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
I Dream of Devon (My Way)
Steam train whistle
Melting Ice cream
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.
My Mum Is A Loolah
My mum is a Loolah
There is no doubt about that.
She’s on another planet
as daft as a bat.
A sandwich short of a picnic
mad as a box of frogs.
She’s away with the fairies,
completely lost the plot.
Definitely off her rocker,
she’s as mad as cheese.
These are terms of endearment, as
I’ve skipped Napowrimo Day 9, although I wrote the poem…it was far too cobbled to publish even by my wonkly, clunky standards… so I’ve op[ted to skip a day and catch up[ with Day 10. Even here I’m taking liberties. The prompt called for local dialect, of which I have plenty of material, but I opted to use phrases to mean crazy to describe my mother!
If anyone unhinged happens to read this please don’t take offence, I’m not referring to anyone but my mother and don’t mean any disrespect to people with mental illness. My mother’s diagnosis is my own!
I stood on a chair and watched from the window.
Hours went by.
You came home happy and drunk.
I looked out into a sea of parents
wiped my make-up off
and walked home alone.
On the eve of my Wedding
you spent the night at your boyfriend’s.
My bridesmaid helped me into my dress the next day.
When my daughter was born you went shopping
for something suitable to wear for photographs.
I held her close with a full heart.
Now you view my work on gallery walls,
return home and watch from your window.
It’s Napowrimo Day 4 the challenge today was to write a sad poem using simple words. I love this style, plain and direct and leaves the reader to elicit the emotional impact.