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 22 — The Lord of the Fools + LOTR

Over the course of a month lots of ideas get tested & abandoned. Several lines in this poem were previously homeless yet coagulated into this one. As for the Poetic Factoid Poem — Warning. There’s a big *BIG* TRIGGER WARNING on this one for people who don’t feel/think they’re as old as they really are.

*****

Lord of the Fools


dirt beneath my nails
clawing the claybanks
for your return


dream of trees


a lifetime to learn
the dead do not
dance back to life
on the whim 
of a lonely man

a mere heart beat
to make it proof

can’t craft the words
the way my brain feels them


impossible imposter


need to learn another language
to remember how to speak my own


lost days 


try drowning myself 
in every river


but even there i’m evicted

*****

Day 22 — TIL something deeply disturbing about the Lord of the Rings films

the Lord of the Wrinkles

i. meme
read a brutal meme 
today which said
Viggo Mortensen 
is the same age 
Ian McKellen was
when he played 
Gandalf.

NO, I AM NOT OKAY
I CANNOT POET
ANY MORE TODAY
SORRY! GOODBYE!!

ii. data
naturally, being a fool
i had to check 
the veracity 
of cursed meme
— turns out 
it’s even worse
Aragorn’s older 
than Gandalf
was at the end
of Return of the King

time for a cuppa & a lie down

Principal photography 11 October 1999 — 22 December 2000
with pick-up shots done from 2001 to 27 June 2003.

Viggo born October 20, 1958 (current age 64)
45 when started filming, 49 when finished 

Ian born 25 May 1939 (current age 83)
60 when started filming, 64 when finished 

Day 15 — Day 2 of the Festival of Grief: dream + &

With Big O & Eurydice being the theme this year, it feels a little like every day/poem explores the issue of grief so at times I’m not sure whose writing what about whom or when. The only thing I am sure of is why.

dream

always know when you dream 
of me — it’s why i never sleep.

abandon the rasping light of day 
to pretend you’re calling my name.

the hazy lamps murky blue 
dragging me from the road.

walk on without knowing the way
repeating thought eternally fast, faster.

tracing back black stone steps
down again into echoing caves.

the dog by the great gates 
barks three times, or once each.

the blood river creases & curdles
with endless ponderous energy.

always knowing i’ll never find you
— we exist in incompatible worlds.

Day 15 – NTBLAIL about more than a forgotten letter of the alphabet

In Celebration of &

the ampersand’s formed 
from the ligature 
of the letters ET — 
the Latin word for “and

… & the term “ampersand
is a corruption of
and (&) per se and
which literally means 
“(the character) & by itself 
(is the word) and”

… & this small odd looking
character was actually once 
(kind of) the 27th member 
of the English alphabet* 

… & when reciting the alphabet in the 1800s
long-suffering schoolchildren would 
sing-song-say, “X, Y, Z, and per se and” 
so the students were essentially chanting
X, Y, Z, and by itself and” 

… & being lazy children this was 
routinely slurred to the mondegreen
ampersand & thus entered common usage

… & there’s a graffiti & in Pompeii from 79 CE

… & when it appears as &c
where it means etc
(the ampersand time travels
back into its E & T bones)

… & in screenplays, an & 
denotes a writing team 
[the word and designates 
the writers wrote separately, 
read: someone rewrote, 
& if there’s more than three 
ands on a credit, it’s a good sign 
you should probably stay 
the hell away from that movie]

… & when creating new type
faces the & character 
allows designers to inject 
a little joie de vivre & artistic 
flair into proceedings

… not to mention some quite nice 
poets really love it & if that’s not
a cause for celebration — then there isn’t one

*the thorn and the wynn are also members of the Former Members Of The Alphabet Club
but sadly we don’t have time (in this pome) to learn what led to their demises

2 Bob’s worth: a bonus poem

i. Jerk Bob
that old bundle of chuckles 
the joy-killing chump
Robert Hartwell Fiske 
in his dreary, dull AND utterly unreadable 
Dictionary of Unendurable English: 
A Compendium of Mistakes in Grammar, 
Usage, and Spelling with Commentary 
on Lexicographers and Linguists 

believes ampersands should only exist 
in proper names, business names, 
book titles, and the like
never in place of the word and

he further opines:
aside from the hurried, the only 
people inclined to use & in place of and 
are those who have scant sense of self 
and scant sense of style, 
and believe using & 
somehow swells them both.

ii. Lovely Bob
Robert Nares in his far more charming
highly erudite & intellectual work
A Glossary; or, Collection of words, 
phrases, names, and allusions to customs, 
proverbs, etc., which have been thought 
to require illustration in the works 
of English authors, particularly Shakespeare 
and his contemporaries. Vol. I. A new ed., 
with considerable additions 
both of words and examples 

believes the ampersand’s calligraphic qualities 
make it a compelling design element 
that can add visual appeal & personality to any page.

So go suck on them eggs Mr Hartwell Fiske

Day 26 — stream of consciousness poem

I wrote this (well the first draft of it) dictating it into my phone as I lay in bed about 3am this morning, unable to sleep. I was just trying to record some ideas that have been roiling round in me for much of the past fortnight (possibly longer). Sure, I’ll be glad when April is over, but I gotta say it’s been hella good therapy. 

When I looked at it again around 7am, I realised it made a dreamy kind of poetic sense so instead of ripping phrases out & assembling them, I thought I’d try a different poetic technique & go with the flow. This consisted mainly of tidying up the times I had to repeat myself cos it didn’t understand what I was saying & deciphering some of the VRS’s quirkier interpretations. Adding a phrase or two here & there, but really very little.

When I read it again at 11pm in preparation to post it, I cried. (But then I always have been a bit of a sook!)

*****

dream of consciousness

we spoke with such softness and hope … of a life we might live together … we felt like everything was coming together the way it was meant … the way it should’ve done years ago … years and years ago … where all those missed opportunities finally reached fruition … like flowers being born … after long years in dry ground … waiting for the rains … of being fully awake … fully alive … at last … we discussed living together … we discussed weddings … we discussed babies … we discussed beliefs … talk of souls and eternities … re-discussed lives together … loves together … lives passed … lives present … we really did wonder if we’d known each other before … been together before … as if some web connected us through time … and space … the dark matter mattered … and for a few months it felt like everything we did … tapped into that magic stream … we appreciated everything … it was all wondrous and wonder full … the connection … the constant need to be in contact … the thousands and thousands of text messages … over 7000 last time you counted … sure about 6500 were from me to you … but still … along with hundreds of photos and videos … little snippets of where we were … what we were doing … random thoughts … random things … tiny silly things … things that made us smile … made us happy … things we thought we’d do together one-day … road trips that we go on … places we’d visit … things we’d write … plays we’d be remembered for … play time 

the hardest thing is … you took away the fear in my heart … filled it with joy and laughter and hope … and now going back to what it was … is worse than it never filling in the first place … but I think I get it … seems now you only were ever half-present half-engaged half-involved half-accepting half-believing half-wanting … half of where I was … I know that’s a lot of halves

you say you don’t believe in fairytales … that life isn’t a fairytale … but it could’ve been … and more … could’ve been better than that … we had all the ingredients … we had the potential the promise the prospect … the energy of fire … the connection (again with that word) … the buzz … the celestial bees buzzed right through us … through me anyhow … when I’m brave enough … to look back through some of the photos … or god forbid … read some of the messages … we sent to each other … I still can’t understand why … why you didn’t want this

why … you didn’t at least want to try

Day 11 – intertextuality (& introspection)

11 elephantwater

Book Club selection this week was Water for Elephants.

*****

big top potpourri 

granted Water for Elephants
has been read before
but the deja vu familiarity blends
into The Night Circus, Cirque du Freak
numerous history of circus books
from when I was researching
my play The Menagerie of Broken Flowers
(later renamed Ugliophobia)
countless kids books by Enid,
others starring Paddington, Olivia, etc;

dozens of celluloid iterations
The Greatest Show on Earth,
Marx Brothers, Freaks, Elvis
probably worked at one in
the mid-60’s, a misunderstood
troublemaker; U2’s dreamlike video
to All I Want Is You; even Dumbo ;
& of course the exquisitely surreal
dustbowl drama Carnivale.
Plus: managing a kids circus;
working for Cirque du Soleil;
meeting many of Australia’s
talented carnies & contemporary
circus artists

means the words & situations
all blur together to fabricate
a simulacrum of  surely  every
eternal     childhood     dream

 


 

BONUS POEM: April 11, 2018

Final David-inspired pome (for now?). 

*****

marble thoughts

schoolgirl groups
giggle, turn away
countless digital zooms
capture closeups
of my junk

others slide out
the extensions
on their ubiquitous
selfie sticks
pretend to balance
me on their palms
or once again
point how small
my tinkle is
(won’t even deign
to mention how cold
his studio was in winter)

some do little more
than click & walk on
one more cultural
checkpoint ticked off
the list

a few of these awful
smartPhone snaps
are even well framed

miss the days
people
actually looked

11b thoughts.JPG

Day 19 – poem about bed

19 autumn_feeling_by_bittersea CROP

NaPoWriMo continues despite a long day prepping for & running a production meeting. So the following formula: very tired + little creative juice = quick pome.

bed

you brought autumn into our bed
which was fine while the leaves

were still soft & smelt of earth
— now they crackle when i snore

& you are long gone though
i refuse to change the sheets

Day 18 – poem about gloamings

golden_autumn_ii CROP

Today was a tiring day with a meeting in the morning, work on technical/production documents, phone calls & planning, pulling information teeth from my reluctant-to-divulge-information director, along with a printer cartridge which needed replacing at a crucial time, all meant my brain wasn’t really in a poeting frame when 8 o’clock rolled round & I realised I hadn’t written anything postable yet.

Feeling uninspired, I used an old trick — flicking through an art website I like, typing in keywords (like “firefly”, “serenity”, etcetera) until “autumn leaves” brought me to a website of a lovely French photographer who was obsessed with both the season & the “golden hour” which meant her page was full of golds, & glowing light, rich decaying reds, browns, & yellows.

So I assembled a page & a half’s worth of picture description (me describing what I see in the photo), photo titles (or parts of), & words/phrases lifted from the mostly French comments below the photos & run through google translate, which I arranged, tweaked, edited & tried to shape.

The result is this narrative through images. I know it probably needs a solid edit to help make it, make “sense” — & I’m not sure about the last line which originally I took out because it felt like it was from another pome, but I missed what was lost & so put it back — anyhoo, NaPoWriMo is about writing a pome a day, not about masterpieces. (At least that’s my excuse, & I’m sticking.)

Autumnus

your hands : overlap : your face : letting go : the place remains : imaginary : you handstand : in puddles : hair caught on blossoms

the leaves of my manuscript : waterfall over the balcony : stare at blank pages : sunbeams on my skin : my house : then the sky : pity the sun : that must go down : every night

we look at the stars : & talk til 2am : different themes : on the same thought : the same person : yearning for sunshine : in different clothes

wildness in your eyes : crackles through : everything seems to be twirling : ambiguous : diminished

i lay in the field : among flowers : asleep : my book : across my face

this is the link : to us : i am me : & you are nobody

you could : hide beside me : & i could : hide inside : maybe we just like fixation : this is the madness : melancholic nostalgia : beautiful : but full of sad memories

please don’t : wake me up : i need time to dream : everything deep : so i’ll remember forever : the days we spent : together

child of the autumn : child of the leaves : child that can never be

Day 15 – poem about the least dark thing I wrote today

end_of_the_sea_by_xiaoxinart-d5nq1eb

This weekend (& this date in particular) is always difficult & painful & poignant & ugly. So too was most of what I wrote today. I have attached the least bleak piece, regardless of its merits. In a slight deviation from practise, I’m also using the picture that inspired the poem as the choice for today’s NaPoWriMo blog pome. I frequently write (first drafts at least) from artworks, but when I do I prefer not to share the image for fear of overload; that both pieces will fight each other by saying too similar a thing, but I don’t have the energy to find something more abstract tonight.

wyndhame

somewhere cerebellum deep : everyone : wants : their own : fantasy castle : storybook sentence : painting lifted : from the pages of childhood : rooves of saltwater green : gold stone isolation : glinting : beautiful exile : at the end of the sea : the edge of the world : but few : are brave enough : to truly live there : among cloud fragments : erosion : bewildered fish : suddenly plummeting : & the perpetual fear of falling