The 2024 24-hour Poetry Marathon

So, 20 minutes ago, I began the process of attempting my 7th 24-hour The Poetry Marathon.

It’s an annual event which attracts foolish or brave or whacky or focused or whatever poets from all over the world who commit to writing a poem an hour, one an hour, for 24 hours.

This, as I said, will be my 7th time doing this. Why subject myself? Because previous incarnations have produced some wonderful wonderful poems (several of which made it into my full length poetry collection published by Friendly Street Poets last year). Others have been published elsewhere & yet others from previous marathons are ready to go for the next potential collection.

That is my goal for today — to crank out another dozen or so good poems, 1 or 2 great ones & a few that could be improved with work to flesh out my next idea.

You’d think I’d be getting better at it, but, no. I feel the least prepared of any year so far. Sure I have some snacks, some healthy food, lots of coffee, a rough idea of the poems that I might like to write … but I’ve had a long long day today & no mid-afternoon nap & I’m worried I may not make it all the way through as previously.

This is just a wee note to remind myself that, it’s okay to call quits if I do not feel like I’ll make it. It’s JAG. Just. A. Game. A very fun challenging game, but still, just a game.

*****

As with previous years I’m only going to post excerpts of poems here so I can use them/submit them to those competitions/journals that count even personal webpages as PUBLISHED.

*****

(Hour 01) 10.30-11.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about a dream you had without ever indicating that it was a dream in the poem or title. 

 the last : endless : beach

the sun is setting : endlessly : i know it’s a setting sun : not a rising one : the same way i know : my soul : is slowly : drifting : into this mist : with every step : one drop : one step

*****

(Hour 02) 11.30-12.30am. TEXT PROMPT, Write a poem set in the past, that still incorporates modern technology in some capacity. For example you could write a poem set in Victorian times but with dating apps. 

time travelling while sitting still, scared

Rueben, the kids, the dog & I
huddlecrowd in the corner 
of an old slowtumbling down cottage
(it could almost be a cave)

*****

(Hour 03) 12.30-01.30am. TEXT PROMPT, write a poem that starts and ends with something someone else said, real or imagined. 

creed

we’ve still : got to live : capital L life : not merely survive : life is to be spent : not to be saved : no good trying to hide : amongst our own aloneness : we’ve got to stick to it : stick it up : them : us : ourselves :

*****

(Hour 04) 01.30-02.30am. TEXT PROMPT Write a poem using a one or two regional or personal references that only someone from your region or from your family might fully understand. Do not explain the reference within the poem.

my hat, it has three corners

when Rueben started 
very quietly, first humming, 
then outright singing
doing the actions as well

Mein Hut, der hat drei Ecken,
drei Ecken hat mein Hut.
Und hätt er nicht drei Ecken,
so wär’s auch nicht mein Hut.

*****

(Hour 05) 02.30-03.30am. COMBINED Image Prompts: [Hour 4: Bench covered in snow; Hour 5: Japanese auto-repair artwork]

dust-breaths 

want them out of there : straightaway : tell them : swallowing the dust : could be : really bad for their breathing : without telling them : what i think the dust : actually is

*****

(Hour 06) 03.30-04.30am. TEXT PROMPT, What if you reflections were real and you could enter them? Write a poem exploring some aspect of that idea.

beneath the reflection 

how they’ve turned 
from inveterate squealers
to silent film stars

testimony both to 
their terror of discovery 
& will to survive 

*****

(Hour 07) 04.30-05.30am. MUSIC PROMPT: Listen to this clip of The Swan performed by Yo-Yo Ma and Kathryn Stott and then write a poem. If you are not connecting to the music you could try writing a poem about a swan.

swan song

a sickly black swan
races across the water

in terrible slow motion
gradually gaining grace 
with each tiptoed tap

*****

(Hour 08) 05.30-06.30am. TEXT PROMPT: Every year involves at least one prompt that encourages poets to try to use a specific poetic form. This year write an acrostic poem. 

Bonus: poem presented in all its full-scale glory

DROPPED THE SKY 

Days pass 
Relentless
Overwhelming 
Paranoia
Pricks
Everyone’s 
Dreams

Technically 
Humanity
Exists still

So we
Keep on
Yanking chains

*****

(Hour 09) 06.30-07.30am. TEXT PROMPT: Think of a word you use a lot. Write a poem where at the very least every stanza begins with this word. There should be at least three stanzas, ideally more.

in water

water : tumblergrumbler : death ray deflector : magic marker : wonderdrug of the new millennium 

water : breathe of life : liquor of living : succour of nature : paramour of the planet : queen of quintessence

water : bane of bugs : enemy of invaders : preventer of pyschosis

*****

(Hour 10) 07.30-08.30am. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem that contains fantasy elements.

Bonus: poem presented in all its full-scale glory

Rueben’s Big Plan

Stella has asked me if
— partly to distract me I think
partly cos she’s deeply concerned
at how little I’ve spoken since
Ryan & her rescued me —
I’ve had any good dreams lately.
I haven’t — but I tell her a fantasy
that’s been playing in my head:

Where I ride a pod like Ryan did
right back to the bug’s mother ship
work my way inside & figure out
how to reprogram every craft & send
them all back to their home system.
I’d follow on my star-powered sailing ship
right back down the warp tunnel
or multidimensional worm hole
that brought them so unwelcome here.
Before addressing their hive queens
or whatever & convince never to attack
another civilisation ever again.

Only when I finished my tall tale
did I realise I hadn’t mentioned
bringing mum (or any of the other
billions of sentient earth beings)
back to life & now I’m worried
Stella’s going to worry about just
what that says about me …

*****

(Hour 11) 08.30-09.30am. TEXT PROMPT: “Do you remember the first poem you ever wrote? Rewrite it with the knowledge, skills and perspective you have now.”

Konking two tasks with one stone here as every day for the past 2 months I’ve been creating a haiku-esque snapshot of the land around me. Today this tiny poem is gonna serve double duty.

16 June, haiku

rusty metal gate, leaning
morning mist veils the vineyard
— i drift beyond


Inspired by 2 lines of one of the earliest poems I remember writing.

“As I lean upon this gate
My mind sees things
Both small & great
Into mist disappearing”

*****

(Hour 12) 09.30-10.30am. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem that uses at least five of the following ten words. You can choose all ten if you’d like: Wave : Sneakers : Yell : Stew : Linger : Ginkgo : Soft : Math : Sliver : Magazine

another argument i cannot hope to win

i.
Stella waves me over : what are you doing : this isn’t a safe place : to linger : we gotta go : shhh she tells me : even though : i was far from : yelling : we’ve got to take Ginkgo : what’s a ginkgo : she holds up : a silver name tag : GINKGO 

*****

(Hour 13) 10.30-11.30am. TEXT PROMPT: “Write a poem that makes generous use of any one of the following figures of speech: Hyperbole, Onomatopoeia or Oxymoron.”

Bonus: poem presented in all its full-scale glory

Address of the Bugs

Stella’s question from the other day
About dreams has had me wondering
Why did the bugs never address us
Like they always do in Hollywood movies
To keep my mind occupied as we walktrudge
I’ve begun writing my own
Address of the Bugs

Although this might surprise you
The silence of the universe is deafening
One variable however is constant
Our chaos is controlled
Our kindness, cruel
We do not arrive accidentally on purpose
It is fairly obvious, an open secret
Your species is going nowhere

Your only alternative
Only choice, only option
Is pretty ugly
You must disappear in a quiet roar
Your screams must be silent
You are as dead walking
Your absence from the galaxy
Will not be conspicuous
But a bittersweet loud whisper

*****

(Hour 14) 11.30am-12.30pm.  TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about dancing.

lessons in dance

we promenade : circle left : then circle right : do-si-do again : we shoot the star : slip the clutch : box the gnat : spin the top : walk & dodge : slide thru : tag the line : scoot up & scoot back : making up silly little moves : until we’re all : just kinda standing still : in a group hug : which lasts a long time

til Jake says : I’m hungry : & we all laugh : & move on

*****

(Hour 15) 12.30pm-13.30pm. BOTH PROMPTS: Write a poem about satisfaction – it could be about the concept as a whole or a memory of that feeling + bare trees & silver skies

Bonus: poem presented in all its full-scale glory

success

silently we sail : at what feels like : supersonic speed : compared to our previous plodding pace : along the silverblack : highway : the only sound : the soft shiffle : of six soft tyres : shushing swiftly

at the moment : all five of us : are currently cycling : the ground is flat : the work easy : we feel free : fast : like birds on the breeze : beneath skeletal trees : devoid of leaves

& me : contentment : seeping from me : like honey

i don’t look at Stella : there : is : no : need

*****

(Hour 16) 13.30pm-14.30pm. VISUAL PROMPT: the prompts for Hour 16 pr do not really suit my project so I have gone back to the image from Hour 13. Stone circles.

claw circles

approaching : the creek : feels like invading : next door neighbour’s bedroom : see what seem to be : 3 foot prints : hoof prints : impressions

it takes a moment to process : but then : understanding

i might well be : the first human alive : to see the claw prints : of our intergalactic bug : exterminators

*****

(Hour 17) 14.30pm-15.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about a long walk.

Are you kidding me? My entire project is about a long walk. Hahaha. I’ll tweak it a little.

double trouble

i’m tired of walking, Katie complains
we’ve walked for weeks, Jake adds
it’s been about 3 hours
& we’ve carried you
for most of that
but i’ll ask Ryan & see
his response is : predictable
the more often we stop
the less fast we’ll get there

nevertheless we stopp
& almost immediately
those previously boneweary brats
begin a rather surreal game
of silent cat & mouse
which shouldn’t be possible
with just the two of them
yet somehow is & leaves me
confused whether to
laugh scream cry or join in

*****

(Hour 18) 15.30pm-16.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Every year I challenge poets to write a poem about a subject most poets don’t write about. This year I’m asking for poems about kitchens.

quiet time

the little ones : are outside : running endless circles : after complaining of being tired : we’ve stopped : so they can rest : i almost shouted at them : to sit down : be still : & shut up : but managed to : get a grip on my crazy : before it escaped : the best way to control damage : is before anything : is broken

instead i said : gonna go see if i can scrounge some food : so : no kids in the kitchen : but can already tell : there’s nothing much here : to cook : which is fine : really : just need some quiet time : to think : perhaps to cry

when i notice : the calendar on the fridge : photo of a clown bike : 3 kooky clowns : all riding this dodgy bike : all facing different ways : which reminds me : of seeing a circus : once : where the whole troupe : piled on top : (well piled with precision) : onto one big bloke : acting as the bike-riding base : upon a super-strengthened bicycle : & suddenly : i am cooking something : even if we won’t be able to eat it

*****

(Hour 19) 16.30pm-17.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Choose the title of a book you haven’t read (yet) as the title for a poem.

the motion of the body through space

i’m not a big believer : in fate : or at least : i didn’t think i was : until : part way through my pondering : & mental sketches : Stella bursts in : fit for a fight

says : we should stay here a few days : my look asks why : i think this place used to be a b’n’b : i’ve found a storage room : with lots of/ : sounds great : i say : cutting her off

before she can react to my rudeness : jump up : bustle outside : for while she was talking : i notice : on the floor : in the adjoining wet room : at least a dozen : boots & shoes : of very differing sizes

the kids don’t like walking : not even so much : don’t : as they’re small : little legged : they can’t : they tire : we can carry them : but then : we tire

their bodies don’t move : as easily as mine : through the space that surrounds them : even as mine : moves swiftly towards : a huge shed : with three large sliding doors

this is going to be a problem : given how far : we are supposed to be trying : to go

all doors are locked : but if this owner : was anything like my father : gaze around : there : in that seemingly : discarded rubber boo

keys : unlock : look in

maybe fate & i : are at last : becoming acquainted


title borrowed from Lionel Shriver

*****

(Hour 20) 17.30pm-18.30pm. VISUAL PROMPT: Write a poem about home, metaphorically, actually, or spiritually.

lights on

i.
this once rich earth
home to bustling
lifeforms of all kinds
big small ugly & us
                 long gone…

ii.
no longer have one
just empty buildings
where once we lived
all that made it home
                 long gone…

iii.
an idea of afterwards
a potential safeplace
on a hidden corner
of an unknown map
                 still there?

[just a quick simple one to enable me 40 minutes respite]

*****

(Hour 21) 18.30pm-19.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about love that is not romantic.

twinge

after 2 days : solid soldering : alone in the shed : mostly alone : (Rueben popped his head in unexpectedly once : & is now pledged to secrecy) : i return : knowing tomorrow : will be the day : of my great reveal : to see Jake : asleep like a lizard : on Stella’s lap : Rueben reading Katie a storybook : found in one of the many : upstairs bedrooms : the multiple pairs of boots : definitely : revelatory : & i feel a twinge : & a tingle : deep in my chest : i never thought i’d know again : after dad’s death

*****

(Hour 22) 19.30pm-20.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about fighting sleep.

lights off

far too many hours
spent fighting sleep

after Ryan revealed
his many-wheeled contraption

after all — why was i angry
it was indeed a clever fix

something we could all
play a part operating

able to carry food, supplies
tired kids, creature comforts

fast, non-mechanical
essentially silent & so

virtually undetectable
to the bugs’ sensor systems

decided far better to stop
fighting sleep now

so i have the energy
to fight Ryan tomorrow

— at least, for a little while

*****

(Hour 23) 20.30pm-21.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem titled Tender, Tender.

Tender, ten der (vishes)

Softly my German godmother
whispers gently to me that
she will grant me twice-five wishes

Either that or a greek unit of soft religious
beggars will soon pay a visit to me
neither makes that much sense

& to be honest …i’m kinda too tired to care 🤩

*****

(Hour 24) 21.30pm-22.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about wishes.

the wish trap

right now — don’t want
to wish for anything

too much rides on it
too much — heartache

wishes are for softer times
when minds can — wander

ours need to be
— steel trap strong

just to — survive

Was gonna just write a soft little wishy washy wish poem (easy to do at the end of an exhausting day, but glad I didn’t). Finding the opposite way in [using one of my 2 main characters] created a darker more interesting poem I’m quite happy with as a starting point for future tweaking.

Day 28 – Sand Trek

Today was about recuperation. I didn’t realise how stressed I’d become, so most of it was spent reading & catching up on some binge tv.

About 10 o’clock, the dawg & I went for a moonlit beach walk. Once we got home, this came out. & although it’s not strictly one of the Word Games (do I even have to use them now my Residency is finished?) weirdly, last week I read several chapters of Sand: A Journey through Science & the Imagination by Michael Welland, so there is a tentative link.

sand

love  :  taking sand … into the house … on my soles … fugue of beach … summer counterpoint … on this cool … autumn moonlight  :  the thought … of this sandalful … of golden grain … an ankledust’s worth … of microscopic rocks … fleeing the sea … to shipwreck … on my carpet … makes me feel … more connected  :  to everything

microsandCROP

Day 9 – The closest I could get to Fish…

I hadn’t planned to solely use poetry collections for my Judging a Book by Its Cover phase of poetic generation, but it seems to be working okay (& I still have 4 or 5 possibles to draw from) so while it’s working, I’ll go with it.

Today is Sharon Olds’ The Unswept Room.  It is chosen for no other reason than I had an urge to write something about fish (don’t ask why/I don’t know). This was the closest I could find. It seemed to work cos the pome itself came very quickly.

tsunami

shell, coral, fishbones
— these three clues
from the sea
all that remains
of what we were
of our love that was ;
the beach house floor
where we lived
for so many years
has been swept clean ;
a tidal wave of anger
leaving only these
three enigmatic clues
which must mean
something

if only i can work out what
then perhaps, like the tide
you will return

unswept CROP

NOTE: the work of art which forms the cover are ‘details from floor mosaic The Unswept Floor’, Museo Gregoriano Profano, Vatican

(Hour 02) 11.30pm-12.30am — #39 “Those famous steps”

#39

wooden stairs
go down to the beach
& little girls who’ve
just learnt to count
go up & down them
gleefully announcing
how many there are

i am sick with ulcers
& cannot make
the journey myself
so every day
must
descend & ascend
on the backs
of my daughters

welts on my wrists
from the long days
of being handcuffed
to my age

so i watch the birds
from my rear window
avoiding vertigo
yet when the wind
is southerly
i know a hawk
from a heron, sure

OldBingoCard

Day 30 – April Thirty: two, for the price of one

NaPoWriMo is over for me for 2014.  There’s no need for an introduction cos I say it all in the poem.

NaPoWriMo 2014 meta-poem

i.
this last, a self-referential postmodern effort
where i talk about writing the poem itself
& how even finding the title proved elusive
vacillations between the technoesque
“rebuild”, “reboot”, even “re-de-construct”
to the cliched “fresh start” & “new day”
& the punning “imperfect storm”
it’s been a challenging month on a life front
wherein i survived easter (always a dark time)
dealt with banal bureaucracies who
(simply because they weren’t paid for several months)
disconnected power & phone
was unable to use an expired credit card
risked not being able to drive as my car
was 3 hours away from being unregistered
being cancelled from my artist payment grant
because i hadn’t attended a meeting
searched for long lost medicare & healthcare cards
(finding one out of two) almost missed out
on participating in my new course of study
owing to a clerical error…

… but all that changed today
when my long awaited tax refund
magically appeared in my bank account
& the clouds parted & the sun shone down
& life almost did, literally, start again

ii.
yet despite enduring
all that Real World guff
i’ve scribed & posted
30 poems in 30 days
played a few word games
some less successful than others
received some moving feedback
gone from 0 to 50 followers
(thank you all) & been viewed
over 470 times in 11 countries
all of which helps make my first
NaPoWriMo a true blast

i feel exhausted
sad
drained
strangely addicted
wishing for a few more days
wishing Day 16
had a bigger response
& i could reveal the punchline

i’m gonna miss it like mad
because while i published 30 poems
there’s at least another 30
in various solid draft stages
& 30 more abandoned ideas
that might warrant revisiting
when i have more time & energy
so all in all, a profitable month

it’s good
to be
a poet

 

BONUS POEM:  I began this month with a poem about stars. I want to end it the same way, except this is just about one star. My favourite one.

 

latecomers to the sunset

people continue to stop    suddenly
iPhonestruck    fumbling in awe
to snapcapture    the wild gold
firestorm    our universe is  flaring

it’s glorious  admittedly   but i keep
thinking    half-smugly  half-sadly
you should have been here 
15 minutes ago

*****

 2014-04-30 23.49.30

 

April 15 – Day Fifteen: halfway there

Technology makes life pretty awesome for writers.  (When it works of course.)  I am a big fan of Dropbox. All my writing is saved in there & I can access it from anywhere there’s interwebs. Sadly, Dropbox is clunky when it comes to editing, so I use Plain Text, which syncs with Dropbox.  With this PlainText/Dropbox combo I can write a poem on the beach on my phone, edit it on the iPad at a friend’s on the way home & when I open it up on my desktop, the latest version is there, raring to go.  It’s brillo.

Autocorrect, however, while brilliant much of the time, doesn’t always know what I want to say.  Today’s poem was influenced on a whim, by the quirk of autocorrect. 

I was sitting on a bench with the pooch, people watching, sunset waiting, after a nice long walk on the beach.  I started to take some notes on a possible “people watching poem”.  I began with “The girl who squeaks like a bird”.  Except my fat fingers didn’t quite type that.  It didn’t cope with the next phrase either … & an idea was born.  I immediately created some rules.  Well two.

1. Think of the entire line in advance & type as quickly as I could without pausing or backspacing.
2. Accept whatever autocorrect suggested.

Some lines have more autocorrect influence than others, some lines are made gibberishy by the auto; some, somehow more profound; & some just thrilled me no end when they appeared.  No lines have been edited (this also means it’s more fun/less work than a regular poem – haha!)

Esplanade Cavalcade (autocorrected)

The girl who squeaks like absurd,
as her patents ignore her
& talk over her head

The brothers who clamber along Hyde rocks,
one of them finds a cram she’ll,
the it get doesn’t want to look

The ring tonight ting yin
gets bike riders

The yummy mummy jogging
with babying pusher
& a well behaved chic lab trotting alongside

The lesbian couple who u saw
being affectionate on the beach before,
now sadly walking diary,
barely together

The cute teen girl in a purple jumper
who smokes at us as she passes,
park duly more at Chester than I

The woman with the jock terrier
who’s bum bounced a nubs of its own
as she briskwalked away

The overlay earnest woman admiring
the moshav art on the rocks
who stops to tell me to look at one further up
called “the last snapper”

The lonely guy sitting on the bench
playing with this phone instead
of watching the sub set,
or the blood mob riding behind him

*****

 

I couldn’t decide which image to go with … so I’m going with both.

 the last snapper

 

posing on a rock

 

Both images by moi.
Top: “The Last Snapper” cooperative association of Israeli smallholders art.
Bottom: Posing on a Rock. (Such a good boy)

April 8 – Day Eight: 4 bonus poems

Today was a bit messy.  Every other day I’ve known what  I was going to do by about midday.  Today I had a few false starts, & nothing was really grabbing me.  So I worked on a play instead, read some articles online, read Bill Bryson’s awesome chapter on Pronunciation, read a really interesting chapter on how Russia’s political instability is founded on a lack of any clear geographic demarcations between its Western border & Europe … & the “vulnerability” of St Petersburg & Russia now that the Soviet “buffer zone” of satellite Ukraine, Belarus, Lithuania etc are now “independent” states.  Written a couple of years again, it shed interesting light on the current Crimea Crisis – but helped little in the poem creation caper.

So to a walk on the beach.  Which produced:

the blue seaglass sky

rain has kept all but the dedicated away
& we’re both a little stir crazy

thankfully this strip of salty dreams
is virtually deserted, even by the gulls

henley beach a zen meditation
the beach as onomatopoeia

water becomes sand, sand becomes sky
sky becomes water … & we drift between

lost on the wind, one lost in the wind
whispers of wings that cannot be seen

waves wash water over wet sand
the sucking sounds – sausages sizzling

in the seashell cemetery, exoskeletons sing
coral cartwheeling, a dead reef xylophone

& every piece of fairy seaglass i find
is washed out blue, just like the sky

*****

1. beach & chezz 1.seaglass

Images: moi

Which, while “nice”, felt like a pretty bog standard grj poem.  It will hopefully improve once April is over & I have a chance to tweak it.  (I particularly like “the beach as onomatopoeia” & will possibly explore that in more detail, sometime.)

So, home after a wonderful wet walk, & a quick stop to shop for essentials, generated this gem:

one of the disadvantages of tardiness

get home after wet beach walk, soggy
towel dry the dog, feed the dog
think about feeding myself, consider coffee
catch from an eye corner, the clock
WTH – where did the time go, calculate
we left here at 4, clock says 6.59
the reading starts in an hour
check the oven: starts in an hour there too
we couldn’t have walked for that long
would’ve said 90 minutes at most
& i only bought a few groceries
dammit! no time for food
put the frozen stuff away. & the milk.
scramble into shower, scrape face
wriggle into jeans, search for shoes
check phone.  wait.  what?  wait!
here the reading starts in 1hr47min
i really should turn those damn
kitchen clocks back — daylight savings
has been over half a week

 *****

clock_by_GruEliSm

Image: Clock by gruelism

This was followed by attendance at said poetry reading which had previously caused such panic in my efforts to get there on time.  [We shan’t mention, the act of sitting at the computer to craft said poem, almost caused me to run late (again, so to speak) for the reading. Sometimes, it seems time is destiny.]

A quick conversation post-reading & this was spewed forth upon my return home. (I had 2 hours to meet the midnight deadline.)

operational policy

my friend works for the government
in the bureaucracy … doing something
to do with housing – or something

every time he talks about it i wittily
pretend to fall asleep. people understand if i say
‘i sit at a computer’  he jokes … before going silent

till one day i overhear him spieling to a stranger
i work for the government in operational policy
we implement what the strategic policy department

decides is a good idea … we make sure it works
i see the woman’s eyes glaze over too
i sit at a computer. aaah, the joke still works

yes, but what do you actually do, she persists
um, my work means the most vulnerable
get what they need in order to live

i haven’t pretended to fall asleep since

*****

 

3. wooden_house_by_kleemass-d3jc2v7

Image: Wooden House by Kleemass

But this still didn’t feel like it.  So I returned to an abandoned effort from earlier in the day.

beyond pain
(Peaches Geldoff dies at age 25)

the deaths of celebrities are strange events
causing outpourings of grief from a deluded
General Population who believe they are somehow
“connected” just because they saw them lots on tv.
the deaths of not-really celebrities are even stranger.

while i sincerely feel the pain her father expresses
in his statement to the media, including the phrase
which titles this poem & others equally heartbreaking
Writing ‘was’ destroys me afresh &
our family, fractured so often, but never broken
the pathos is profound – his clan has done it tough.

what i do not comprehend is how the media
thinks poorly worded tweets from other
second rate celebs some of whom may even
have known the deceased are news — but FFS
Miley & Jamie — sad face emoticons are not
appropriate ways to express your condolences
when someone’s daughter, someone’s mother dies

*****

4. peaches only 3 in WA copy

Screencap moi:  “What’s up WA? – Why is it only 3 on your Reader’s Most Viewed????

But I still wasn’t happy … which leads to today’s Official Post (see new page)