Late at night, and no poem written, I foolhardily ask my mother for a noun, verb & adjective. The resulting cat, spinning & fluffy do little to inspire. Immediately I regretted asking. My first off-the-cuff effort took only 10 seconds.
the fluffy cat
did not sit
on the mat
After 45 minutes of trying other things, I had nothing so quickly whipped up… It could get better next draft. (Couldn’t it?)
fluffy spinning cat
i knew the cat was not
from the same universe
as me almost as soon
as she showed up
on my mat
now i’m not normally
a cat fan but this one
was so fluffy i nearly
forgave it its
which is, of course,
the very worst thing
you can do to any cat
she slowly smiled until
teeth last, popped back
climbed with all claws
up my thigh
dematerialised with a ping
returned sitting on
the window sill, squeaked
in a high pitched voice
& sent me to asleep
as i start to drift off
the stars start spinning
she pulls out a red balloon
& floats away up
into the sky
& curls up for a catnap
in the crescent moon
Visits to my parents’ farm during New Moons have always been mystical. I like walking over land I cannot quite see. Beautiful blackness in all directions. Only the frail light of starlight millions of years old to guide my way (hell, that’s good, why isn’t that in the pome? haha).
I’m not satisfied with the last lines, but as I only started this an hour or so ago, I’m running out of time & will just have to let it stay as is for now.
i believe very little
but i truly believe
every human soul
true country dark
every 100 days, minimum
somewhere far from
a light polluted city
when the moon is in
recovery mode, & the earth
reflects back the black
birth of the universe
only alone in the vast absence
& endlessly reverberating silence
we find how much dark matters
Um, yeah. Well. It’s getting ridiculous now.
I’ve been playing round with a couple of pieces again today, & I just kept coming back to a phrase a friend messaged me after reading Saturday’s poem which was, er, about the moon. She said, “I really want to frame this.” Being the sort of person who takes praise well, I replied: “what the poem or the moon, uh-hahahaha?” “Both.”*
& so, this.
the woman who wanted to frame the moon
with mere admiration
through dark glass
in a shared over
she wanted it
all for her own
she could see
recompense for a life
too long lived
[legal disclaimer**: the only connection between my friend & the woman in this poem
is the jumping off point described above.
To my knowledge she does not desire lunar-ownership of any kind.
The rest, as they say, is licensed.]
**[legal disclaimer disclaimer: my friend is a lawyer so this only seems prudent]
Arrrggghhh! Can’t seem to shake this subject. Despite several poems worked on today, the two I was considering for today’s post somehow didn’t seem to stack up, so had to go for this fallback. New subject matter tomorrow, I promise (I hope).
the gifts of the luni
every night the moon leaves me gifts
like a cat depositing nightkill on my mat
this week on the wall by the back door
a rectangular jewel box, waiting to be buried
above the kitchen blind, a sliver of laser light
as i stumble out for an insomniacal glass
repainting the window in my bedroom
into a mirror which reflects undreamt dreams
on the drive home it rezones the countryside
into a dimension far beyond the fourth
even its gilding of the boxangular city
until it is almost beautiful enough
to star in its own fairy tale
Some of my favourite poems come out of the dreams I have. Coincidentally they’re often among the easiest to write, even if I’m not always sure what they mean (the dreams I mean; I always know what my poems are about, huh-ha… ha).
night bike ride
you ride your penny farthing
along the lush lip of the moon
while I potter along beneath
pushing the chunky wheels
of my trike round hard as I can
without getting anywhere
soon you’ll be soaring along
the roadway of milky stars
& i’ll be watching you fade
This strange little poem grew out of the first three words which just popped into my head. The rest flowed out afterwards without much effort. Gotta have at least one poem about the moon or else it isn’t a real NaPoWriMo. Hope I haven’t done my dash by tossing it in so early in the month.
the moon & me
in violent light
holds head under
on the wall
through to the other
side of me
Today was Day 3 of my Poet’s Residence (yep, already 3/4 of the way through it) & it was a wonderful day. When I arrived there was already someone waiting to start (Christine), and within a minute Kim arrived (I had spoken to him last week & he came back to participate this week). Within an hour, both had written quite lovely poems. Kim said he will post his on his blog. I hope he does & if so, I will link to it.
Neither Christine or Kim could stay for the whole session, but overall I had five people in today, including my friend & fellow poet Sarah Radford, who whipped off a wonderful poem based on the Last Line (Gone) of one of the books Kim chose (“bleed like me” was the line.) Kim also wrote a great poem using that prompt. My “bleed like me” poem, however, needs further work before I’ll share it.
The day ended with another new arrival, Rohan – who created in under an hour, a very sparse, elegant landscape poem which he also promised to put on his blog.
I also wrote a poem I was extreeeeeeeeeemmmmllllllllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyy pleased with (tentatively called lift, the title’s the main thing that needs tweaking). I’m not sharing that one day here, but will read it next week during the performance phase of my final day.
But here’s the one I will share. It was made by combining the games Judging a Book By Its Cover, Last Line (Gone) & even, First Line to End It.
game of thorns
to live a life — where you are happy — more often — than you are not — where the jagged thorns — don’t puncture skin — too often — where your world is framed — by bramble — hidden away — in a castle — long ago abandoned — by disney — where the darkness — reflects — where stars salt the sky — where the cold — is sharper than sleep — where the zig zag path — always leads — to the crescent moon — & where — ‘once upon a time’ — actually meant something
Games played with the cover, first line & last line of Spinning Thorns by Anna Sheehan (reworking of the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale). Last line: “And that really is all anyone can hope for” & first line: “once upon a time”.