Skip to content

NaPoWriMo 9

National Poetry Writing Month 2014Sadly my Father-in-law died last year.  Although he was suffering from a degenerative illness his actual death was a sudden shock.  He and I weren’t alike.  He was reliable, practical, unassuming and I enjoyed his company.  This was a poem that I wrote to commemorate him.  His precence in my life was a blessing and I miss his quiet humour and steadfastness.

Jack’s Drill

 

A gift from my father in law.

My inheritance.

A small collection of blown plastic cases

contain the soul of the man I knew.

A sander, drill bits,

a battery powered drill.

 

I hold the drill.

It’s functional shape

containing the potentiality for creation.

It was carefully chosen;

no doubt research was undertaken

to find the right tool for the job.

A physical compliment

to the man that chose it.

 

It’s unassuming size masks

the power held within.

Capable of surmounting any task,

bringing to fruition

the form

of ideas held within

the wielder’s hand.

 

Capable, practical, unassuming

ready at a moments notice.

Not for showing off

but for worthwhile assignments.

 

Well maintained,

it’s intrinsic value

understood and respected.

Kept in a protective case

and only available to those

who had the eyes to

understand its substance.

 

Jack, I share so few of your traits

but I was always happier for your company.

So now, even though you have gone,

when I hold this drill

it’s solid practicality

a physical memorial with which

I’ll remember you.

NaPoWriMo 8

National Poetry Writing Month 2014Wow! Two posts in two days and I’m a mere 16 poems behind! Can he do it? Will he do it? Has the world of blogging ever been so pre-occupied with this question? Unlikely.  Still, I will do what I can to catch up.  Today it was about grabbing opportunity whilst it presented itself.  I’ve mentioned before that I go to many meetings.  To be fair, many of the are very important and their purpose is to ensure the ongoing success of the organisation that employs and pays me, so I can pay my bills, support my children etc.  But sometimes, a conjunction of thoughts, environment, how I’m feeling and in this case terrible coffee; provide me with the impetus.

 

Corporate coffee cups

 

Tepid coffee.

Bitter as acorns.

From the lips of men

To the lips of cups.

Liquid dries into stain,

marking the meeting’s measure.

Desiccating discussion.

Sugared spoons slowly

Sticking themselves to saucers.

 

Corporate coffee cups.

Hiding enervating refreshment.

I have suffered less tedium than you.

Stained and wearied

your clinking

a manacle reminder

of our joint chain gang.

We share our exit

only leaving when we break.

 

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

But

I’m just not interested.

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

I’m re-appraising,

Re-considering,

Reviewing,

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:

zoolander-still

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

Untitled

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.

O at the Edges

Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.

Bruitt Up

I want my life to be composed of first times

Gotta Find a Home:

Conversations with Street People

Don Charisma

because anything is possible with Charisma

adoptingjames

Read our Mission. Find out how you can help us adopt James.

larondedelivres

On ne vit qu'une fois

ultimatemindsettoday

A great WordPress.com site

Black Hearted Press

Scotland's leading indie comic book publisher. BHP: Creator Owned, Collaborative Comic Books

Lynette Noni

Soon-To-Be-Published Author. Hopeless Idealist. Eternal Dreamer.

Otrazhenie

Reflection

A Stairway To Fashion

contact: ralucastoica23@gmail.com

annamosca

Just another WordPress.com site

TIPPR Blog

A blog of original content and reviews

Be Privy

To My Thoughts

Kim Koning

Official Website | Writer, Deadlines & Dead Bodies

Roxi St. Clair

Because Writing Is Cheaper Than Therapy.

THIS DAY, THIS SONG

Discover a new song every day

Geo Sans

“right answer, wrong question”

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 123 other followers

%d bloggers like this: