Gibley Finds: Poetry

The stream of consciousness technique, perhaps most famously used by James Joyce and Virginia Woolf (Ulysses, To The Lighthouse), allows the reader a real sense of thought process. If you were to write exactly how thinking works, it’s sporadic, mad, and from the outside it’s easily seen as random and chaotic. However, like Joyce and Woolf did, there’s a definite skill to making these thoughts coherent in writing, granting us a rare, priceless portion of character. Today’s find, no stars, shouting lights, is another great example.

I love how this piece starts: ‘i’m cold and don’t / know what to do.’ There’s no set up, there’s no introduction. The writing is quick to grab you by the collar and thrust you in with the problem. As well, there’s no capitalisation; clearly, this isn’t the start and we’re catching the midst of anxiety. Reading this is like walking onto a treadmill that’s already racing at top speed. There’s no acceleration and you’re immediately sprinting, joining the narrator in a lost and confused state.

The use of enjambment, too, is excellent. It gives a real feel of intoxication and disorientation. It’s like spinning around, and as one image leaves your sight, another has already begun to take its place. With the lack of punctuation, fast pace and repetition, we get a proper sense of thought process. As well, there’s an air of adolescence, where the narrator has somehow found themselves, possibly again, in a hopeless situation; the surrounding world is relentless and unforgiving and we can’t help but to sympathise.

Author T.M. Puype kindly let us share this piece and I think it’s brilliant. This poem may seem to be a simplistic style, but it’s truly deceiving; there’s a lot going on here, and the multitude of poetic techniques together piece a relentless image of what it’s like to be shaken.


no stars, shouting lights

i’m cold and don’t
know what to do and
neon lights are shouting that
the night is still
open for business,
and I’m tired and lost
but still hoping
that some good might come
from this night
that it will not be like
yesterday night
or the night before
or the one before that
and i’m drunk
but not enough
never enough
and the sky is clouded
and i can’t see
any stars
and the moon isn’t out
and you aren’t here
and i don’t know what to do.

Gibley Finds: Poetry

This poem has just popped up; the imagery and the feel have really stuck. MeganSense, who is also on WordPress, kindly let us share this piece.

Three words come straight to mind in City Behind Windows: melody, monotony, and motion. In regards to the latter, the whole piece is of movement; the train, the bus, the walk, and I love how it takes you on a journey. We’ve all experienced that harsh commute, how monotonous it can be, and we all know how nice it is to be contained from it all, in our homes at the end of the day.

I was captured from the beginning – it’s that opening line that delivers the tone. It’s almost oxymoronic; ask anyone how a train sounds and most won’t say it’s of harmony. But because it’s everyday, because it’s the same sounds repeated each morning and each afternoon, it must be of some music. A cluttered, mechanical chorus, perhaps, but nonetheless a song of the city. And this is beautifully framed through the windows, our little cinema squares that capture the speeding world, even when we’re home, in our safe, quiet space for sleep.

MeganSense has expressed this well, in all the shapes and sizes. A great piece that encompasses a busy, urban lifestyle, and the tiny quests for tranquillity.


City Behind Windows

The train sang
The city changed
Behind the windows
We passed the high rises
And the violent shaped arenas

The bus stopped
I ensured the fare
And I watched the same city lights
Flicker in those windows too.
How will the city sleep tonight?

I walked two blocks
Through smoke clouds
And bar fights
Turned left and left again
And retired to my bed
Where the city moves outside my window
And I share my rectangle
With the cat.

Gibley Finds: Poetry

We’ve all seen hard work, in sweat, stress, tears, and success. And we’ve all seen how too much hard work changes a person. The eyes sink with tiredness, the worked hands weaken, the posture worsens, the calluses form. All of this breeds through repetition, elongated periods of time performing the same things over and over. In one way or another, we’ve all experienced the consequences of exertion.

How Time Affects Her, today’s feature, brilliantly explores an alternative way of looking at how hard work can take it’s toll. Reddit user Jamonde kindly let us share this piece; it portrays the weight of parenthood in a way you’ve unlikely seen before: the curls of a mother’s hair have gone.

This transformation is one of decline, and cleverly acts as the physical manifestation of her character. When the curls are lost, they are no longer a loaded, energised spring, they are no longer bouncy, flexible against the world. Instead they are weighed down, drained of strength, translating to the reader how her person is. No doubt this a sad piece; a parent consumed by menial household chores, worked to the bone, who has not the time for anything remotely fun or anything that doesn’t further her work. But this poem is also one of love and labour. Nobody will tell you parenthood is easy, partly because they’re too busy with parenthood to even remark. It’s a lifestyle to adopt and persist with, and that’s what this mother is doing.

There’s no time for these little, nice things, there’s no time for the cosmetic additions, there’s no time for anything. Even the poem itself is short to one stanza, furthering how busy life has become. There’s no time to write on and on about it, because it can be said quickly. ‘The curly hair is too busy… to be curly again’ and that’s that.

A memorable piece, efficient and cleverly crafted, and a great start to the new year. Definitely a poet to keep an eye out for in the future – well done, Jamonde!

How Time Affects Her

Mom’s curly hair is too busy
Washing the dishes
And taking care of the laundry
To be curly again.

Gibley Finds: Poetry

A short find for you today, Garden is a straightforward poem with a broad perspective.

What made this stand out for me was it’s simplicity. No fancy metaphors, no hyperbole, just an honest ambition. It’s the determination in this piece that really grips, and how it exemplifies the strive for a successful life. Of course, there’s more than one way to interpret this. It could be taken very literally, focusing on one particular graveyard which is rarely visited, overgrown and overpopulated with the dead, where the headstones are left to erode.

Otherwise, it’s the aspiration, to cement yourself in history in some way, where the epitaph isn’t like any other. Instead, it’s a bold statement, an important name, someone who was successful in their life, whose grave would be visited, someone who was worthy of monument or statue.

Dahelzat kindly let us share this poem. Whilst it’s not Christmassy, I do think it’s a drive for the new year. It doesn’t have to be fame or fortune that you pursue. What’s key is that you  work hard and fulfil your goals. To bring good, whether it be to a hamlet, city or country. To be extraordinary.


I don’t want to be planted
in the garden of dead men,
where the stone flowers grow
and a library of words are never read.

Gibley Finds: Poetry

A part of writing is to sample something, perhaps what we all see or experience, and paint it in a unique light. Whether it be the summer glow, the winter chill, or the marching men in business suits on a Monday morning, we all have our own perspectives, and we tackle our thoughts and ideas and thrust them onto paper in poetry and prose.

Brenden Norwood kindly let us share his piece ‘The Unsaid Words of Falling in Love with a Stranger at a Coffee Shop’ and it wonderfully depicts an ordinary moment in a fresh, vitalising light.

The poem starts slowly, showcasing a little of the awkwardness we’ve all experienced when approaching a stranger (especially one we find attractive!); as the writing continues, the poetry takes its form, the thoughts articulate themselves and communicate clearly in rhythmic sweetness and magnitude. The realisation from the narrator, commenting on how on the grand scheme of things in this world and the way they work, demonstrates perfectly why it’s important to seize the moment, especially in the name of romance. The poem finishes, bookended with the little awkwardness that’s undeniably endearing.

This is certainly a poem to read out loud; Brenden writes with clarity, his dialogue’s real and concrete, his character rich, and all with light, liquid poetry weaved throughout. A very satisfying read and a great sense of style.


The Unsaid Words of Falling in Love with a Stranger at a Coffee Shop

“Hi! So okay, I know I’m a stranger,
and that you don’t know me,
and I don’t know you, but very recently I’ve
come to the realization
that the number of people we meet
in this world isn’t nearly
as infinite as we’d think it to be,
and that our lives or this world,
for that matter, aren’t nearly as infinite
as we’d think them to be,
which is why I think it’s so special that,
upon first laying my eyes on you,
I felt that infinitude:
that boundless untick tock
frozen clock ticking vast vacuums
of savory saturated seconds,
of crossed legs and eyes the color of undug gold;
soft brown irises blinking etched eternities–
what I’m trying to say is you’re very beautiful!
And to be a hundred percent honest with you,
if I didn’t at least ask your name,
I’d be as bitter as this black coffee!