, another kiss Then, falling. <<<
On growing up without a father
When the anchor of your rancour was never tied to land He was taken away for reasons you’ll never understand. It was never planned. “I never am,” you say as you sail on your own, just you and your mam, brothers and sisters if you’re lucky. If you’re not, you sit alone in the cabin, tucked up together with grief, not hidden so far underneath as your mother might like. Then, out of something other than spite, although not quite, try and find out who he is. Aim to belittle him. Wear him thin, under your thick skin. Drink more from life than he ever sips. Set out across the sea, see other ships. Adore other captains, ones whose applause isn’t trapped inside. Make their eyes wide, see them cheer with misplaced pride. A bleary hero you are yet, an island I have never met. What matters most strongly is how much you can. A man who belongs to himself’s still a man. <<<
Tree of life
The apple doesn’t fall far from the other apples. We embark from this tree, the same way we grew onto it, with fear of nothing, except our own success. Like Isaac Newton himself, that Eureka moment, being in the present, far or near and knowing the extent of hope being as hollow as fear. As something hovers above our heads sometimes like lightning, sometimes like death, that strange arrangement waiting for creation. <<<
Idioms for idiots?
Spill the beans – what does it mean? Has to be believed to be seen. On the same page. But to speak plainly, it’s better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not, you taught me that. Now you’re gone, does absence make the heart go fonder? Or as empty as the chasm of dark matter? The blankness, the blankness of this strange canvas. As Leo-Aquarius constellations I could see you through the sun, watch you laugh, see you weep. You said God only knew of a song so deep, yet we sang it together but we can’t sing forever. <<<
For Frazer
Sending the first gaze your way, from heaven. Nineteen Eighty-Seven I haven’t gone near this for years. Everything built comes from imagination and fears. We are ourselves man-made; woman made literally cut from the same cloth, around our clouds, our acts recently I built a scaffold, it was made of facts. I said out loud What I should be writing down now. What they don’t tell you, my brother and friend, is that the sword can be mightier than the pen. <<<
Temperance Movement Chinchilla
If love were to be opera, hate is thrash mandolin and if in between is all that’s green then grey is the state he’s in. water coloured cordial ripples alcohol free afternoon tipples. The temperance movement chinchilla climbs uncannily towards the filler. (The place where the door was before.) Glancing as his peremptory stupidity As he severs the bow of his diversity Once more surprised At how surprised you are By his dazzling brilliance. You should know by now. <<<
Ah, interesting themes - in these hands. I enjoyed reading this poetry, actually slowed down instead of the speed read one might slip into when the attention isn't held.
The Man Of Stone I especially like, the journey it takes and how we go with it. Forgive my - I suppose you'd call it overt atheism - but mention of 'himself' outside of jokes/blasphemy rather causes my heart to sink - except in each case here, I'm able to ignore it. Surely we must all do that - enjoying what we can of something that includes elements of our dislikes? Moving along I don't think there's one poem I dislike here.
Even if one were to point out that time and ripples have shared the page before - with ducks n drakes - one would have to accede to the fine use of those elements. Who can really stop the human mind having natural shared imaginings? So that's not even a critique, it's an observtion.
I shall shut up now rather than shown any more ignorance, except to hint that I recognise elements of certain other themes - I mean identify with, and that's job done, innit?