Flight

Napowrimo day 22 – Write a poem about flight or flying.

Flight

 

We carried our clothes in Tesco carrier bags and took off on foot

staying with friends “just for a few days”

sleeping in box rooms on camp beds or the couch.

I was always embarrassed letting anyone see my faded nightdress

as I walked to the bathroom to clean my teeth.

I missed home, Grandma, the corner shop, my books, my own bed

I never understood why we were always leaving.

 

Image by Felicianose-art-hobbyist

Not Sorry!

I absolutely loved writing tonight’s poem, I do like a rant and felt thoroughly cleansed after this one. In response to Napowrimo Day 19, write a “not sorry” poem – here it is.

Not Sorry

 

Social distancing from an introspective perspective,

could be considered social rebalancing.

I now appreciate my immediate family more than ever,

when I’m sick they care for me

when I’m hungry they feed me.

when I’m low their hugs lift me.

This is my inner circle, my sanctuary.

So, Mr Fluff from Zero Town, from this day forward

I won’t be putting your needs above mine and my family’s.

Your emails to request X by deadline Y will be deleted.

You are an outsider from the outer circle and let’s be honest

whenever I have satisfied your requests at the expense of time

with my family, you have been grateful for nanoseconds

forgotten it soon after and only remembered me again when

you want something more.

I’m not sorry.

To those in my mid-circle; I love you

But I won’t be making myself ill running around to please both you

and my family. If you love me you’ll understand and not be peeved

if I don’t reply to your posts, comments, invitations, messages, emails

immediately or within your accepted and expected time scale.

I love you but I’m not sorry.

To society at large; if my make-up is not perfect, my “roots” visible

My weight off your chart, my diet lacking,

If I’m not quick enough, not enough – so what?

You are not in any circle of mine, just landscape, background noise.

I’m not sorry.

 

 

Art by Agnes Cecile

Aldi Sunset

Still catching up on Napowrimo, this is the response to Day 14  “celebrate a place, thing or idea” This poem evolved midway into a poetic prose…or possibly drifted into a stream of consciousness.

 

Aldi Sunset  – April 2020

 

An acre of tarmac; white lines map territorial rights

measured in inches of space filled

with the low growl of engines.

 

Security guards count single adult entries held 2 metres apart

in a snaking queue, but there’s no hurry

only patience and impatience marks time.

 

Waiting in the car, my daughter takes care of the shopping

It’s a new boundary for her to tear down.

We both win.

 

From this new vantage point, the clatter of metal

slamming together in the trolley park

seems musical.

 

Early evening light dapples through popular trees

edging the car park; a precious necklace of beauty

never previously noticed

 

As families load car boots with groceries, domestic chatter

is as serene as birdsong in this new oasis of peace

in the surburban landscape.

 

Cheesy 70s hits blare from an open car window

the driver’s paunch strains buttons on his acidic striped shirt.

He sings along, parking, reversing, correcting, reversing

aligning, reversing in time with the beat.

 

Sunglasses perch on bleached blonde hair, a dainty lady struggles

to manoeuvre an overladen trolley towards her Audi convertible.

She pauses to consider how her bulk bought goods will fit

into the postage stamp boot. After 3 bags fill the space, she loads the interior

propping up wine with frozen peas and cartons of lemon sorbet.

 

Her sultry daughter remains seated throughout, scowling at a world

which doesn’t sufficiently entertain, glowering at the domestic inconvenience,

wondering why no-one has responded to her latest Instagram selfie.

 

You Are

I’m playing catch up on Napowrimo, so here is my response to Day 13 theme “To You”. This is a re-edited version of a poem I wrote years ago. I remember performing it at an open mic night and then it was lost under piles of scribbled notes and abandoned verses. Luckily, it came back to me today when I cleared out a cupboard! I also found two Christmas presents for my children which I’d forgotten I’d hidden there, so we are winners all round today 🙂

You Are

 

You are the sunlit sparkle on a dew dripped rose.

You are the silver shimmer of winter’s sunrise.

You are the soft bamboo chime as the chill wind blows.

You’re the wistful blush of evening’s snow-filled sky.

 

You are the fragile snowdrop who defies the frost.

courageously bursting into the purest bloom.

You are the 5 am bed that after sleepless night

suddenly becomes the deepest, softest cocoon.

 

You are the sense when I struggle to understand.

You are the floppy hat of bohemian style.

You are the light that shines on my moon eclipsed days.

You are the humour that always brings back my smile.

 

You are the comforting hug of my old blue jeans.

You are the incense that calms my turbulent mind.

You are the cool grass between my naked toes.

You’re the treasure it took a lifetime to find.

 

The Covid Blues

I’m interrupting Napowrimo prompts today just as Covid has interrupted my schedule. I’ve spent the day drifting in and out of consciousness after taking painkillers which turned out to be incredibly effective at removing hours from my day as well as the pain. Please note – this is absolutely not a criticism of the NHS, Chemists or any supporting staff, they are all super heroes in my book, doing a wonderful and courageous job. However…. 🙂

Covid Blues

 

Sore throat, temperature

followed by dry cough

wheezy days, sleepless nights

feeling “slightly rough”

 

No energy, teary-eyed

coughing all the time

swollen tongue, now mouth ulcers!

whilst defiant – I’m alright!

 

Swollen face, pain in jaw and gums

now earache!

Family insistent

“Call the doctor for goodness’ sake”

 

NHS Online says;

I have the plague

Stay at home, paracetamol

but the pain doesn’t go away

 

Ring 111 to ask for help

“We aren’t medically trained.

Ring the chemist they will know

what pills you should take”

 

The chemist says “Ring the Doc –

antibiotics, you’re infected”

Holding the line once again

“whilst we try to get you connected”

 

The receptionist asks what is wrong

and why you need a Doc?

Finally she puts me through

to rehash the whole damned lot.

 

I pick up my drugs that afternoon

by eight I’m numb and sleeping

The following day I cruise through space

though awake I’m still dreaming

 

I’ll take the antibiotics

to cure the cursed infection

but the painkillers are in the bin

before I fall into addiction.

 

It’s nice to escape from life’s trials

when pain strikes and gives you jip

but opioids aren’t the answer

rather – a British stiff upper lip.

 

 

 

 

Image – This sickness Blues by Aurora Meyer

The Lie

Napowrimo Day 8 – Write of a lie

 

The Lie

 

An empty Bell’s Whiskey bottle wedged behind the stacked cereal bowls.

Drained Smirnoff Vodka bottles tinkle together behind the sack of dog food.

Crushed White Lightening Cider bottles lean on shelves in the garden shed.

Merlot Wine bottles are disguised amongst the bleach and disinfectant.

 

But you didn’t put them there.

 

Could it have been me and I have amnesia?

Perhaps our 6 year old can reach tall shelves and unlock rusty padlocks?

No. It must be the dog: he’s sleeping it off in his basket.

Was it a twisted tooth fairy who leaves his empties around our home?

 

Which is it to be if it wasn’t you?

Expect Miracles

Napowrimo Day 5 using Christina Thatcher’s prompt, based on the poem by Ellen Bass “Relax”: Include the phrase “Bad things will happen.” My thanks to Randy at

https://ethicsbeyondcompliance.com/

for suggesting Christina as an alternative source of prompts for the challenge.

Expect Miracles

 

Is your glass half full or half empty?

To paraphrase, Einstein said your life experience is based

on whether or not you view the Universe as kind.

Growing up, no-one paid much attention to Einstein

in my household, nor the Sufi poets who decreed

“This too will pass.”

My family worked all hours and missed these valuable insights.

Instead, they settled on a twisted, self-limiting prophecy

of their own making:

Expect the worst then anything good that happens is a bonus.

They aspired to nothing more than survival of dark times,

an unquestioning acceptance that bad things will happen.

Ironically, their neglect regularly left me alone with books.

The ability to read allowed me the freedom to choose another path.

Positivity is my conscious choice.

If this is the progress made by one generation,

imagine the possibilities which open up to the next.

To expect miracles? I hope they do.

 

By Gum!

Day 3 of Napowrimo – use rhyming words

 

My resolve I now need to harden
Got the look from my prison warden
Was summoned to tackle the garden
The weeds she sees cannot be pardoned

Before this beautiful day closes
She kindly, thoughtfully proposes
I should prune and cut back the roses
Their fragrance will once more thrill noses
So I’ll summon my strength and amass
The inner strength to mow the long grass
Perhaps I may scrape by on a pass
Though the neighbours compete and outclass
Kneeling weary on two creaky knees
Carpe Diem! This day I will seize
Though I huff and I puff and I wheeze
I’m determined to win by degrees
Such joy now the long winter is done
Mopping my brow I turn to the sun
Need a massage and bath but By Gum!
I came, conquered, I weeded, I won!

The Fickle Hypocrite

It’s Day 30, the final day of Napowrimo, 30 poems in 30 days. I may have let a few slip, I was busy living so I have experiences to write about. I’ve enjoyed the challenge and I’ve hated the challenge, I’ve found it easy, I’ve found it difficult. The objective of writing every day has been achieved and I feel better for it. My grey matter has been exercised and stretched.

In true hypocritical and fickle style, after two days of ranting and protesting about form, I’ve attempted a Haiku. No doubt the purist academics will point out where I tried and missed, (the last line may be a scandalous 6 syllables?) but that’s never stopped me doing what I want. I’ve also written the same poem in my “unclassical” way. The prompt; “a poem that is quite short, and that doesn’t really try to tell a story, but to quickly and simply capture an image or emotion.”  (and yes I told a story because I am a storyteller)

I Dream of Devon (Rickety Haiku)

 

Steam train whistle blows

Sea breeze, tugging kite, baked sand

Rockpool discovery.

 

I Dream of Devon (My Way)

 

Steam train whistle

Sea breeze

Tugging kite

Baked sand

Cool drink

Rockpool discovery

Melting Ice cream

Carefree laughter

Salty kisses

Devon

 

Dust

A shirt is shaken, sprawled over a board.

Her smile is fixed, eyes glazed

hours pass by as the iron runs.

Life evaporates with the steam.

The corpse is well turned out,

the headstone reads “she kept a tidy house”.

 

Dust piles upon dust

falling layer upon layer

dancing on sunbeams in shafts of light

piercing silent rooms.

Bed clothes lie ruffled.

breakfast pots sit in the sink.

 

No-one cares they run through fields

climb over styles

gather mud on their boots

eat picnics on blankets

whilst the tap drips into a bowl

waiting, waiting, waiting.

 

Wind-blown hair, sun burnt skin,

smiles light up the meadow,

birds chatter along with laughter

on the breeze, the dandelion clock

sends parachutes to mark the hours

of this endless day.

fun in fields