Mark J. Wood

2013-10-23
Hi Peter,

when I was there, a jazz singer (accompanied by his band) Sang Sweet Georgia Brown in Czech as they stood on Charles Bridge. I didn't understand it as I don't read music in anything but English - and I had a cold.

Your poem has given me the mood that I should have had if the above two reasons hadn't fogged my mind. AND, it didn't stop raining so there's a third reason.

I will go home tonight and caress a reminder to Linda of her uncolded stay on the borrowed grass.

Thanks for this.

Mark.

2013-08-21
You reminded me that the upside down world was the real one and that I keep straying into the one that we are supposed to not think is the imaginary one.

Thanks for taking me back.

(It had to be a drake; it wouldn't have worked with a duck.)

Mark.

2013-08-21
I made a mistake when I first saw this because I read the title as "Bride". I think that it works for me with either bridge or bride.

Mark.

2013-07-30
Every mother once knew that a bath could be a swimming pool but they advise otherwise (motherwise?) because their splashes have long-since been wiped away by forgetting to feel water as anything more than a partner for washing-up liquid.

A superb write that has more threads shooting out of it than could be found in Spiderman's wrists.

Mark.

2013-07-30
Hi Elle,

read this this morning and it made my fingers comment:

When young, fried potatoes just go in –
Not caring about fat or thin.
When old(er), the care
Has a mirror stare.
When wiser, it's understood;
The potatoes, just taste good.

08:51, Tue. 30/07/2013.

2012-06-19
Hi Peter,

we spend youth hoping for a better tomorrow and, when tomorrows start to run out, we start hoping for a better yesterday.

Thanks Peter - instead of wasting my time writing one of my own, I have wisely spent the time reading yours: there's nothing like a good lunch with an old friend - especially when he's paying (your currency is accepted everywhere).

Mark (another aging dog who's just read a favourite tree - there must be a joke in there about barks).

2009-08-20
You get it within your reach and then the bugger goes again. It doesn't stop its appeal though.

Short poem: long afterthoughts.

Mark.

2009-08-20
I bet that loads read this and didn't get it. Their loss.

Glad to see that you are helping to save the planet by being economical with the ink - and generous with the cleverness.

Mark.

2009-08-20
I wondered when you'd be back and then forgot to keep looking. Just my sort of poem (as long as I don't posh-up the pronunciation of "data").

All of this wit in seven words: superb.

Mark.

2009-06-24
This is never-ending and should spawn a load more. I like the title; any word-play grabs my attention.

Cheers for a good breakfast (depending where you live).

Mark.

2009-05-28
The bugs are biding their time – just waiting for us to make a mess of it all so that they can start again. Any of them seeing a new creature that might just lead to another lot of us will stamp on it with a large, insect shoe (left over after our self-annihilation) – they cannot let the same mistake happen again.

Thanks for the thought-provoking.

Mark.

2009-05-21
This lone daffodil stands out in a dark forest. So different from many that I read. I have difficulty putting into words what I feel about other people's poems but be assured that this hit the mark.

Mark.

2009-05-19
Hi Peter,

you've done it again; made me think when I was trying to stay away from that sort of thing. The problem with this is that it pointed out to me that, not only could I not remember the first time that I experienced these things, but that, apart from the last-but-one, I'm not sure that I ever have experienced them.

You have the knack of evisceration without the mercy of death at the end of it – superb.

Mark.

2009-01-29
Hi Rachael,

you have 45 degrees and we have only 6. Get a Jiffy-bag and send us a few; you can spare them. Your poem reminded me that we do have sweat-glands here – we just never use them.

Mark.

2009-01-29
Hi Phyllis,

my mum was the same about John Wayne – she always referred to him as her sweetheart so, when he came England sometime in the 60s, I (aged young) asked her when he was going to visit her. Your poem brought back all of the magic and special reality that such stars brought. They could touch without touching in a way far beyond any person stood next to you could.

This has a gentle passion about it that combines sadness at the loss with gladness for the knowing.

Mark.

2009-01-08
They are preparing for Stepford.

Mark.

2009-01-08
Don't get well soon.

Mark.

2008-10-09
Hi Peter and welcome back.

Nice touch with the cat name (or am I being too Scottish?) and the weather-humour that needs an island/Ireland-dweller's bones to fully appreciate. It sent a reminding blast through me that only a holiday in Scarborough could take away.

I must go now as a madman has invaded my inbox and is holding my attention hostage.

Mark.

2008-10-08
Starvation by gluttony.

A great rantrhyme and plenty to feed the soul.

Cheers for this.

Mark.

2008-07-28
Hi Shar,

I had a dog like that.

I particularly like the "heeding a silent SOS"; the telepathy of friendship: priceless. A bright, warm, celebratory poem: competition for a Summer's day and a log fire for the Winter.

Mark.

2008-07-18
Hi Peter,

I'm glad that you didn't just write: "Wish you were here".

Those troubles keep poking through the mists like U-boats around a convoy of pleasure cruisers. The atmosphere builds up with these and leaves a feeling like seven minutes and two-thirds-down into a pint of Guiness.

It's not easy to say how much I like these without using expletives; there is an extremity of feeling about these that I cannot properly express unless I employ a severely bad sweary so here it is in a very special font that can be detected by only the very latest equipment:

Mark.

P. s. this is good.

2008-07-10
Stay clear of clips of all kinds.

This is a special one: when is the book coming out?

Mark.

2008-06-26
What would you say about the occupied new ones?

As usual, I am wordless about the poem but have plenty of feelings. Cheers.

Mark.

2008-06-23
Hi Shar,

If there's a god, no one knows it - belief in god is irrational and disabling. Some would say the opposite but I see it as an enslaving comforter. Don't be fooled by the smile on the face of ignorance.

Live with yourself and what can be known.

I could not respect any being that created me just to worship it; if I made a robot so that it spent its existence praising and thanking me would that make me a worthwhile creature? or it? No, it wouldn't; it would demean the pair of us.

Take life by the throat or it takes you. Don't live in fear or in hope; they'll both restrict you into ordinariness.

I am only just beginning in this rant but must stop. I tried to send a reply to the comment that you made about my poem but it doesn't seem to have worked. I'll try again when the system seems to be running properly.

Take care - being twenty can be a difficult age but you'll get through it. Don't settle for second best just because it feels comfortable.

Sorry for this being somewhat disjointed.

Why not write you peice as a poem? It will make a difference - I promise.

Mark.

2008-02-28
The ones who criticise words such as yours are the ones who are quick enough to use words to justify their own actions/inactions. They adore the words of their beloved politicians with whom they have a pact of abuse and quote those words as quickly as they adopt hypocrisy as their religion.

Thanks for the think,

Mark.

2008-02-28
How could any man be pleased with being worshipped by a carpet? Shoot the pair of them for being weak.

I like the guts in this - mostly hers all over the floor.

Remember the holster; there's a good reason for it.

Cheers, Mark.

2008-02-11
Hi Peter,

I didn't know that you were familiar with that Irish mechanic who specialises in old engines: I've known pre-cam Brian for years. It's not just the rocks in Erris that are old and tired.

I could feel the spray: it's as if you are being refreshed and soothed whilst being battered into mush. Sorry for the lack of time recently.

Mark.

2007-12-19
Or Hell.

One thing's for sure: it makes the difference.

A subtle one; it's one that relies a great deal on the reader and they are the satisfyingly lasting type. First read-through made me feel that it was saying what we all know but the second let me smell the cinnamon.

Mark.

2007-12-11
To be is to be done - Mark.

It is not obvious to put salt into your tea, but it makes you sit up and take notice. Thanks.

Mark.

2007-10-24
Shouldn't it be "she knocked my -s out"? No "i" and no apostrophe?

Also, those -s representing "I" (the person rather than the capital letter of a more-than-one-letter word) ought to be capitalised (American: "capitalized"). The lack of capitalisation caused severe confusion in my reading of this poem.

Rob, I enjoyed this one - sharp, playful and clever. I wish -'d thought of it - sorry, I forgot the capital.

Mark.

2007-10-01
Better no kiss at all.

An untender kiss is,
However uncaring cold,
Something that never misses
Its red-surrounded gold.

Mark. (Just thought of that mid-comment so don't be harsh on the slush.)

2007-08-28
Let the briar, fuchsia and hair keep growing,
Let the pennies be spent,
Turn the Mayo sands of time to boil another coopful of eggs:
And tell the Scytheman to f*ck off.

You need to use a surreal turn of tongue and a flagon of Bushmill's to appreciate the rhyme in this one.

Mark.

2007-07-31
1. No;
2. No wonder.

Mark.

2007-07-31
He doesn't stoop - he does conquer: quietly and unseen.

Mark.

2007-07-31
The strongest chains aren't made of metal. It's often got something to do with the absence of the other word of that sound.

Would she have been different under a full moon?

Mark.

2007-07-31
Got message just as I was reading this.

It's nice to think that it is in the process of becoming a memory. Places whose names should bring a ring of romance and happiness have for so many a chill of remembrance; the news items linked to these names became mind tattoos that are hard to erase.

This is a syringeful of remindance. And a sign of healing.

Mark.

2007-07-16
yes, I once dared: I was 8ight-years-old and the council maisonette (we were posh so didn't call it a flat) stamped on the wonder. Eventually, I wandered to where there was no official stamp. By then, though, my wonder had wandered.

Thanks for the reminder.

Mark.

2007-07-04
The gull was calling before. Though, if we had understood what it meant, we'd have ignored it. Perhaps that's why they go around nicking our chips and then crapping on us. Daphne du Maurier knew what they were saying.

Nice to think that, at least for a while, there was some laughter.

Mark.

2007-06-27
Why is it that the Sos in our lives are the ones from whom we keep trying to get more than a "so"?

2007-06-27
Words would spoil it, so I won't use any.

2007-06-27
"mourning tide": that did it for me (along with the rest).

2007-06-27
The poppies near to me grow alongside a busy road. They get covered in fumes and dirt but I am sure that I can see hand-shaped leaves sticking middle-fingers towards the traffic.

2007-06-27
Take off your coat: I bet that there's a rainbow on your ribs.

2007-06-19
Slight correction to the anatomy details of the tails: the snail doesn't have a tail; it has an over-sized, rear-facing tongue with a bum near the base. Snails are very much like humans in this respect.

2007-06-19
The old ladies always know - it's a pity that they don't teach the young men.

2007-06-18
The wall might as well be a mirror.

Mark.

2007-06-18
It's wonderful how the bright shines recognise each other (hindered if the other senses get involved). I don't know how and why souls wink at each other and I won't bother trying to work it out - the mystery adds to the enjoyment.

Thanks for reminding me of the feeling, and putting words to it.

Mark.

2007-05-23
Poetry is a wonderful drug; the only side-effects being ignorant critics who don't understand that the lasting benefit is in the writing and not in the royalties. It should be on prescription.

This reminds me that I am one of the shameful insects. Thanks.

Mark.

2007-05-23
It's not fair on the carer, but the softest and kindliest of voices can rasp you out of your thoughts and bring you to the brink of evilling them. Just as I write this, a colleague interrupts me - watch the news tonight: murder in Leamington - victim's throat still missing.

Mark.

2007-05-22
E. E. Cummings has just quit; he can't take the competition. His harp has gone out of tune and his face is grimaced into defeat. You have put him right off of his composing (or decomposing) in The Big Cloud Store.

Someone should tell him to keep his heron. (This has been passed as fit for human consumption by the Society for Heron Intoxication and Theology.) (Any experts in acronymism should avoid reading the previous sentence.)

Mark.