Day 08 — wedding day goat song + title tartling tartan-style

Today’s volume of poetry was one of Bukowski’s I’d recently bought second hand but never read. Diving into him was like jumping into a lovely warm jacuzzi (where the water had just been freshly added & mine was the only body to have been immersed so it was all quite clean & hygienic thank you very much) — soothing, comfortable, relaxing, delightful, & I wondered why I don’t remember to read/reread my fave poets more often.

With that in mind, I set out to write a Big O poem in B style. I gave myself the added task of just stream of consciousing & not editing it (that can come later).


wedding day goat song

why’d the god-damned 
fool girl go & step
in a snake nest
for anyway
it’s the stupidest
damn thing 
i’ve ever heard
& i’ve been hearing
stupid damn things
all my damn life

& now the wedding guests
are gone home 
& my amphora
is empty 
but i’m still full 
so i step outside
to take a piss
come back in
pick up the amphora
realise it’s empty
still empty
swear at the
fucking gods for
their sick son-of-a-bitch
senses of humour

look about 
for my lyre
till i remember 
i smashed it
after i found
her dead (my 
second best lyre
obviously i’m not
quite so stupid 
as to smash Hecate)

decide i’m no where near
drunk enough
so set out to visit
Calais & see if
i can drown myself
in his ample cellar

Day 6 – TIL the Scots can deal with forgetfulness

title tartling tartan-style

so the Scots have a word 
for that brief panicked pause 
experienced while you 
temporarily un-remember 
someone’s name as
you rummage through
the haggis-baggage 
of your overworked,
irrelevant fact-clutching,
bewilderbeasted brain

all well & good 

tartle is not that terrible

after all — the name’s known
you’re simply having trouble
accessing the correct
datapoint in the outdated
software system 
of your cerebral substance

but do these paragons 
of polite protocol
these pontificating 
have a word to personify
that bowel-clenching juncture
when you realise 
you’ve already forgotten
the name of the person 
introduced to you
mere microseconds ago

Day 14 – poem about weight


helix nebula

NaPoWriMo should cycle through the months of the year, because repeated participation throws up the same zeitgesty events annually. Today, a topic that continues to intrigue me.

14 sorrows

all that remains
the kiss complete
sentence cast

weight is not great
merely wood, would
the rest weighed less

stumble, fall
twice more for
dramatic effect

love i’ve denied
before me where
others share, i’ve hid

brother shoulders
compelled to bear
what he’d gladly choose

a cool cloth
give her my face
& my thanks

halfway to skulls
stagger again, stumble
tumble into desert dust

women weep
barren wombs, dry breasts
call mountains to crumble

a third time
at last, almost done

stolen clothes
brigands barter
naked before the gods

metal bites
wood absorbs blood
more than flesh hangs

call for poison
the sleep of death

amid weeping, relief
the weight off
down, done

lie, in darkness
hopefully, finally
some peace