Jellyfish Moon

As if lassoed 

by the moon's white thrall,

the moon jellies 

glow on the beach

pearlescent

in the summer dusk.

Glittering in death,

jewels of the sea,

little moons fallen

out of orbit.

Their otherness 

passing for ordinary,

their stranding 

an oblique metaphor,

summer footnote, 

on a sun-baked evening.

 

Nonchalant moon

frames a barren beach,

tide turning away

from their purple hearts

a bruise or star,

of brave journeys

taken, known only

by the ocean's depths.

Day 30: Directions

 

Today is the last day of Napo - already! 

The prompt is to write directions to a real or an imagined places. 

How to Find a Poem

Take a right at self-doubt,

keep going until you find

illumination.

Miles of maybe, but still.

Veer off the autoroute

of complacency

into the bumpy backroads

and detours of delight.

Watch the sun glitter on water,

the sky open its concave dreaming

mouth. Be on the lookout

for bewilderment.

Navigate past the inevitable

disenchantments on towards

an eclipse of sun

brimming on the horizon.

Wait for that silver strike of awe:

take note of it in your gut.

Turn your back on cynicism,

seek inspiration

in every moment, every corner,

examine the mundane minutiae

for epiphany. At the crossroads

of word and wonder

there you will find it;

on the golden crest of an evening,

the filament of a feeling.

Finally, look into the well

of your heart and write with its ink.

Bring it all forth to the light.

Day 29: Through a Window

 

Looking Out

Through my window

there are flowers, finally.

Luscious and lashings, lovelinesses to adore.

Sunlight shimmers, lingers

long enough to bloom any winter hardiness.

April has brought blossoms to my window

and I gather them as gifts, bask in their colours, benevolence.

Soften the harsh contours of the world with petals, whimsy,

knowledge that beauty is a balm, a salve,

an essential component of living

that makes everything better.

Day 28: Questions

Today's prompt is to write a poem composed of questions, and maybe answers. 

Pleasantries

How are you?

A simple question

loaded with landmines

and fault lines, potential

emotional confession.

Does anyone want

to know the truth?

Take time to hear the berth

of your being?

Care about it -

really?

Smile and lie.

One size fits all answer. 

'Yes, fine.' 

Brush it off. Hold in 

grandiose sigh.

'And you?'

Bat it back, reciprocate. 

Smother your answer

in an outpouring

of expected takes. 

The same applies

for you. 

A greeting, concealing,

instead of 

genuine meaning. 

'But how are you really?'

I ask with my eyes, 

I've caught you short,

the only thing for it

is to surmise. 

Day 27: Obscure Sorrows

Today's prompt is to have a look at The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, pick a word and write a poem from it. Some great words/sorrows to choose from, but, I had to go with what I'm feeling as of late, when my poetic muse is missing - ENNUI!

Ennui

'The worst thing that being an artist could do to you would be that it would make you slightly unhappy constantly.' - J.D. Salinger

Deflated, dejected

I stumble-stagger,

sleepwalk through days;

cloud-cover complete.

World gone flat,

like a drink that has lost

its effervescence. Stale,

weary, definitely unsweet.

This is what it feels like (or not)

on no poem days;

existential bleariness

a blank slate of 'mehs.'

Small things depressing,

infinite shades of grey,

pedantic bottom lines,

quotidian delays.

Inspiration buried

in cynicism's concrete.

A wildflower garden of ideas

slabbed like a grave.

Mercurial, melancholic,

like those French mime artists

with a teardrop

painted on their cheeks.

Nihilist, pessimist, (and all the rest).

I am in mourning

for my joie de vivre,

ennui got my tongue.

All the world is quiet.

All the din is within.

Give me my rainbow colours!

Epiphanies, exigencies!

My spring heart grieves;

I wear winter on my sleeve.

This fallow field of feeling

the artist must supersede.

Day 26: Parody

 Today's prompt was to write a snarky parody ha!

Coffee-Con

A frappe and not a latte?

What is this whipped malarkey!

What happened to real coffee?

Has everyone gone softy?

The Americanos, double espresso -

so many coffee shops and hey presto!

A concoction of fluffy drinks -

they've got nearly every pick -

except ah, the real thing

to make your tastebuds zing!

Coffee nowadays is just a prop

not an elixir that hits the spot,

a selfie declaration

of a new trend obsession.

Non-caf, de-caf, flavoured, iced -

I don't care, just make it nice!

Day 25: Occasion Poem

 

Today's prompt is to write an occasion poem. 

Summer

Bring out the bunting, barbecues, beach trips.

Deckchairs, sun loungers, parasols, bikinis.

Welcome back flowers, foliage and freckles.

Hello sun, fun and ice-cream sundaes,

pineapples, strawberries, passionfruit daiquiris.

The greening of gardens, the tanning of limbs.

Daisy-decked lawns and rose scented sentiments.

A thousand shades of yellow: buttercup, dandelion,

laburnum and camomile, honey haze of morning light.

The stage-show of sunsets: cerise, peach, flamingo pink.

Stars like fireflies in blue midnight skies.

Swallows, swifts and kaleidoscope butterflies.

Happiness like a bumblebee humming in nectar.

Day 24 : Animal

 

Today's prompt was to read a factual article about an animal and then replace the chosen animal with a word or concept of our choosing and make a poem with the result!

Heart (Hummingbird)

Most hearts are iridescent,

at first glance.

Rainbow coloured wonders,

jewels in sunshine.

Ruby-throated, emerald-coated.

Capable of sustained

aerodynamic flight.

Nectar-seekers extraordinaire.

Connoisseurs of hard graft,

beauty and boon.

Some might say exotic. Proof?

A flock of hearts together -

a bouquet, a glitter.

A shimmering, a tune.

Day 22: Metronome

Today's prompt is to use a metronome, some object that is used in poetry to represent something else. My choice was the pomegranate.

Forbidden

Ruby jewel lust,

my world tumbles asunder

lost in temptation.

The worst kind of love

unrequited, underground, 

spring shrivels and weeps.

Pomegranate ripe.

I want, I want, heartbeat high - 

it will never last. 

Day 20: Sijo

 

Today's prompt is to write a Korean form of poetry called a sijo. 

Sijo

The moon doesn't ask any questions, is a silent answer.

At night she arises as an epiphany, quiet peace.

But look, she is restless tonight; pulling our tides of sorrow. 

Day 19: Rant

 

Today's prompt is to write a rant...ok then!

Misanthropist’s Rant

 

People get on my nerves!

Selfish people! Idiotic people!

People skipping queues, people being rude.

People judging people they don’t know,

people deeming lies to be truth.

People being fickle, people being trivial.

People destroying nature.

People displaying hatred.

People being cruel to other people.

People not giving a damn about each other.

People who are vain, people who act the same. 

People being… people.

People get on my nerves!

Day 18: PoemCrazy Words

Today's prompt was to take one of the chapter titles from this book and write a poem on it. Brilliant!

Our Real Names

Our real names were lost to us;

sometime, somewhere, in the embryonic state

of becoming.

In childhood days frolicking through woods

and wonderlands, we knew them. Heard

their syllables soft on a honeysuckle breeze,

incantations of love, identity, peace.

There was no hurry, no connotations

of unease. We were young, carefree.

Luminous, our way.

As we got older, we shunned our real names.

We were ‘them’, we were ‘they’, 'us';

a refracted image of a whole myopia,

abbreviated to pronouns, possessed.

We did not know who we were,

what we could do. Generalised, rationalised.

No one called us by our real names.

We learned villains liked to steal our names.

Stripped of them, we were paupers of the soul.

Know my name and know me, that’s what the fairytale

says. Call me by my real name and I am yours;

you will have power over me.

Without a name, blame came.

Love looked the other way.

Now, remembering, we call out

our real names in the empty canyon of time.

No one hears.

Is it too late?

They echo back to us, again and again.

Whispers, wails, whimsical memories.

We are dumb with their profundity.