Day 29: Taylor Swift Lyrics/Words

Albatross

I feel its dead weight

with every gong of the hour.

Try to walk but lumber,

dragging years of doubt,

everything is a chore.

When I go to speak

a puff of dry feathers

chokes my tone, turns

excitement to lethargy,

a smile to gaping bone.

Its one yellow eye can't be ignored

watches me with virulent power

something bad will happen

it ensures, there is no good

left in the world.

And how the shrivelled,

gnarled feet needle

just above my heart.

I carry the corpse of my dreams,

I will never be free of its grasp.

Day 28: Sijo

 Thought

A stone drops into a silent moonlit river, ripples,

and then sinks into the deep dark abyss of unknown;

a petal falls and floats a heavenly pink, skein of light.

Day 26: Assonance, Consonance, Ailliteration

 Day 26: Assonance, Consonance, Alliteration

Spring

Mirth or miracle, how the keen green multiplies

on every barren branch, every lean stem.

How, within weeks, days, there is a flourishing; tufts of tender leaves, shoots, seedlings, new growth swaying in the breeze.

Mirth or miracle, how there is a lifting of spirits,

on every winter-wilted heart, every dead dream.

How within weeks, days, there is a growing; tender touts of new ideas,

beginnings blooming, the self, seeding.

Day 25: Proustian Questionnaire

Always been intrigued by Marcel Proust and his tome of a book! He also got me to try madelines (delicious!). So, not the Proustian questionnaire, but an ideal coffee date...!

***

Having Tea with Proust

Lime tea and madelines.

He dips, I sip.

Nostalgia on the menu,

perfuming the cafe air.

The one thing we have in common - doesn't everyone?-

obsession with the past. A golden shroud of memory so vast.

We measure out our moments

in sublime attention.

He murmurs, I nod. Living,

this huge, quiet thing to muse upon.

Every day a page in a manuscript, we write and rewrite.

The madelines keep coming. The moments too.

There is no rush here. No hurry.

We pour and stir, repeat, again.

Flâneurs on an afternoon stroll

through Life's boulevards.

There is so much to remember.

There is so much we can't forget.

Time scatters around us;

we pick up and savour every crumb.

Day 24: Borrowed Line

'I cried to dream' - from The Tempest, Shakespeare

In my poem a day book for today so just went with it!

*

Night

I cried to dream

and swallowed the moon

in a black river of night.

Did you know that the language of darkness

is hope not despair?

Look, the soft wings of a moth

flutter open. Dawn breaks blossoms of light

in a shadow's tear.

Day 23: Superhero

An unlikely hero....!

Dear PMS

How I admire your feistiness,

your fierce and unbidden temper

that can rise like a geyser,

pummel spectators with the force

of dam-burst water.

Your uncanny ability

to spout lava language

when politeness just won't do;

you have no fear, forge ahead, tirade

over all that is timid, tame, untrue.

How you wage war on the uncouth,

any out-of-line action, no lousy act let go.

Behold the warrior within,

Vesuvius fault line marked:

you laugh at limits, breathe dragon fire

at any grievance, combust doubt

in a superhero power show.

Direct as a slap on the mouth,

your red arrow shall pierce the heart

of any pending foe.

Oh worthy ally, sister of sacrifice, silent voice amplified.

Unexpected but real

battle-scarred hero.

Day 22: Fight

 For Earth Day

Dialogue

City: I need more room

Tree: But you need me

City: My way is modernity, the future, the heaving mass of the human race - move over

Tree: My way is the present. Here and now. Just breathe.

City: People need me. I am a metropolis of the many

Tree: People breathe me. I am a living eco-system of body and mind

City: Grey is the new green, as strong as steel.

Tree: Listen to the breeze

City: I am a pool of refracted light, a glaze of ambition, power, dreams. Ever-fluid, changing, growing.

Tree: I am rooted to this spot. I am the dream of growth

City: Come to me all you refugees

Tree: I am a harbour for birds, bees, insects, people's gaze; the healing light of a leafy sun-dappled haze

City: I am the future

Tree: I am past, present and future

City: I am growth, longevity

Tree: Ahem, ask the oak

City: I am brain and brawn

Tree: I am heart, lungs and spirit

City: I am the human race personified

Tree: I am life. Trinity of person, place, nature.

City: I am here

Tree: I am gone

Day 21: Colour

Sunday Morning

Sun peels the layers of morning,

ever-changing treasure by the hour:

marmalade, saffron, lemon, chartreuse.

A goldfinch flickers, loiters at the feeder,

wings streaked with sun.

Buttercups open to dawn's caress,

tickle of birdsong.

This morning light is April's blessing,

a blaze of possibilities all before breakfast.

Aureoles of sunlight dance in waking rooms,

cat sprawls, lounges in golden pools.

A yellow cardigan drapes a chair,

Van Gogh's field of sunflowers,

the colour of

burgeoning daydreams.

All at once everywhere is aglow,

a profusion of buttered brightness.

Day is warming, sweet,

ripe with joy.

Every moment

a honeycomb of happiness,

a discovery of precious gold.

Day 18: Something/Someone Else

 Cat

Imagine amber eyes

two little moons

that feast on darkness.

Svelte, like velvet, like night

decanted and sieved

into elegant ink.

Cunning and comfort.

Indolence, guile and grace.

A languid question mark

that answers any vacant space.

Curvature of charm at home

in a coil of slumber,

companion, talisman.

The self-assuredness

of slink and purr and pour

oneself into silhouette,

into dawn, into dream;

the wild an underbelly cry

caught in a stare

of glass-green, feral-fire,

instinct wicked, alive.

Attuned to time's finesse

I pounce, attack, uphold

the secret of myself

like an ancient Egyptian,

little god of alleyways

and acquired wisdom.

Day 17: Song

 Dream a Little Dream of Me

(Paris 2002)

https://open.spotify.com/track/27hhIs2fp6w06N5zx4Eaa5...

Feather soft dusk.

Moon a hammock in sky, silver lining smile.

Ballroom theatrics. I remember

a music box made of brass

spinning around and around,

lost talisman, romance found.

Up in skies above the city

the sound wafts, couples abound;

cocktail hour, Martinis and moonlight

and tulle dresses. A soirée á Paris, enchanté.

White wine gold, champagne bubbles,

aerodynamic fizz of anticipatory

kisses;

the warm caress of

sunset; swagger of jazz; you lean close -

in all the years since -

the moon is swooning in a summer sky, tipsy stars

and a love story blooms like a rose

in midnight's secret garden

whispers a lullaby in night's ear.

All reaction