Day 10: Hay(na)ku

Today's prompt was to write a haynaku, or a few of them...



Day
begins in 
a green rush

Sun
comes out
bright and warm

Afternoon 
stretches long
laze and lounge

Cat 
jumps up
purrs and preens

Time
ticks on
minutes then hours

Watch
news again
same thing worse

Sun
goes down
dull and cold

Cat 
slinks home
sleeps in ball

Dark
descends slow
lasts all night

Tomorrow
rise, repeat
future tense gone. 

Day 9: Concrete Poem

Today's prompt was to write a concrete poem, a shaped poem matching its theme.

Struggled with this one, started off with a new moon, ended up with this!

Love Triangle

In

this 

awkward

situation that
could be an isosceles
triangle, I think of all of 
those angles and intersections 
between us and how often things 
take on a linear pre-ordained shape. Like 
this. Three intersection points and a pinnacle 
on top. A slip and a slide all the way to the dusty
bottom again. The cutting definition of geometry, of love. 
The alignment of same sides, the slope of wanting more, of 
never being satisfied with the bottom line. The endless trek across 
the sands of time, and like the pyramids of old, sought out for all the 
treasures within, for those not afraid of logic and mostly - illogical dreams. 

Day 8: Bot

Today's prompt was to have a look at some Twitter 'bot' accounts, choose a line or word and use it for the seed of our own poem. I chose Sylvia Plath, a line that struck me as so resonant right now...

'a world of bald white days
in a shadeless socket...' - Sylvia Plath



Lockdown

Bald white days await us.
Blank, like pages erased
of all words. 
Like the blinding light
after an explosion.
Stinging, scorching. 
We can't look away. 

Every little follicle of surprise
gone. Barren, bland,
horizon deadpan.
The mechanics of living 
suspended, stilted,
our puppetry upended;
props of living confiscated. 

Where to go?
What to do? 
Nowhere.
Nothing but 
the here and now.
And the stark, stripped truth
of who we are. 

Day 7: News Prompt

Today's prompt was to write a poem inspired by a news story. I used the one given on the site: Earth Acquires a Brand new moon - how could I not know there was another moon up there??!!

And because it is a super pink moon tonight, had to write about that too!


Moon 2

Where did you come from
mini moon? 
In our orbit two months now
and hardly a notation
on you, not even a name. 
A marvel no one knew. 

Are you the bringer of woe? 
And has our planet just
stubbed its toe 
on your unexpected gambit
into our fixed orbit?
I hope it isn't so. 

Perhaps you fell for earth
like our moon did.
Felt its gravitational pull
the way we fall in love.
And on moonlight and romance - 
will it be a double dose now?

Do you like how it looks
from your satellite nook?
Blue and green, a jewel
in the cosmic crown, 
against a background 
of glinting stars.

But you are just a speck.
The size of a car, a Beetle maybe, 
a friendly Herbie hovering 
with its lights on, horn beeping, 
before changing lanes 
and moving away.

***


Pink Supermoon Moon

It rises in the evening
when the sky is a blue bowl.
A blossom cast on water
floating there in the ether.

Conducting all the tunes of April - 
birdsong, leafing, late-night loafing,
into a harmony that settles  
on the neighbourhood like a blessing,

on worry like a lozenge.  
Another planet maybe, an escape,
at least for the dreamers.
The rosy glow of hearts that know

something else matters
beyond the practical, the reel
of everyday life. To be watched 
now by all, certain

of nothing anymore.
Its brightness like a coin found
in the dark night. Snatched
and saved up. Polished with awe. 

Day 6: Ekphrastic

Today's prompt was to write from the point of view of one of the characters from Bosch's painting 'The Garden of Earthly Delights.' Phew! What a mad, MAD painting!

(My chosen figure is the the unicorn-like creature, bottom right of close-up shot.)

Freewill 

You gotta hand it to them-

Adam and Eve, they know 

how to throw a party. 

All the birds and the beasts

and all and sundry.

Such a riotous affair! 
A heavenly revel 
with hell to pay I'm sure.

Past the lake isle of lovers -
and what looks like 
a palace, or prison,
scorpion shelled

and a Fabergé egg.
What indulgent gluttony.
Is that a mermaid? 

And a knight in...shining scales? 

Couples, quite literally,
coming out of their shells
(or a crowd going into one);
a score of scorned faces submerged.

I don't know why I'm here. 
Bringing up the rear -
an unicorn, with a narwhal's horn,
myth mismatched bold.

Round and round we go,
bears, horses, rats, hares,
hooves and harrumphs!,

charge of the nymph parade

a full rush of bloodlust.

It wasn't what I'm used to -
maidens and ideals. 

But this is a place

where running amok 
seems the general idea,

join the flanks and the frolics 
of fowl and foul.

Apples upon apples everywhere -
do you think it's a motif?
A feast of fantasy,
temptation taken. 

The clatter, the maelstrom
the bloody racket
the shrieks and laughter 
the weird characters -

human nature
when it's let go, 
a fruitful free-for-all. 
Eden was just cocktail hour

compared to this.
Oh I should be 
on a carousel somewhere 
adorned in lights -

not this carnal circus show. 

Do you think freedom is a foible

that maybe we will have 
to pay for later?

Day 5: 20 Little Poetry Projects

I love the prompt today...it's brilliant!

20 Little Poetry Projects


Journey

Love is a ship its with sails at high mast,
starboard side windborne, land lasso torn apart. 
Gulls cry overhead, white wings angelic,
messengers of new lands ahead, 
hover and glide on a brine-laden breeze.  
Knot the ropes, twist the twine, roughen the hands. 
Taste the saltwater of tears, and carry on. 
The blue of the waves, a symphony rising. 
Remember poor Sebastien, the Sargasso Sea -
love is a ship at home in its anchored port.
He will marry her in the summer
and you will tholl the pain (like a rock).
Moon pulls tides in the heart too -
each to their merry little own.
The trailing white lace of happiness
a lily-livered corpse washed in sea foam,
I will swing from the top mast and harness the clouds
to my side; 
Aye, S will never win the prize.
When the wind settles, there will be wailing.
A paper boat, a light anchor, up, up, and away. 
East is East and west is wherever, horizon a hangover.
But Ad Meliora, onwards, outwards.
Compass spins a smile in my hand 
while the sails billow, swell with momentum, float over 
a sea stunned with stars. 

Day 4: Dream Images

Today's prompt is to write a poem incorporating dream images.



The Persistence of Regret

'In the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams, 
that is where you and I shall meet.' 

~ Mad Hatter, Alice in Wonderland

In this palace 
of broken down dreams, 
blue spreads like mildew, 
damp and deep.
Memories rot and merge,
entangle roots.
While a toad squats 
in a washing machine.

Outside, a giant wave 
rises, tsunami-like. 
Emotion overwhelming; 
escape, untenable. 
Time shifts 
in an iridescent puddle.  
The present drowned by the past, 
future a leaky boat. 

You appear here and there - 

like a Cheshire cat, a talisman, 
as luminous or blank 
as the moon.
A curl of smoke in the dark
then gone again.
A broken teacup, a teardrop
tattooed on a face.

Sometimes - 
a labyrinthine rose garden
and no one there; 
petalled peace an opiate. 
Jigsaw bunting of days 
blowing in the breeze. 
Something missing,
like a tooth - or a heart - 

loose, 
  fallen out.

Day 3: Rhyme

Day 3 and today's rhyme generator prompt was such fun! 

Oh, and it was written under the influence of a lot of Prosecco bubbles...! (hiccup....!)

Poetry and Prosecco

For my birthday
at the doorway of April (ever faithful),
I shall drink poetry and prosecco.
The similarities are very art deco -
and the bubbles melt away
all troubles. 

This effervescent feeling
to simply be present
is something good to know
in incessant isolation.
As the crescent of the pink moon
rises in this fabled evening.

But honey still streams in my soul
and I'm lucky, I know,
(this image is no gimmick)
and since it's still sunny
I think I'll go make
a gin rummy...

in this happy hour
where flowers bloom, spirits swoon
and rainbow showers
hang on the horizon,
poetry is a rosary
draped on a magnolia tree.

It's true one slice of cake 
can unmake all heartbreak
and rhyme can kill time.
So I pour some more prosecco
and float away to a meadow
of hearty chuckles and poetry bubbles.

Day 2: Place

Today's prompt: write about a specific place. 
None but the obvious at the moment. Stuck at home and trying to make the most of it. 


Here
  
A sun-banked room, yellow with light.
Front-facing, south-west leaning.
Oubliette from troubled times,
depository of daily dreaming.

Honeycomb hive of interior being.
A library, a lounge, a retreat newfound.
Pink velvet chaise longue, time reclining. 
Books happily hoarded, gathered all round.

Daffodils dancing on the window sill,
a reminder of spring, new light, beginning. 
A neighbour's dog chimes the hours in barks.
Beyond, the horizon a consolation of blue.

A shadow of a black cat slips under a gate. 
Streetlights hum their amber songs. 
Above, the new moon hangs like a jewel. 
This cloister of comfort, chrysalis complete. 

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 1: Self Portrait Poem

Well it's April 1st again....and NaPoWriMo time! Yippee!!!!

More then any other year, I am so glad to have this challenge, this space, as a lot of you probably are as well. 

The prompt today is to write a self portrait of your life in metaphor - using an action to describe it. 

Well I've been musing on this one all day long and it's only now when I sit down to write it that the following appears. That's what I love about NaPo - how it can surprise you.

Here's to 30 new poems, hurray!

Handwritten

Learn the feel of paper again. 

Back to basics, finger and thumb

and the fisted thrum of movement. 

Hold the pen soft, not stilted. 

Let the ballpoint roll wondrously

over its unmarked landscape,

fathoms of feelings unexplored 

yet. Make hesitant pointillist markers. 

Stop; begin again. Back page secret scribble.

Roll the cylindrical case between hands,

warm the ink with your breath. 

Find the slope and soothe of letters,

the best curve at which to create

your own cursive character. 

Link and loop and learn when

to lean down, when to let up.

Marvel at the marked territory,

the dark of a cave, lit. 

Be carried away by the flow -

of blue waterfalling words

tumbling on white paper.