Today's prompt is to write about either a dull thing or a significant object that we own.
Sea Glass
This piece of sea glass I found
when you died, its opaque blue-green
the colour of trapped light,
is ordinary, extraordinary.
An artefact from faraway,
a message from the deep.
Solidified lament I keep
as talisman, smooth soother
for the sharpness of grief.
Polished by sand and waves, grit and tears,
the lap of days, months, years...
makes me wonder
will the edges of sorrow blunt too
into something beautiful?
Something to carry as treasure,
a pocket pebble-sized thought -
gift from an ocean of love.
Today we have to write about our origins. Meh. Went for something different.
There's more to come on this one. Just don't want to fall behind so posting it in this very early first draft stage...!
Origins of a Poem
A moment.
A word, an image, a trickle of light
on the tongue. Thorough delight.
The flare of feeling,
freeze-frame flutter stutter of love.
From heartspace
realigned with mind.
The rising swell of emotion
translatable in rhyme.
A hurt, its bruise hammered out
in lines.
The wingspan of wonder. Ephemeral delight.
In the space between your eyes
and mine; golden path of memory
translated into a myriad of rhyme.
Excavation of the psyche, treasure found
at the right time, gold, gold, gold!
The honey of happiness
harvested from details,
spread thick
on the bread of the page.
Today's prompt was to write a poem inspired by slang terms for weather. Got not one but two!
Rainy Season
This mizzle no more.
Skift of words
turned into downpour,
no more drizzle,
cats and dogs galore.
Day teeming
with inspiration.
And the poems
are bucketing down,
lashing, bouncing,
stair rods from heaven
watering dry ground.
***
Good Mixture
I was oil.
You were water.
Unable to mix,
a ready disaster.
But together,
the light we had
refracted
into iridescent delight -
miniature galaxy
of colour,
exclamatory
against the ordinary.
What they would call
a 'petrol puddle'
and step blandly
on over.
Today's prompt was an interesting one, to write our very own 'Sei Shonagon style' list of things.
Also tried the alternative prompt - to write about something that is hidden.
Especially Delightful Is...
The thrill of birdsong in the morning.
The way the light filters
through curtains.
R
oadside daffodils
yellow as yolks.
The smiles of strangers.
Good morning greetings.
Unexpected sunburst.
The shadows of leaves
in a sidewalk breeze.
The fingernail curl
of a new moon.
Finding turquoise things.
A cat's purr. A congenial official.
Kindness, like a bloom, in the midst
of grey indifference.
The sparkling effervescence
of a drink between friends.
***
Hidden
There's a poem hidden in this day.
I just have to know
where to find it.
Will it make itself known,
before too long?
Or will I have to seek it out
like a shy cat
with food and some sweet entreating?
Like a daisy sprouting through concrete,
it is discreet.
It will require attention.
Feck the prompt today, just went with poetic spur-of-the-moment inspiration.
Suburban Evening
Pavements sun-baked
glint their day kept gold.
Trees bask in tufted limelight.
Dappled shadows reveal new angles.
Telephone wires underline
the apricot infused score of sky.
Birds, in pairs, fly high,
chasing the long light.
Cherry blossoms beam, pink
in their secret dreams.
Flowers bow their heads.
Birdsong crescendo breaks
as the benediction of evening
descends and a new moon
appears like a silver wish,
a longed-for friend.
I'm having a very tough time of it this week in regards to writing poems. I just can't seem to get going. It's been a very stressful week with truth be told, little room for poetry. None of that headspace required (or heartspace).
Today's prompt is to write a poem that emphasises the power of if. This is all I've got for now.
If
If I could only write a poem
good enough
to share here,
then my heart
would surely feel
more free.
Today's prompt is to write a sad poem using simple language.
'and death I think is no parentheses' - ee cummings
The Punctuation of Closure
Death as either a full stop
or an ellipsis.
No more or more?
This is where it ends.
Or this is where it leads on
to something new...
the thrill of a constellation
unseen.
And therein lies
the unsolvable doubt.
Today's prompt is to write a poem that takes its time unfolding.
As today is my birthday, I can't help but think about the year gone by - not what was done, but what was felt.
(This will need much editing...)
Notes on a Passing Year
January
Blank slate. Ordinary days white
with a kind of reprieve.
Frost stars glimmering.
Hibernating heart turning
new dreams.
February
Days bruised into beginning.
'I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow'...
Spring a sentiment
earth cannot fathom
yet.
March
A green hurrah. The bluster of birds.
Sun flickers, teases, lingers.
The hint of buds on trees.
Heart waits,
with baited belief.
April
A yellow cheer. Deep within, the murmurs
of a flower-strewn spring.
Heart a charm,
a pink moon tune.
I fill my pockets with light -
new coinage of truth.
May
Cherry blossoms chime
through days.
Blue skies peal.
Heart is a swallow,
intent on flight.
June
The nectar of sun-soaked days
running down my fingers.
Taste on tongue is sweet.
Drone of bees.
Heart's ease.
July
Fuchsia pink blooms. Heart a gypsy
romping through fields.
Bound to beauty,
home a horizon line,
ever shifting.
August
Hay bales and plane trails.
Goodbyes and low tides.
Sun-scorched consequences.
End of summer softness.
Heart, faraway swept.
September
Burnt umber of leaves,
regret in the breeze.
Here is where I learn
the art of release.
Heartsong a learned lament.
October
Hunter's moon
and I am caught in between
the pages of a year.
Haunted chamber of a heart,
ghost-ridden days.
November
Black eternity. Skeletal trees.
Death a familiarity.
Heart a pencil mark
easily erased.
December
Winter darkness.
Lights strung up in defence.
I close my eyes, forget.
I close my eyes,remember.
Heart, a lamp, a glow,
renewing.
Today's prompt is to write a poem with uncertainty in its ending and a question.
The End
We live our lives in fear of death.
We live our lives heedless of the end.
We live our lives, delusional invincible,
with a shadow most of the time we forget.
We live our lives. Or do we.
And when the credits roll
and the curtains close -
what will our stories be?
How will they be told?
Today's prompt is to write a 'how-to' poem or 'how not to'. As always, NaPo is working its magic as my initial blank is soon met with sudden inspiration.
How to Partake in NaPoWriMo
Wake up early. Log on, linger.
Let the prompt simmer
throughout the day.
(The early bird - in this case -
does not necessarily
catch the worm.)
Allow your mind to feel its way
in the initial dark.
Don't be afraid to flail or stutter.
It's potential, not perfection you're after.
Let the new green on the trees
buoy your belief.
Be enthralled by everyday scenes:
blue in the sky, the curvature of a smile.
Mix emotion with thought and stir well.
Build a ladder of lines to reach an inner sky.
And finally, when the moment is ripe
put pen to paper, fingers to keys.
Observe the blankness of a day
coalesce into colour.
