BLURTMETRY AFTER A YEAR
Yes, capturing the blurts. The first fine power
of bringing down went with blurtmeter one.
The day came when I took the counter off
to turn a key, and dropped it on hard stone.
I don't know where the count had got. The impact
logged one more blurt, a false one. And the ten
seconds elapsed and my lapcounter, my first
blurtmeter, did not start timing again.
And neither pressing buttons, either button,
nor lapse of minutes, hours, let it move on.
The power that went with my first blurtmeter went
no more, after the stone floor. It had gone.
Now, flaunted less, and worn on belt not finger
and keeping up the log's blurtmeter three.
But the blurtrate fumes, rages (not soars -- nothing
soared when its essence was so fidgety).
BLURTMETRY ON WHEELS
Keeping track of blurts
during a white-knuckle ride
in a forest night,
not daring the blurtmeter
so finger-counting through grip
of the handlebars --
over the handlebars light
finds the pale earth track
by the darkness to each side.
The bike bends to the pale line
unexpected, fast
at the steepnesses and turns.
No moon, no water,
but the pale line recalls such
and I keep track of the blurts.
A YEAR AFTER BLURTMETRY
Blurtmeter 4, with self-clip plastic strap,
on day one hit its terminal mishap.
Bright August morning. I biked north and found,
mid-journey, my kit must have hit the ground,
miles back, perhaps. Enough. The game died thus.
Facebook friends wrote: "This is hilarious!"
One more year, and blurtmetry's overgrown
(as in path not schoolboy). The name lives on
in my new blog, the story should I need
to neutralise odd speakings, and instead
of blurts I mark each day's peak breathing flow,
or roads I've gone and how I chose to go.
Knowledge somebody else requires to know.
Yes, blurtmetry. The name of this blog. It's a hobby I invented in 2006, and followed for a little more than three years. The above poems, written between 2007 and 2010, give it as much chronicle as it needs. They have had public utterance insofar as I read them to an online meeting of Enfield Poets, who had us of Ver Poets over as guests on 4 August 2022.
The blurts themselves were the subject of an earlier sequence.
Keeping track of blurts
during a white-knuckle ride
in a forest night,
not daring the blurtmeter
so finger-counting through grip
of the handlebars --
over the handlebars light
finds the pale earth track
by the darkness to each side.
The bike bends to the pale line
unexpected, fast
at the steepnesses and turns.
No moon, no water,
but the pale line recalls such
and I keep track of the blurts.
A YEAR AFTER BLURTMETRY
Blurtmeter 4, with self-clip plastic strap,
on day one hit its terminal mishap.
Bright August morning. I biked north and found,
mid-journey, my kit must have hit the ground,
miles back, perhaps. Enough. The game died thus.
Facebook friends wrote: "This is hilarious!"
One more year, and blurtmetry's overgrown
(as in path not schoolboy). The name lives on
in my new blog, the story should I need
to neutralise odd speakings, and instead
of blurts I mark each day's peak breathing flow,
or roads I've gone and how I chose to go.
Knowledge somebody else requires to know.
Yes, blurtmetry. The name of this blog. It's a hobby I invented in 2006, and followed for a little more than three years. The above poems, written between 2007 and 2010, give it as much chronicle as it needs. They have had public utterance insofar as I read them to an online meeting of Enfield Poets, who had us of Ver Poets over as guests on 4 August 2022.
The blurts themselves were the subject of an earlier sequence.
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