Commonword Blogs

I finally got round to uploading my 'Bullets' poem on myspace, still very much a work in progress, with music by Matt from Atomic Hooligan. Let me know what you think.

At the end of my last post I mentioned an Apples & Snakes project I'd recently got involved with, which has resulted in the first finished piece of writing I've accomplished in months, so it's probably worth a mention. 

Love Jones

like an arrow
that always
finds its target
gravity free
melodies
subtler than
lunar rays
softer than
falling snow
eurythmics
returning always
to the source
seduced me
as soon
as stylus hit vinyl
composed
wonder & awe
bound me
to your mast
wanted to be
that Buffalo soldier
riding the fat prairie
wind racing
thru my hands
knowing
change
must
come

The beginning

I gaze in awe
budlike finger and toes
unconscious potential
newer than creation
unblinking gaze
crystal clear pools
sharp as the first cut
mysterious as the new moon
under chanting priestesses
brought in a high tide
over whelmed defences
first cry
revealing a jungle terrain
with stalking tigers
eye bright with knowledge
kamikaze devotion
claws honed
ears tuned to the present
stopped haunting
the future
when I met my past

Yvonne Mc Call

The first Cut

the silver river glitters
molten current I cannot fight.
not that it pulls you against your will.
you have already made your choice,
turned your back to swim for another shore.

relinquished me to whirlpool blues.
sitting in the hairdressers I see red
my reflection ignores ribbons of steam
curling from my head
the stylist asks

wash and blow?
sharply firmly no I said

“cut it, cut it all off please”.

Yvonne MC CALLA

Hey ! Haven't been on this site for so long I was forced to change my password. er well...to tell the truth i'd forgotten it.
Good to see some are still keeping the site going... Had a crisis of confidence this summer. it got hi jacked by real life who sent a ransom note demanding my full attention before releasing her.

Got something I was working on earlier...much much earlier...smile

Di - verse

unlike my father
I cannot claim
rippling waves
of sugar cane fields
ivory sands and palm trees
of the West Indies
as my home.
I would like to think it
but the wish

A few months ago a guy called Martin approached me about doing some spoken word/MCing for a new band he was forming. Provisionally titled Juggernaut due to the sheer number of musicians - about 15, including strings, brass, guitars, drums, bass and twiddly laptop/keyboard things - the band play a rich mix of jazz, funk, and hip hop with the odd Jewish folk or 50s surf influence thrown in for good measure. And it sounded cool so I said yes.

It pleases me that the poetry reading is in a library. I imagine a small audience and when I walk into the room on time to find only fellow poet Nabila and her family, the emptiness lends an air of confidence to the soul. It hovers, expands. 30 minutes later the same soul has shrunk at the sight of the growing audience. The event begins and Anjum introduces Nabila. Beside me sit Kervin Charles and Tachia Newall, both experienced poets. I watch her as she stands up, smiles, reads. I hear nothing of the poetry I normally enjoy.

I grew up by this river, and my feelings for it are so shifting and fathomless that I feel I will write poems about it some day. The thought first struck me when I came across Langston Hughes 'river' poem. I thought it was one of the most moving poems of all time. How could I ever describe a river after having read Langston's poem? And yet, and yet.