Day 29 — dirty books + factoid couplets

Almost every poem this month to date has been, in essence, a love poem. To books. To reading. To reading books. This one, breaks that pattern.

The Poetic Factoid is actually a series of Hypertext Factoids with Bactoids — It’s a poem where every line has a hypertext link to verify its claim. About why Reading is good for you. (A familiar theme true, but these are more of the facts I’ve collected along the way as I research. Originally they were just gonna be the text from the articles, but then I realise a couple of them rhymed; then I made the rest do so as well. It was fun.)

*****

dirty books

do alarm me : a little : i sometimes think : who held this before me : & worse : what did they hold as they held this book : various things have been :: in :: second hand books i’ve bought : & i don’t just mean : abandoned bookmarks : & forgotten pressed flowers : but other things : have been caught : like muffin crumbs : jam smears : peanut butter blotches : is that tomato sauce : have you been eating Cheezels : or Mac’n’Cheese : squashed mosquitoes : & miscellaneous other bugs : can now tell the difference : i believe : between coffee plops & tea drops : wait is that blood : no i don’t want to know :: & sometimes : i think even worse : the things i cannot see : are actually the curse : like getting medical & technical for a sec : what if the previous reader was sick : germs bacteria fungi microbes : how many of them are still hanging around : did the previous reader : wash their hands : not just after gardening : or emptying the bin : please tell me : i’m not holding microscopic : drips of pee : or for that matter //

// look it doesn’t matter : i think i’ll put the book down : just for a bit : while i go & take :: some time out

*****

Day 29 Factoid Overload — Hypertext Factoids with Bactoids

reading …

reduces stress
aids academic success

boosts brain connectivity
improves your memory

more than one book at a time challenges & improves cognitive flexibility
can be used as a form of therapy

expands your vocabulary
develops empathy

gives your brain a comprehensive workout
causes new neural pathways to sprout

improves concentration a heap
before bed gives a better night’s sleep

to kids supercharges early language acquisition
whereas kids reading to dogs improves their own condition

makes you kinder
protects you from prison (kinda)

even prolongs your life
(which ya gotta admit, is kinda nice)

Day 15 — unread books + coral

The Festival of Grief hasn’t really hit this year which I’m certainly not sad to miss. Slowly coming to peace? Perhaps. The Poetic Factoid riffs off of traditional marriage gifts for 35 years together (apart).

*****

books unread

of all the endless wonderful things
i never experienced with you
sports school starring in a play

reading to you sharing books
is of course the one i miss most

*****

Day 15 Factoid – coral

35 years

successful marriages
would be celebrating
with gifts of coral

however as always
my gifts are merely : memory
dreams of : longing for

wonder:loss:remorse
& : words i regularly reread
reminding me : a balm

Day 01 – firsts: reading + writing

April. Again. Therefore Na/GloPoWriMo 2025. It felt like it arrived with a rush. Today has been a week packed into a day already. But I’m looking forward to this year because …

As in previous years I’m adopting a themes-based approach to Na/GloPoWriMo. And this year it’s something I should, by all rights, love doing since I’ve picked a theme I love, well, doing. My task is to write a reading or book-inspired poem every day. Happy is the man who makes his vocation his vacation & all that. Well, there we go. I’ve already written over a dozen reading/book inspired poems at intermittent stages in my life. So let’s make it official & see if we can get a chapbook out of it.

So the grist for this year’s mill will include: books, book memories, stories about books, lists of books, face books, book is revist often & some I’ve ben too scared too), fave reading quotes & fave book quotes (yes I keep a file of such things), book facts & reading stats, book covers, libraries, lending books, dream house plans which is basically any house with enough rooms to use 40 of them as libraries, book collecting, shopping for books, buying books, quirky topics I collect books on, disputes with parents on the number I books I own, and so on.

As previously II, since the project I have in mind may depend on the poems not being made public prior to their appearance I won’t necessarily be posting the entirety of each poem on my blog, but sometimes a [hopefully] tantalising snippet (many journals/comps/etc refuse to accept poems even if they’ve only been on personal Facebook pages or blogs with minimal subscribers).

As a wonderful compensation for skimpy serious verse, I’ll be repeating my daily Poetic Factoid poem assignment from previous years — which if I’m honest — can produce better poems than the main event. Hahaha!

Day 1 – reading: act I

first memory reading
hand written words
on pieces of paper
kept in toy box
at grandparents’ house
sitting beneath
dining room table
under which
we’d eat Christmas
dinners for decades
shuffling words
into simple sentences

— both acts forever imbued
with everlasting magic

*****

Factoid 1 – first known author

not Gilgamesh again

google tricked me today
by answering who wrote the first book
not with the anticipated response
the unknown author of Gilgamesh
but Enheduanna
— a Mesopotamian
high priestess of the moon (of course she is)
her name means “Ornament of Heaven”
author of 42 temple hymns, the myth
of Inanna & Ebih & 2 hymns to the love goddess
all composed three centuries prior to the Epic
& her name is known
— despite the anonymity
of her contemporary poets’ works
all of which pleases me greatly
(aside from being forgotten today)
but nothing more than when
— at the end of one hymn
she bitches about how difficult the creative process is

yep, writer’s block was a thing even back then

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
Pict-progeny
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 20 — will these songs ever sound the same again?

Been reading some Emily Dickinson over the past 24 hours, so the layout of this poem has been affected by her typographic style with her Capricious Capitalisation & Extravagant Dashes. (I’d unconsciously kind of half-imitated it in my first draft, & when I realised I thought what the heck & pushed it a bit more.) Still in her early stuff, so the poems I’ve read haven’t really got the dashes working in full swing as she later did. (Which suits me just fine in this pome hahaha.)

obsolete soundtrack

it is now One Week —
since we Last Spoke
& I’m Bravely — Listening
to my Special Playlist

Made to Help me
get Through those
Bucolic Times when I
was simply — Missing

You because we
Hadn’t spoken —
In half a day —
Or Whathaveyou

Not sure how
I’ll Make It —
Through these
Thirteen songs

— Ever Again!

Day 19 – absences (& returns)

The third of three pomes all exploring absence in different ways. While not completely successful, it is the most successful of the three.

*****

absence iii

every so often your absence
is more noticeable, like today

the removed from the rainbow
…a heart only air
the that is all hole
…a night without any stars
the bullet the glass
…a spine with every missing
the who cannot blow fire
…a fish without

BONUS POEM: April 19, 2018

It can speak for itself.

*****

Homecoming

swan wings : the saw of the air : the piece : oftentimes : of return : the peace : the safety of a new place : where no one : any one : has their way : but every one : will prosper : coming through the lock : reflection ripples : relentless birdsong : playing dogs : oars up & back : leaping into the unknown river : willowy light : birthplaces : spires into memory : across time : making a mark : that lasts

Day 16 – fire (& stone)

Spent a large chunk of my writing time today trying to craft a pome comparing & contrasting the fire at Notre Dame with the fire in our climate. While many parts worked, a few did not & I realised longer would be needed to resolve the kinks.

However, while researching the idea I came across another, far less known story, which led to this …

*****

holy houses

in less widely covered news, the revered
al-asqa mosque in east jerusalem
was also struck by (a far less dramatic)
blaze at the same time as notre dame’s
inferno in france — damaging solomon’s
stables beneath a corner of temple mount

here’s a thought:
perhaps god is trying to tell us something

BONUS POEM: April 16, 2018

The theme persists.

*****

immemorial

stone is worn
moss softens
lichen gathers
chiselled lines
flatten
it rains hard
the sun shines
& pretty soon
everything
is forgotten

Day 15 – sadness (always sadness today)

29 years today.

*****

home, less

the home is new
but sadness stays

my old heart yearns
for all the birthdays

that never came
.

.
BONUS POEM: April 15, 2018

Today. Every year.

*****

goldfish kisses

in the back of memory
monks monophone softly
as fish shivers pianoforte
glockenspielling my spine
these tingling goldfish kiss
past present & forever
into one molten lovechant
calcium dissolving moment
lift me up-in-to you
a been apart too long
old friend reminder

the sadness builds
I wait
to come home

Day 14 – silences (& more silences)

Familiar theme. Unfamiliar ending.

*****

Sunday afternoon farm sounds

mostly sleepy silence
a suite of breezes
of differing thicknesses
cartwheeling leaves
bone-crunching lawn dogs
young pup’s yips
unsure what’s going on
mad gabbing of parrots
lonely cry of a duck
searching for the lost flock
solitary desolation
of the only crow around

the soporific drone of man
whether high sky, dirt disturbing
or distant roadway rumbling
a forgotten radio
playing to a shed of ghosts
the irritating digital pings
as new words arrive
at my mother’s phone

& my beautiful grandmother
humming made up melodies
& starting sentences
memory won’t let her finish

BONUS POEM: April 14, 2018

Bit of theme developing. Oh well, it’s part of the reason behind the trip …
NOTE: minor 2019 edits to improve flow.

*****

looking for Ambrose in the Torringtons

start in lush Merton sunshine
where we are confident one is sown
yet six of us, crisscrossing, find nothing
except freshly cut grass, lichen
& boredom blooming like mushrooms
— so five leave as one goes on
to the Torringtons three: Little —
unclear if any were ever planted here
regular — where a football pitch garden
implies looking for needles that might
not even be in this granite haystack
for not a single 18th century date’s
visible beneath time’s smoothings
whereas ironically Great — no longer
seems to exist. realise I need simply to enjoy
the moss path beneath my feet
settling sunbeams on my skin
& be reassured that if Ambrose et al
even still care, I have tried.
moments later I pass a bus full of silly
young people preparing for a wedding
which seems eminently appropriate —
reassures me I made the right choice.

Day 13 – sport (& fashion)

For about a decade of my life, Saturdays in Autumn & Winter meant sport: football & netball. For the first time in forever, that’s how I spent my Saturday.

*****

Autumn day

it’s as if I’ve just finished playing u/17s
& we’ve come down to watch our girlfriends
(or more likely) those we wish were —
except the ones i played with are fat & bald
& the girls i once fancied, grey & chubby

everything else — the tinkle of coins
as goals rustle metal nets; the wild calls
of support; the choc of ball on court;
insistent whistle chirps; the scent
of homemade soup; kids queuing
for lollies too excited to choose;
others sausagerolling down the mound;
stars of yesterday cunningly disguised
as grandmothers; repeated complaints
about the too cold wind — the same

the minor differences — infinitely
more stylish uniforms; better hair
cuts (only one mullet); & everywhere
smartphones plastered to every palm

sadly there’s still that one jerk
father cheering too hard; screaming
pressure pressure; always over
aggressively; threatening to blow
his gasket; as if a gold medal
is on the line

BONUS POEM: April 13, 2018

A slightly lighter toned pome, just for some variety.

*****

lemmingwear

The North Face
clearly seems
to be the current
accoatrement
of choice
for the fashion
conscious
rambler

— or it would still be
if not for the fact
my mother
recently bought
one each
for her & dad
sending stock
prices tumbling

as if from a cliff

gareth roi poet boi

gareth roi's playful poetry place

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Tag Archives: memory

Day 29 — dirty books + factoid couplets

Day 15 — unread books + coral

Day 01 – firsts: reading + writing

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

Day 20 — will these songs ever sound the same again?

Day 19 – absences (& returns)

Day 16 – fire (& stone)

Day 15 – sadness (always sadness today)

Day 14 – silences (& more silences)

Day 13 – sport (& fashion)

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