Gibley Finds: Poetry

It’s fairly easy to find poetry on the sky (whether it be day or night), a subject often written on for it’s broad scope beyond our breath, holding our bare understanding of what’s above. We definitely have a lot of poetry on the moon (thanks, Carol Ann Duffy), which is regularly married to the themes of love and mystery. However, it’s quite rare we see the focus on the field, the attention for everything else.

The black between the stars is another piece from Brenden Norwood (we featured a poem from Brenden back in October) and this poem is sure to fill your cosmic quota. The imagery of our starry night, and what’s beyond, is brilliant, transporting, flourished by refreshing alliteration. The picture painted by the language evokes powerful, surrealist impressions; I couldn’t help but to imagine a Dalí and Van Gogh combo.

There are two things I really like about this piece. For one, there’s a lot of allusions to the sea, and how the night sky is similar. It’s as if the sea mirrors the sky, both of which aren’t so different when it comes to it, and our little lives are lived in the middle. Secondly, I love how the poem is almost bookended by the same question, as if to further the idea that it’s about the space in between that matters. As well, the conversational tone, akin to good ol’ Bukowski, carries the writing in consideration for the subject depth and intensity, which can often be an overload for the mind!

Another great piece from Brenden, I hugely enjoyed the read, the language, the style – this is definitely one for the Saganist.


(If you’d like to read more, Brenden’s own Introspection can be found on Amazon)

the black between the stars

there are times
late at night
when people ask me,
with asteroids dripping
from their pupils:
“what is your favourite constellation?”
and, smiling in that half-madness
so often forgiven as
i say,
“none of them.”
for the stars are just markers,
beacon buoys with light
like sooty silver ash:
flicked flames off cindering cigarettes
blazing feverishly in the far alleyways
of the universe, their
milky incandescent nebulas
breathed by dusty lungs.
but the black in between—
it is possibility
and hope.
the constellations are mere
latitudes and
lines in a boundless cartography:
an infinitely black sea
rippling with tides of time,
the arcs of planet’s rings
into the void like the windswept sails
of the ships of our souls,
the seafoam starlight shimmering at its very ridges
rippling at its very ridges…
there are times
late at night
when people ask me,
with asteroids dripping
from their pupils:
“what is your favourite constellation?”

Gibley Finds: Poetry

A seasonal find for you today!

Laurie Grommett has kindly let us share Whispered Words, a poem focused on the use of the letter ‘w’, and it’s a real treat to read. Poems that focus on one letter can be tricky. It’s easy to fall into repetitive sounds and saturate the reader of variation – but the utilisation here couldn’t have been done better.

This piece is one to read aloud; the iambic tetrameter resonates with the Romantics, as well as the solid imagery and touches of personification. The use of alliteration is not too sparse nor too compact and the way it bounces along to the meter delivers real satisfaction. There’s a little ambiguity to the end and it’s well done – it adds a little haunt, it adds a little love.

A brilliant picture of winter which truly flourishes the beauty of our coldest season.


Whispered Words

A whirling sweep of soft wet snow
awoke the woodsy countryside
as crisp flakes flurried to and fro
and winter townscape opened wide.

The wind weaved in and out in waves
bewitching as a wizard’s wand.
The wisps of wonder iced the nave
and water logged the well and pond.

I wiped the wood on windowsill
and tweaked a notch to whiff fresh air.
He whispered words of grace, goodwill.
I saw white shadow standing there.

Gibley Finds: Poetry

When we write, we have not only the language to wield but also poetic techniques, used to enrich our ideas. There’s metaphor, repetition, rhyme (and lack of), tone, personification, dissonance, all sorts, and each one is incredibly useful when it comes to flourishing thoughts.

Bob Mason, Reddit user /u/bobbness, kindly let us share his piece Rest Stop. Written to a satisfying meter, this poem brilliantly demonstrates how to paint a picture using the poetry toolkit.

Firstly, I have to say, the use of alliteration in the second line is one of the best I’ve heard in a long time; those harsh hard C’s exert real stress and produce a great picture of the locked traffic. The line beneath, with its frequent punctuation, furthers the theme of lack of movement, as if there’s no fluidity to the line and we can’t finish it without stopping, inching us like traffic.

The second stanza breaks the mould and as the narrator finds relief, so do we as we’re given the bounce and rhyme amongst the hectic night, ending on a lighter note of more calm and quietness.

There’s real music to this piece, it’s fun to read out loud, and it’s a great use of language. A real gem that clearly had a lot of thought and talent put into it. Well done Bob!


Rest Stop

This turnpike ramp burns brake-light red
with cramped cars crammed in line.
They grumble, tap, and puff white plumes
which fill the wind-chilled night.

Aside sits mine, its blinkers lit
to gild the hill in waves,
where I, behind a lonely pole,
find peace and do the same.

Gibley Finds: Poetry

We all go through hard times in our lives. It’s all part of the human experience, it’s all part of the package. However, our attitude towards the situation can lighten the severity. Whilst that’s not necessarily suggesting there’s always a positive outlook, we can alleviate our grief with a shift of perspective.

Guest, our feature today, portrays someone who has met sorrow before. It very much speaks for itself in volume and clarity. What I love about this piece is how it can be interpretated. Of course, it’s no easy task to face sadness again, despite how frequent it may have visited. To soften the blow, taking the kind, welcoming approach is perhaps easier on the mind than refusing the feeling. However, there’s definite humour here, and it’s dark, sarcastic and accomodating. The voice is potent, and the familiarity with sorrow breaks out a little grin.

Sorrow is brilliantly personified as the inveitable guest we’ll all have to stay with at some point, and likely to have the company of again. Reddit user _layman_ kindly let us share this poem with our followers. It’s short, powerful and memorable – poems like these continue to amaze me, how in only thirteen words such history and perspective can be portrayed.



Sweet sorrow
hello again

I’ve kept everything
just the way you like it