Tag Archives: NAPOWRIMO

Day 21 – poem about the dark

milky_way_panorama_by_bobby01-d48thle

Visits to my parents’ farm during New Moons have always been mystical. I like walking over land I cannot quite see. Beautiful blackness in all directions. Only the frail light of starlight millions of years old to guide my way (hell, that’s good, why isn’t that in the pome? haha).

I’m not satisfied with the last lines, but as I only started this an hour or so ago, I’m running out of time & will just have to let it stay as is for now.

source

i believe very little
but i truly believe
every human soul
should experience
true country dark
every 100 days, minimum

somewhere far from
a light polluted city
when the moon is in
recovery mode, & the earth
reflects back the black
birth of the universe

only alone in the vast absence
& endlessly reverberating silence
we find how much dark matters

Day 20 – poem about emotional maturity

dogaccino

Two thirds of the way through NaPoWriMo 2017 … & a light-hearted poem on a day when I just wanted to read & relax.

growth

people accuse
me of being
change-reticent

patently untrue
clearly they have
not observed

the blasé way
i now fingernail
a stray dog hair

up the slippery
side of my mug
after its quick

coffee dip &
continue sipping
unperturbed

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 16 – poem about serenity

Paro Taktsang – Paro Valley, Bhutan

Been partaking in much thought (as I do this time every year); as well as a Firefly marathon, so themes of home & family have been percolating round for days. (The pome itself took about an hour; finding the right picture, close to five.)

Somewhere there is a house

whether facing a storm on a cliff ;
lost in a forest ; birdhigh in a tree ;
or underground browntangled among
ancient roots ; atop an old stone tower ;
even above an ocean where mountains
once used to be, before being washed away

But somewhere there is a house ;
where when i walk in, i have always been
where i know and am known ;
where there is no need to play roles ;
no need to keep pretending all is well ;
where those long lost are as they were

i know there is a such a house, somewhere

Day 13 – poem about heat

sacks

So it seems the NaPoWriMo moral of the story is, post Thursday mornings beforehand, not think you’ll have time at the end of the night. Thursday is my Worstday; with driving, work, late night, driving; I arrived home half an hour before midnight, tired & with a slow computer so that when it ticked over to midnight, I just thought: I’ll do it in the morning. 

Not a 100% happy with this one, but the others I worked on (yester)today are i) for a competition  or ii) political so it’s a very short short list (i.e., it’s this one poem). The only editing I’ve done (to)today is shorten the title.

favourite sign of autumn

you can keep your gently goldenening leafs
your sugarysweet ripening grapes & all
your other dull stereotypical signs of autumn
i’ll stick with my little bag of wheat

in the old days we warmed em in the oven
my forgetfulness costing me at least two
now the agitation of microwaves does the trick
in 180 seconds stimulating water molecules within

& so for the next three, four or more hours
it gently leaks heat into my bed, against my leg
warming against the oncoming winter
reassuring me cold can & will be overcome

more organic than an electric blanket
(& less likely to incinerate) but sadly
more lumpy than a lover at 3am when I roll
— at least, I think it is, it’s been a while

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 11 – poem about, er, art

5 Pieces of Moon

Um, yeah. Well. It’s getting ridiculous now.

I’ve been playing round with a couple of pieces again today, & I just kept coming back to a phrase a friend messaged me after reading Saturday’s poem which was, er, about the moon. She said, “I really want to frame this.” Being the sort of person who takes praise well, I replied: “what the poem or the moon, uh-hahahaha?” “Both.”*

& so, this.

the woman who wanted to frame the moon

not content
with mere admiration
through dark glass

no more
muted suffocations

in a shared over
crowded atmosphere

she wanted it
all for her own

something only
she could see

recompense for a life
too long lived
in shadow

 

 

 

[legal disclaimer**: the only connection between my friend & the woman in this poem
is the jumping off point described above.
To my knowledge she does not desire lunar-ownership of any kind.
The rest, as they say, is licensed.]

**[legal disclaimer disclaimer: my friend is a lawyer so this only seems prudent]