Day 12 – poem about home

birdie_01_by_lonegamer7

An hour ago, I sat down & looked at the ideas I’d been playing with & groaned. 

Why at this time of night, do I suffer NaPoWriMophobia: the fear that nothing I’ve worked on all day is worth sharing?

At the end of a regular day, if nothing’s good enough to share, um, well I don’t. (To be honest, it’s a fine line, because sometimes I write something I think is good/has potential, but I don’t want to share it because it might have a life at a competition or in a journal somewhere; & many such avenues frown on public broadcasting even on such a humble thing as a poorly subscribed poet’s blog.)

But then, I typed up half a dozen lines scrawled in my notebook after waking this morning, which grew into this moody piece. Not what I was originally intending to do with it (I don’t think) but something I am more than satisfied, even pleased, with.

nest

woven layers : accumulation : levels of detritus : leaves like slugs : webs pull the corners : closer : a comfortable chaos : treesurrounded : birdnoisewrapped : step over twigs : all wound through : with string : & stolen hair : windrunnels : wingflutter : cavesafe : eggless : empty : arrive : unlock with relief : discard shell : flop onto : feathersoft couch : to rest : regenerate : recubate

Day 26 – Seeing Things

What with tomorrow being tomorrow, & plenty of work to do to get ready for it, today’s poem & Game are both going to be as brief as poossible. I’ll be using a variation of one of the Word Games I’ve played before, Last Line (Gone) – except this time it’s First Line (Gone; to be the last line of my poem) :).

The line is taken from  The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. A truly glorious wonderful book that made me laugh, made me cry, made me weep buckets. Told by Enzo, who is a dog, this is a book that is a delight to read & one which will no doubt linger for days.

the art of not facing the truth

it’s easy to pretend
i’m waiting for you

easy to say
i’ve learnt

easy to argue
next time will be better

easy to acknowledge
every wrong

because
now you are gone

empty gestures
are all i have

racingCROP

First line of The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. “Gestures all that I have; sometimes they must be grand in nature.”