Aspects
Of Poetry
Aspects Of Poetry
A Selection of Poetry and Prose
ISBN: 9780-9545017-9-2 174 pages size 240 x 170 £7.99 (2018)
Amazon Kindle (Revised Version) $2.99 (2017)
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​(The E Book edition first appeared as Poetry In Motion)
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Click on the front cover to go to the Book Shop, or on the back cover to go to Kindle and purchase the e-book.
Contents
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An Introduction
Of Youth
The Earthly Womb (of birth) J.B. Smart
The Journey from School and to School C. Lamb
An Accidental Incident J.B. Smart
Of Love
To Althea, from Prison R. Lovelace
An Evening’s Love (from a play) J. Dryden
She Walks in Beauty G. Byron
Ode to a Nightingale J. Keats
Oh, come to me in dreams, my love M. Shelley
Maud and Other Poems A. Tennyson
Somewhere I have never travelled E. Cummings
Analogy of a Flower J.B. Smart
The Wings of Love J.B. Smart
Generations of the Field J.B. Smart
Eternal Meadowlands J.B. Smart
Butterfly under a Rainbow J.B. Smart
The Absentee Girlfriend J.B. Smart
Of War
Old Vicarage, Grantchester R. Brooke
The Soldier R. Brooke
For the Fallen L. Binyon
Trench Memories J.B. Smart
Of History
Ozymandias (King of Kings) P.B. Shelley
A Walk in Our History (National Narrative) J.B. Smart
Northumberland the Brave J.B. Smart
A New Renaissance J.B. Smart
The Deserted Village O. Goldsmith
The Mask of Anarchy P.B. Shelley
The Charge of the Light Brigade A. Tennyson
Oh Star Spangled Banner (E Pluribus Unum) A. Pember
Oh Silvery Sea of Wight (Tay Bridge) J.B. Smart
Of Literature
On first looking into Chapman’s Homer J. Keats
The Miller’s Tale, Canterbury Tales G. Chaucer
The Scavenger’s Tale, New Canterbury Tales J.B. Smart
Little Gidding, The Four Quartets T.S. Eliot
Aspects of the Poem J.B. Smart
A Synonym with Meaning J.B. Smart
Of Travel
Travel (A Child’s Garden of Verses) R. Stevenson
Kubla Khan (Vision in a Dream) S. Coleridge
An Erie Canawller J.B. Smart
Parlais Vous Anglais? J.B. Smart
The Sorrows of Goethe J.B. Smart
A Prospector’s Canadian Gold J.B. Smart
Camping versus Tramping J.B. Smart
A Great Haka Challenge (Ka Mate) J.B. Smart
Of Specialities
A Traditional Haiku M. Bashu
Modern Haiku; Essence of Japan J.B. Smart
Amazing Grace (How Sweet the Sound) J. Newton
And Did Those Feet (The New Jerusalem) W. Blake
In the Bleak Midwinter C. Rossetti
The Woodpecker's Woes J.B. Smart
The Beautiful Game (Soccerundus) J.B. Smart
Who Has the Idol? J.B. Smart
Of Heaven
In Memoriam A. Tennyson
Requiem R. Stevenson
Stop All the Clocks W.H. Auden
Resurrection J.B. Smart
An Introduction
There are poets, and then there are writers, and then there are academics. Authors of great renown usually fall into one category or the other, in the same way that Titian and Canaletto could not be confused with Constable or Turner, or in more recent times with either Dali or Picasso. These genre paintings as with pre-eminent literature have a distinctive style of their own, imposed by artistic dictates of their age, and their creators would no more indulge in the other than an elephant would follow a monkey up a tree!
Of course, breaking writing down into just three main categories is an over simplification, since there are several distinct forms including play-writing, literary fiction (without any real plot), science fiction, other-worldly fantasy, historical narrative, children’s books and journalism. However, if you aspire to make any kind of mark in the literary world that is not just sensational success, you should try fiction, non-fiction and of course - poetry.
For inspiration in this regard there is no better place than Freshwater Bay with its stunning scenery and history of artistic residents. In the same way that artists were attracted to St. Ives, Cornwall there was a large gathering of renowned Victorians on the Isle of Wight. Alfred Tennyson was made Poet Laureate after the death of Wordsworth in 1850 and moved to Farringford five years later, then Julia Margaret Cameron the pioneer photographer came to Dimbola in 1860, whilst Anne Thackeray Ritchie spent summers there by the bay, and G.F. Watts the painter resided at The Briary.
Other visitors were Rev. Charles Dodgson (Lewis Carroll) who received inspiration for Alice there, Robert Browning, Ellen Terry, Charles Darwin, William Thackeray, John Ruskin, John Millais and Thomas Carlyle. Virginia Woolf the great niece of Cameron satirised this cultural circle in Freshwater a play in 1935, but many still came including T.S. Eliot (on honeymoon), J.B. Priestley (who lived at Brook Hill House nearby), Henry Longfellow, D.H. Lawrence, George Bernard Shaw, John Betjeman and W.H. Auden.
The author’s first attempts at poetry came at school followed by a number of pieces examining issues of un-requited love, the natural environment, and (like Goldsmith) loss of more innocent agrarian societies. These were all written in London but a move to Freshwater opened new creative doors, after learning of Cameron, Tennyson and their compatriots, and research for the historical books by the author provided some fresh political insights. It appears a truism that the Victorian gentlemen’s education made its students polymaths, but today’s curriculum exam-based method is found wanting.
Only those at the “Everest” pinnacle of the education system who attend Oxford or Cambridge Universities (revealing their fine talents on University Challenge), can in any way aspire to the skills of these Victorians in so many fields. The average student who labours on Government-based exams will find they emerge from the education process with only a morsel of English, European and World history or knowledge of various fields. These short-sighted objectives by the Government to provide workers of economic use mean the student misses a greater enlightenment, and going backwards, they know less than their counterparts from history - despite straights “A”s.
The knowledge that was gleaned from writing historical books and travel involved in its research; then led to an insatiable desire for more travel and contemporary experiences - in an attempt to belatedly catch up with these well-informed learned students from history, the product of a more inspired pedagogy. An appreciation of their writing or poetry, and travel in Europe, America and Australasia, gave further inspiration for the later poems, which were written especially for this book from such experiences or ideas. These are inter-twined with great works from history that likewise inspired.
The resulting work seems quite satisfactory and there is but one complaint. The five day week, so engrained on Western Society, is often insufficient to the author since it breaks the creative flow, and legislation should be passed to make a ten day week without the weekend’s most irritating interruption. Of course, once this was introduced and imposed by the State, the writer would be obliged to do a piece on how the five day week was far better, that it was much fairer, and that the Government opposed the will of the people by bringing in such unfair legislation against their express wishes!
John Blythe Smart
Ozymandius
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I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert....... Near them, on the sand
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed
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And on the pedestal these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair
Nothing beside remains, round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."
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(Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1818)
Trench Memories
​In England’s green and pleasant land, of villages
From Clovelly in Devon’s lanes to Hever Castle’s tales
From Worth Matravers up to Grasmere’s daffodils
With thundering furnaces in the towns and vales
Around the church and abbey stood archaic memorials
Their lichen, limestone, encrusted words in perpetuity
As steeples stood sentinel above with clear ringing bells
Unchanging as a Roman road or the Bible’s security
Forewarned by Wilhelm and his spa-side Ems dispatch
That sparked Bismarck’s pre-emptive Franco-Prussian war
One man’s demise, when Ferdinand let off the carriage latch
Caused the death of millions, pointlessly, on Europe’s soil
With Governmental allies and ministers in a decided fix
And Kitchener risen high on the shoulders of Khartoum
His finger points at you; your country needs you - up by six
So khaki-clothed civilians are transported out their womb
With camaraderie, and brotherhood, and gung ho thoughts
The train arrives (too soon) at Ypres, close to the killing fields
And villages that formerly remained in memory of nought
Are seared upon our consciousness, as the tragedy is revealed
From Marne, to Jutland, to Gallipoli, and the trenches of Verdun
From Beaumont Hamel and Pozières up onto the Vimy Ridge
Reckless assaults up hill at Serre with shrapnel shelling in the air
Dogfights at Arras and elsewhere, more men to build a bridge!
A noisome sound, fear fills the air, with bloody bodies everywhere
The mud it oozes like the moor, stripped down trees fall into the mire
Land ironclads crawl like a snail; both man and horse begin to fail
The Somme and Passchendaele cry out in agony, “a Cease Fire now!”
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Within the call of Britain’s bugle - sonny went off to war
And in the muck and bullets, the fear was firmly rapped
To loved ones very far away, a sole white dove did soar
But trenchant bloody shells, not home for you old chap
On the eleventh hour of similar day in autumnal air most fair
The carnage finally ceased, and some bruised and battered men
With bodies and minds now tarnished, beyond all safe repair
They crossed the Channel everywhere, to Blighty and Big Ben
A Treaty at Versailles in opulent surrounds, clear and mirror full
Perhaps would provide transparency, securing a fruitful peace
But punitive and economic bad redress; left the Kaiser in a mess
Thus any Jazz Age Charleston happiness was only lent on lease
European landscapes changed forever, as Thiepval now foretells
New memorials at Clovelly, Hever, Worth and Grasmere’s fine lee
With khaki hat and rifle point, their counterpart the Prussian cap
But of the Thankful, Blessed villages, there are just “fifty three”
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(John Blythe Smart, 2009 and 2017)
Parlais Vous Anglais?
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We pack our bags with creamy amber eh soleil
And down to Dover, to queue up for the traversier
Across the Channel neath the gleaming cliffs
Through French customs, but "parlais vous Anglais?"
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Out on the Autoroute, but please keep to the right
Is this the way or is it that, and so finally from Calais
Racing at 120 k, a thundering juggernaut takes fright
A stop for petrol or baguette, but "parlais vous Anglais?"
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Along the coast and once unto the breach at Agincourt
Then to the Gothic pinnacles of Amiens and Beauvais
Past Caen, Rouen and fortified Gaillard of Lion Heart
And to the gîte or campsite, but "parlais vous Anglais?"
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Down to Paris, with its arrondissement and boulevards
Footsore we travel to the Eiffel, Louvre and Tuileries
Out to Versailles, up to Montmartre for a fine postcard
Resting late at Notre Dame, but "parlais vous Anglais?"
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And so to Brittany of winding lanes and village streets
A walk across the sands to St. Michel, a miracle to say
Cross country at a pace to find the rocks of Carnac sweet
Night-time revers at our hôtel, but "parlais vous Anglais?"
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To seek some solace from the busy crowds of Poitiers
We plan a mountain escape while tasting crème brûlée
Labouring up the Puy de Mary or Sancy with much affray
And by train to Puy de Dôme, but "parlais vous Anglais?"
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Grand chateaus beside the Loire are quite a sight to see
With Chinon Castle and Fontevraud not too far away
The parterres of Chambord, Chenonceau and Villandry
Combien how much to look, but "parlais vous Anglais?"
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We travel up the autoroute past Rheims and Chartres fair
Taking with us memories of cathedrals and castles gay
Bon appétit and bon voyage our memories we share
A French official bids farewell, but "parlais vous Francais!"
(John Blythe Smart, 2017)
An Erie Canawller
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It was a fine day in upstate New York when Pember came to town
With his polished valise and reporter’s pad wearing a pressed silk gown
He stayed the night at the Delavan in Albany, its plush décor and fans
Captain Spoor said “Damn me, Well” on seeing his lily white hands
A weigh-lock basin at Watervliet allowed access in from the Hudson
Saving five miles up from Albany, under tug-power they arrived soon
Across the way was Troy, named for the home of Priam and fair Helen
But now with its foundries, and stoves, and Bessemer mills, and linen
There was no time for industry; Captain Lamoreux blew up his horn
Into the Sixteens they went with trepidation amongst the fields of corn
Sixteen locks they had to climb, like Caen, with canal boats all asunder
Two horses fell in when a railroad engineer, his steam, he made a blunder
The Admiral it was pulled along at snail-like pace of two miles an hour
Its heavy-laden cargo of stove and fire bricks, horses snorted for power
At last Cohoes and Harmony Mills; like Arkwright’s Cromford brick
A great cathedral to manufacturing, spinning its lace-work so quick
Just beyond this ‘Mastodon’ mill were the Mohawk Falls, such beauty
Its spray producing myriads of scattered diamonds, a real wonder to see
A short way forth they reached the Half Moon with its Lower Aqueduct
Veils of water like golden lace in the sunset drained down off its parapet
A supper as they slowly crossed, then the night-time spent at Crescent
Today the river scene is little changed, but just a few canal stones present
At four-thirty they all rose for work, a canawllers life is tough and harsh
To the Upper Aqueduct at Rexford, now part of a leisurely country park
To the west, Schenectady - “Crewe of America,” with its steaming engines
The countryside, an Elysian scene, with wives and children in contentment
All the family helped on board and at dusk bow-lights illuminated the rill
And on the fourth morning, came Port Jackson with its Amsterdam mills
The Mohawk it was straight and true with Sweet’s Store to feed the crew
It stands today with its stone clad walls, a brick façade, and open doors
They asked a boat of “Buffalo” about spring-time ice and tonnage rates
Then Little Falls and Ilion with cotton mills, aqueducts and powered gates
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Sabbath was an anathema, as the Frankfort church-goers paint a picture
But canal life it doth never stop, and children knew not of the scripture
Groggeries they hung around in packs whilst groceries sold patent pills
And Captain Spoor, could “barely say,” how a measles cure made him ill
Past Ilion the home to Remington and Utica with its great cotton mills
On the sixth day Rome, the eternal city, with a carry the Indian did thrill
Fort Stanwix the Europeans built and the Erie Canal to make their trade
Then the long, lockless stretch to Lodi below Lake Oneida as in a parade
At Syracuse they stopped for freight below the Banks where money grew
This city built on “salt” of all varieties, with drying pans at Liverpool anew
And to the north a branch canal making Oswego Starch beside the lake
Then from the collector’s office to Peru and Centreport, the halfway place
A desolate scene beheld the eyes on crossing banks at Montezuma Marsh
And Pember mused how Mark Tapley would smile and wish them harsh
At Newark they were held right up and rested, a lock jam put to rights
Then Palmyra of the New World and Macedon, but not a Greek in sight
An embankment at Bushnell near Fairport came to Cartersville, quite late
After Brighton (without its sea) there was Rochester to unload some freight
Rochester, the flour capital, with its crashing waters of the Genesee Falls
Has its aqueduct, with a modern road above, like the Pont du Gard so tall
The Long Level with scarce a lock passed Spencerport and Adams Basin
Thus Pember led the horses, trudging on at length in the mud to aid them
Unwisely, he took a stance with the towline round his legs, a Circus poster
And the horses bolted, the rope it jerked, and a header he took instead
He swam around, then dried right off back on the boat, to a hearty laugh
To Brockport, Holley, Albion, comely Medina and Middleport by the path
As Lockport loomed there was a row about precedence with another boat
And Captain Spoor shouted, “There’ll be a muss, you soon won’t be afloat”
At dusk they passed through Lockport locks and Pember said, “Ah, I see!”
Midnight came at Pendleton by Tonawanda Creek with Niagara in the lee
On the twelfth day they ran by the river to Buffalo Basin off of Lake Erie
Its grain silos and iron foundries, as Pember bid them adieu, by the sea
(John Blythe Smart, 2017)
A Synonym with Meaning
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When the author sits down at his desk, two books he loves the best
A dictionary words he may find, but without a thesaurus he is blind
Within its pages the essence of creative writing and poetry do reside
From gay Abandon at the front we quit, vacate, evacuate and leave
To Zoo with its safari parks and Zoom of race and rush and speed
And in the middle incorrect with false, erroneous and displeased
Stop or go, all or nothing, brave and cowardly, common and rare
These are not for our consideration here, since antonyms they bear
What we need to nullify is repeated textual words that grate repetitive
Novels, fictions, and great works made bad, or should I say defective
With our thesaurus at our side a famous, celebrated writer we may be
Our cognomen in starry lights with clever, shrewd and adept glee
(John Blythe Smart, 2017)
A Modern Haiku
River Flows
Ford by the Trees
Man Crosses
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(John Blythe Smart, 2017)
Of a traveller in the exotic East
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Essence of Japan
Artisan of old Edo
Shogun’s worker keenly wooed
A concubine fair
Hokusai’s Great Wave
Mount Fuji frames the picture
Rowers as of mice
Above green forests
Red Fuji glows like Dante’s rose
Its ice capped peaks
(John Blythe Smart, 2017)
A tribute to Hokusai the Japanese Turner

Chateaus of the Loire Valley and other historic sites helped inspire the poetry contained in the book.
A Great Haka Challenge
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“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” was the cry when Cook first sighted land
Sydney whalers and traders followed, but did not make a stand
At Russell the “Hell-hole of the Pacific” missionaries came to help
Busby was made resident at Waitangi, his house up on the shelf
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” was the cry when Hobson raised the flag
Forty five chiefs sat on the lawn, as Rev. Williams began to sag
“He iwi tahi tatou” “We are now one people” they then declared
A misunderstanding of land ownership, haunted down the years
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” the Musket Wars as Hone Heke cut it down
The mighty Union Jack fell off its roost, the soldiers they did frown
Across the North they battled hard, at Ruapekapeka laid their lair
With trench warfare they held out, and escaped at Sunday prayers
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” they declared on learning of Wakefield’s plan
His colonisation scheme formed in Newgate Prison without even a fan
To Wellington, Plymouth, Wanganui, Nelson, came they soon in droves
Land was bought for clothes and guns, settlers paid through the nose
Auckland amongst the volcanoes was sold for a casket of powder dear
A city grew by Point Britomart with Albert Barracks to allay any fears
The Presbyterians to Dunedin, and the Anglicans to Christchurch’s plains
Towns of brick, stone, and wood on their land, to the Maori all the same
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” they declared, as the European land grab made pace
It was taken by force without consensus, by those claiming superior race
Wars at Taranaki and Waikato with the Waitara Purchase as their cause
Settlers took to stockades in fear, as Sir George Grey flexed out his paws
General Cameron arrived in support with Imperial Troops of the line
Down the Great South Road he marched and scoured the land very fine
The settlers garrisoned churches, while Rewi Maniapoto made his last stand
A million acres taken, Maori left with just “Rohe Potae,” a hat and its band
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” of renegades in the King Country, Tawhiao had made
Religious cults extended the fight, Te Kooti at Chatham his plans soon laid
After raiding on Gisborne, pursuit was afoot with kupapa soldiers as well
Hiding out in the dense Urewera forest, the war ended as Te Porere fell
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” was the cry due to land confiscations far from good
Settlement continued apace on the land, settlers came by vessels of wood
Te Whiti he used his Christian teachings to form Parihaka in the west
And like Tamihana’s, this agricultural commune had all that was best
However Maori ploughmen occupied land that the surveyor had pegged
Against British Law they were arrested in thousands, chains on their legs
Exiled to the South without any trial, into caves at Dunedin were placed
A disgrace of the nation, since they never again saw their family’s face
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate,” Seddon arrives to try and put these matters right
Whilst those of Liberal persuasion make new laws, honest in our sight
Pember Reeves he led the way, his wife with Kate Sheppard soon worked
Emancipation was achieved, as England stayed under landowners’ cloaked
The Labour Party arrived in the land as they buried their Gallipoli dead
With new Maori links and Maori M.P.s the pressure for reform they said
Railways were built across the land, many of these being a cause célèbre
Cobb & Co. coaches crossed the Alps on roads with twists like a zebra
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” the great All Blacks adopted the cry for their sport
George Nepia he toured all of England, leaving the home side on nought
Maori Parliaments they were formed, both Kotahitanga and Kauhanganui
Pressure groups aiming to vex the Crown, for their Brave Band of Tu(i)
But what is this we ask ourselves? The injustice and grievance remains
At Bastion Point the marae is lost, lest it upsets the Royals on their train
The residents are moved into State flats, losing all of their culture so keen
A protest lasts for five hundred days, until financial redress is seen
“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” the loud cry rings out over the land
At Waitangi Day they protest each year to honour their brand
The “Waitangi Tribunal” rights Victorian wrongs on their sand
And the Maori iwi receive millions of dollars in hand
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(John Blythe Smart, 2017)