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NaPoWriMo 7

National Poetry Writing Month 2014
I’m being crushed by guilt. Really, really nice people are continuing to follow my blog despite my faltering output.  I could tell you a story but everyone has heard it before.  It tends to boil down to not prioritising my creativity.  Why?  Books have been written about that, none of which I intend to read. Until I have my own self-help book published, of course ;)  I mistakenly believe that my every utterance should be perfection.  So I languish in anguish toying with ideas and words but not producing anything.  Up to a point.  Something small will pop into my head, usually lightweight as if to counter the ongoing and usually narcissistic existential struggle taking place in my head.

So I was sat, sipping in Starbucks (endeavouring to win the prize for most clichéd place to be creative) and struggling with my Muse, when the Sun was blocked from my view by one of those most bloated of cars, the Mini.  The poem followed quickly…


a short poem about how the mini got fat

NaPoWriMo 6

National Poetry Writing Month 2014I’m taking time to start my catch up as I’ve had the opportunity to spend a couple of hours on one computer that I’m familiar with.  But this time draws to a close so I think this will be my last post for today.  All of which has nothing to do with today’s poem.

It’s about not being interested and what the consequences might be of not challenging that status.


Not interested

It seems a shocking thing to admit


I’m just not interested.

I’m reassessing which is a sensible thing to do.

I’m re-appraising,



The prefix emphasising I’ve done these things before;

Which I have, many times.

But no matter in which direction I approach it

In what frame of mind

Whatever my physical or mental state

Whether quickly or via tortuous consideration

Exposition or introspection

I’m just not interested.

An uncomfortable conclusion;

It implies

Nay, strongly suggests

No. States.

I need to do something about it.

Moreover, that something

Can’t be self-destructive

Can’t be self-defeating

Can’t be forgotten about

Or, and this is my favourite

Thought about some more.

All of which run counter to previous behaviour.

Because it won’t go away

Until I do something that

Interests me.


NaPoWriMo 3

National Poetry Writing Month 2014Hi. I’m winsomely handsome and I have some attractive photos of myself in exotic locations around the world.  I make my money by just goofin’ around, being cool, playing music and mixing with attractive and glamorous people.  And you can to! Just by following my blog, you know, no pressure.  That way you can get to see all the laid back stuff I do and have fun just by being associated with me. Amazing or what!

What the Frack?  I’d forgotten about those blogs. It’s like being virtually mugged by these two:











Of course you can all be my friends and follow my blog, but I have a negative reaction to any person ‘jus lettin me know’ how I might improve my life, no matter how amazing the rewards and how attractive the dummy in the shop window is.

I could go on, but I’ve said my piece. That plus I’ve bruised my fingertips hitting the keys!  All of which has nothing to do with today’s poem.  Or rather this belated post due to my ongoing technology confustatibulations.



After you depart

a swirling force

of injured angry indignation

the Sun briefly pierces the

rain clotted sky

lighting the  infurious dust

frenziedly dancing

animistic memory of the slammed door


The absence of noise

ringing in my ears

acute counterpoint

to what went before

voices, door, silence, spent.


but in this achromatic moment

light arrives.




NaPoWriMo 5

National Poetry Writing Month 2014I’m sorry.  I do apologise.  I know that I’m not making this any easier for people to like or follow.  I can’t stand the irregularity myself.  Sounds simple.  A poem a month for April.  But as participants know, it’s not easy.  If it were, everyone would be doing it.  However this year the problem hasn’t been so much about the poetry, although this is always demanding.  It’s been with the technology.  But I’m hoping that come Friday, when I have the Internet installed and don’t have to use various phones, ipads, tablets, phablets, net books, PCs and Macs, things will have settled down for me.  And then, hopefully for you.

All of which has nothing to do with my fifth poem.  This poem underscores the old adage that some acts of creativity have a long, long history.  I realised that I started this poem thirty, Thirty! years ago and it existed in many forms over the years.  This is the first time it has made it out of any of my notebooks.  Hawthorns are common trees here in the UK and come in two main varieties, white and red.  They flower prolifically and if you see one, go an smell it.

Redthorn Blossom

May’s heat had not yet penetrated

the basement flat in Earls Court.

The walls, a mealy division

between excavated garden and subterranean bedroom.

Damp air presaging reclamation by decay

dark soil seeping through the wall

kissing the hanging wallpaper

with blemishes of black mould


outside the Redthorn blossomed

it’s musky smell, a false invocation

of sex, stained sheets, spent passion


you were there

and I faltered between your legs

uncertain in the

coldness of your passion

your knees scylla and charybdis


I sacrifice my self esteem

to give you something unwanted

lessening us both

equally inarticulate

unable to describe

what we need


footsteps pass by our heads

bisecting sunlight

amputating warmth

we lie wrapped in chilled air

scented with rethorn musk


Hope you like it.  Comments and likes as always, are welcome.


NaPoWriMo 4

After writing my previous introduction regarding my phone I was interested to see that one of NaPoWriMo prompts was to do with technology. Which has inspired me to capture my feelings very promptly in this short offering

Nexus 4

Plague carrier.

A container for

Electronic zombies

Wordlessly clamouring

For my life.

Who do I know?

Where do I go?

What do I like?

Tell us, tell us, TELL US!

Before we pull it from you

Dragging your life from you through your phone.

The undead apps

Transmitted by the black rat in my pocket.


i hope you like it. I’m feeling frustrated with some of the editing features that are either present on the ipad/Wordpress/android/mobile phone combination I’m currently failing to use well. I’m having a decent internet connection put in on Thursday so I’ll be able to spend more time tidying things up.

NaPoWriMo 2

National Poetry Writing Month 2014Well, putting a post on via my phone was a lesson in patience last night!  But is still didn’t work.  It was probably the mobile network I was using.  It was so slow I could have read all of Shakespeare’s sonnets before I could see what changes had happened.  In the end I gave up.  This caused my internal nagging parent one of it’s increasingly infrequent (thank all the Gods) chances to leap out of it’s box and shout ‘You’ve failed! You haven’t published today!’  Happily I find it easier to let it have it’s say then mention that there are probably other, more important things to go and get unhelpfully indignant at and it quietens down.

All of which has nothing to do with the poem that I intended to post last night.  Which is this.

A final meeting


How many of us are authentically

occupying the room?

That this

they know that what they do

it’s not work for them

more an identity.

Who they are.

What they do.

Personality, purpose

location, clothes, language

in harmony

making sense.


We all nod.

We can’t help it.

It’s difficult to disagree with the

vacuity and obviousness

of witless professional statements.


Maybe inside they are all scared

of making mistakes.

I’m not,

not any more.

I stop nodding and smile instead.

So the others can see

the blood on my teeth.


Do let me know whether you like it, or not.  I always enjoy reading comments and replying.  I will also visit your blogs and comment on yours if you’d like me to.

NaPoWriMo 1

National Poetry Writing Month 2014This is going to be interesting. Due to a lack of internet connection I’m endeavouring to do this post on my phone using the Android app.

This is my first poem for NaPoWriMo 2014 and is short because I also think my battery will run out soon!

The last 12 months have been a bit of a roller coaster which culminated which my wife and I separating. It was a mutual decision but the actual physical separation was me moving out. This only happened in February; so it’s still too soon to provide perspective. Hence this poem.

First Spring


Today is the first day.

The first day of Spring.

The first Spring of separation.

The first separation.


Today is the last day.

The last day of promise

The last promise of together

The last together


Today is now.

The first now of me

The first me of independence

The first independence



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