Inspired by and written for Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – thank you GC and Suem and my apologies I think this one got itself lost in my editing files
Form: Ottava Rima
A sense of fun lightens the day Reading memes while drinking tea Mixing work with a little play Mischief making comes for free Sparkling eyes give nothing away Just who put salt in the tea I look across at those eyes The blood bond wears no disguise
For a word born of a dulled mind There are many was to say it An exploring I’m drawn toward So many words that I can find That seem to make a better fit Ennui? I’m no longer so bored
We’re making plans before we start to play Predictions of what moves to make and when But chance rolls the dice, it’s all luck, what then When a double caught me on the wrong foot
I drew the card that says pay a big fine That wasn’t part of the great master plan And some gaming cash now sits in the pan Another throw and I am off to jail
Another player’s turn buys up Pall Mall But a Chance card then lands him in the nick I’m out to see what spaces I can pick As the game plays out the plans are all lost
What game is a foot I can hear you ask While circuiting the board, gathering loot My silver piece shaped like an old tramp’s boot Monopoly, my dear, but you knew that
What is the strength that resides within nurtured by the soul yet rarely seen until the demons of adversity rise up against our will to survive from the pits of despair when no one is brave enough to say they care and the heart has nothing left to give so the soul must stand up alone the power force the courage the strategy to survive it faces our depression our deepest fears while wiping our tears tears we should never have been made to cry rebuilding our minds repairing our hearts returning our strength to smile again what is this strength but the victory of being alive
Love it or hate it, there is no middle ground with the yeasty black nectar of the gods, so I’ll make myself some toasty deliciousness and write
Comfort Eating Form: Free Verse
Some turn to chocolate and others to cake when the heart is aching I know folk who eat a bucket of ice cream in the search of solace but for me none of that is any good instead its slices of bread in the toaster until hot and ready for butter spread on my old faithful and top with some scrambled egg love it or hate it the choice is yours but I’m a lover for Marmite is always my best mate
I used to be so good at reading the fine print, and I still do if it’s an old-fashioned paperwork-style fine print. However, when it comes to tick boxing and “I have read the terms and conditions” like most people I tick but sure as hell I ain’t read them. So far, touch wood, that has not caused any major, or minor, problems but perhaps I should read them in the future.
I think people should come with terms and conditions. A this is the reality not the fake smile type thing. Think of the pain and aggro that would solve if you could read the TOCs and make an educated choice. In fact, I know too many people who I would have hit the “Decline” box if I had been more aware. It’s too late once you’ve been sucked in and instead look for ways to not opt-out.
The fine print on products is a real bug for me. Finding a flash of “may contain nuts” on a packet of peanuts – do the manufacturer’s actually think we are that stupid we don’t know that? In the next breath, the companies are moaning that degrees and other qualifications are being “dumbed down”. Well, is it any wonder if we need that fine print put on a packet of peanuts. I am lactose intolerant I get the need to check manufactured goods for ingredients but I don’t know are there really people out there that don’t know a packet of peanuts may contain nuts – guess I will be hitting “Decline” on them
Wow, this is a bit of trip back to my late twenties and thirties. Back then I was very much in the closet and doing what I did in private. I learned pretty quickly buying new stuff was a waste of money as within a week or two it would be in a charity shop as I purged myself of anything male. Charity shops became my lifeline in those early days.
Thrifty Beginnings Form: Free Verse
A grey suit and pale grey shirt sat on the cash desk beneath a blue frock and a black pencil skirt that first time my guts churning with fear she didn’t blink behind her round glasses not a strange look not a knowing stare and I handed her a tenner before stepping out in the rain did she notice they came back in a charity sack just a few weeks later did she notice me buying chinos and shirts without a frock and with no skirt did she notice they took longer to come back did she know did she have a clue not a word did she say when I asked to try a suit on he even helped me find a matching tie perhaps she knew as I paid the money this time there would be no charity sack but several full of dresses and Laura Ashley prints pretty tops with delicate lace and never worn stiletto shoes did twinkling blue eyes behind round glasses know a man found his style in her charity shop
Dear Aggie Cromwell is on the nail as always. Thank you for that precious reminder. There is no greater magic than love in all its powerful glory. Samhain is so close now, and I am really feeling a presence of a certain lady so this is for her, my GG
I Can See Form: Free Verse
It is too easy to focus on the missing with only tears for company to see only emptiness in the days ahead because to forget is impossible in the echoes of let her go and the broken promise I cannot keep for love, my love, will always be yours so, darling there can never be anyone holding me but you tonight as the veil thins between life and rest as you call me to dance again in the magic of you and me as we put out the stars and dim the moon for the light of love to shine so tonight I can see there is nothing missing in love our love, baby, makes me whole
There is nothing that beats a bowl of homemade soup on a cold autumnal day. I am a bit old-fashioned and like making soup but I am falling flat with pumpkin. If any Americans or Canadians are reading I need a good recipe for pumpkin soup – so far I am not succeeding at that. And the form next on the list is an Anagrammatic – all words must start with letters from the title – well, hopefully not as messy as them pies
Pumpkin Crisis Form: Anagrammatic
Carving pictures in its skin
Rubbishing seeds,
Insides mixed in pie
It’s not right
Pumpkin pie – no, I made messes
Search recipes
More messes – it’s not pretty
Nothing is right
I need something new
No more pie
Pumpkin soup – recipes required
Please
With Samhain only 19 days away (oooh this wee witch can’t help himself) I feel myself getting stronger spiritually and mentally. After a really lousy end to 2021 and an even worse beginning to 2022, I am amazed I am even here and I’m ready to close out a really tough year. Samhain is a time to reflect on the year passed ready for a fresh start in November. Here goes…
Whisperings of a Witch Form: Free verse
Io io io and happy new year as love died in November rain as the lights went out icy winds of winter hold no compassion yet in the darkness the veil was thin namaste, namaste go back it’s not time go back namaste io io io shintay shintay io to spring new life dancing yellow on the field the all clear the all is good and light returns on a warm April breeze my lady of May dances at Beltane a promised remade one love one ring a vow made so long ago an oath for all time for true love never dies io io shintay io summer sun and a jubilee the field is dry and brown berries shrinking on the bramble hedge no rain no water they have nothing to drink namaste sunrise sunset namaste walking the dog avoiding the heat chasing the shadows of coolness a brief respite in the forty degrees shintay io io autumnal haze dusting red and amber on a green field the Queen is dead long live the King cold nights and sunny days roaming clouds bring showers of rain red floating down with gold colours abound cover the ground the year must end so let it go let go let go io io io
I remembered making some notes in my writing journal on looking through the window this summer so I have pulled them up and will see where it takes the creative gene and a bit of Clapton while I’m at it.. here goes
Glinting Reflection Form: Free Verse
The sorrow inside weeps
my tears like raindrops on the pane
unhindered they convey loss from my heart
yet through the window
glimpses of sunshine peek through the clouds
glinting a sparkle on the pond
in nature’s way to soften the pain
the future remains and I have to live it
and in my tears that scares me
making it hard to see possibility
and I stare out through the window
at the dancing reflections of sunshine
the garden so peaceful and serene
offering tranquillity to a heart in turmoil
in my garden where I am at ease
by my pond where my mind can rest
a place of sweet memories of you and me
together, when the living was best
and through the window I see
the jasmine growing wild in the sunshine
without your hand to tame it
and out of the drawer I take your cutters
walking out to the snipping snip
putting the shrub back in order
outside I feel the sunshine
rest on my shoulders
a burst of reminder sunshine glints from the window
an invitation to step outside
and feel the warmth of your love again
This just invites an “The Poet and Her” write. Now whether the ‘Her’ is Lilydog the spanner spaniel or Shadow the Ninja cat who fits in with the phrase Pernickity Pets – who am I kidding they both do. However, without them life would be pointlessly empty – it must be love
The Poet and Her: It Must be Love Form: Free Verse
It’s been a long night of insomniac thinking
when my head finally lets go to sleep
and the soggy nose nuzzles my hand
she wants to go out at 530am
but not on her own
the sun isn’t awake
but the poet has to go too
while she snuffles about
looking for the right spot
the perfect spot
the only spot for a pee
she’s straight back in to her cosy bed
with brown eyes of you gotta love me
and it’s just as well I do
so the poet heads back to his bed
and amber eyes of it’s not your bed gaze at me
seeking her attention
but not wanting a fuss
‘go on rub my belly’
but I know it’s a trap
moving her over gently instead
for a few inches of bed
so to sleep by the grace of the cat
yet I wouldn’t change a thing
for my girls know they have a poet’s love
If there is a reason I prefer buffet-style restaurants this is it. I really don’t like the fuss of having my meal waited, in fact, I can count the restaurants that are not buffet-style I feel okay in on one hand. I have concluded fine dining is not meant to be an enjoyable experience. Here goes…
Fine Dining Form: Free Verse
He led us to a table, his nose in the air then as we sat he presented menus like a magician performing a card trick and I’m asked to taste the contents of a freshly opened bottle a sharp, refreshing white wine and I say ‘it’s good’ and he proceeds to fill the glasses as I wonder what if it had been vile would I have dared say would I have dared to disturb the pompous smirk on his face from the kitchen comes a guy swishing his hips with a board of bread rolls ‘please, may I introduce our in-house bread of the day’ and I’m still waiting for the one called ‘Fred’ as plates of art are set in place all very pretty it’s food for the eye but not enough to taste he comes back with his nose even higher ‘is everything to your satisfaction?’ and I think ‘I’ll let you know when I have tasted it’ but I say ‘ everything is fine’ instead and so it goes until the dessert the marble-sized balls of ice cream on a biscuit with a delicate swirl of cream and after the fine dining, we pay the bill before heading to a Chinese takeaway to get some dinner
The Sabbat of Samhain (31 October) translates as summer’s end. Samhain is my favourite Sabbat and is considered one of the most holy days of the year. The veil between the physical and spiritual worlds is at its thinnest and our loved ones in spirit can return to be with us for a brief time. My own experience tells me that is true, and I have no doubts about that. Here goes…
Love at Samhain Form: Sestet Couplets
In Autumnal rain the evening shimmers wet Reflecting the light of love I’ll never forget I’m lighting candles of black and white Preparing a feast for you tonight Watching the shadows cavort with the fey The magic of you is on its way
Samhain night a time to celebrate The love that was destined to be our fate In eternal love you are my bride In life, in death, I am by your side In the stillness of time I feel you, dear As once again our love is holding us near
And though I’ll miss you to the end of my days Love brings you to me in so many ways To hold my hand when times are dark In howling winds where no dogs bark For eternity was my love’s vow I meant it then and I mean it now
Well, I am sure most have worked out I am a bit of a tree-hugger or a tree-whisperer, probably both. Over the years I have gotten to know the trees where I walk every day. They are like good friends, solid and reliable. In my beliefs, different trees tell us different things and are useful for making those decisions or actions related to that tree. Here goes…
Willow by the Stream Form: Free Verse
Not so far away you wait for me knowing my heart is broken again and I am feeling the pain of mistaken love you know I will come seeking the gentle green tendrils of your embrace by the stream the whisper of your leaves comforting me again with your tips drifting on the ripples flowing in the water and I hear you whisper clearly now ‘let it go, my love, let it go’ and I feel the water dancing on my fingers washing it away taking the pain on its journey until just a dull ache remains emotions washed into fresh senses discarding the meaningless things of the past and I hear your whisper ‘the future is yours, my love, don’t look back’ beneath the boughs of solace my willow by the stream I see life begin to clear
Cloud gazing has to be up there as one of the best ways of chillin’ out and thinking life out life. I have made many decisions laid out in a grassy field cloud gazing. Not just what do I cook for dinner decisions but major life-changing ones too. Here goes…
Drifters Form: Rime Couée
I see pictures form in the sky Fantasy dreams from way up high Reality moves on While watching clouds as they drift by The breeze that makes each breath a sigh When dreams and life are one
Grey clouds gather setting the mood Thunder rumbles its words so crude Lightning flashes its rage Battle of wit misunderstood Still pull out the waterproof hood For rain may take the stage
In summer clouds a tiger’s smile Passes slowly over the mile His stripes of aircraft trails I watch him go his way awhile His journey done with graceful style I swear he flicked his tail
I see pictures up in the clouds In quietness or stormy shrouds As they unknot the strings Escaping from the city crowds My dreamy head is in the clouds But my heart truly sings
I know mini golf as crazy golf, we also had pitch and putt. These days I am a bit of a bad golfer despite loving getting out with my clubs as often as I can. Tiger Woods is one of my heroes and not only for his golf. I am going to run with the idea of golf – here goes…
Time to Tee Form: Free Verse
Long gone are the days of pitch and putt with my uncle guiding the aim of my shot when we played the green every Sunday leaving the old ladies to their church for the glory of a hole in one such a rarity it became the sacred dream shooting for a hole the eye cannot see striking the ball from the tee and watching it fly the skies towards a fluttering flag my dream to simply hit the green before putting that holy orb into the depths of darkness marking the pad a score with a childlike squeal but that was the first seventeen more to do before heading home for tea nowadays my aim is much better and I ain’t squealing on the fairway enjoying it’s sanctuary of peace is far better and I no longer dream of being Tiger instead I am thinking of characters and fiction jotting ideas on the pad instead of a score out on the fairway pondering with dreams with my clubs I’m always a winner
With the extreme heat of the last few weeks, Lilydog’s walks have had to be rescheduled – not sure she is overly impressed by that. However, I do think she has enjoyed her late-night walks as she is now raring to go walkies between 11pm and midnight. Does that have something to do with the chicken and sausage treat after – probably. Here goes…
The Poet and Her: The Midnight Hour Form: Quatern Sonnet
When we’re walking out in the dark Only the moonlight on the path Around the park in silver hue Now the grass is cool on her feet The park looks different at night When we’re walking out in the dark Crossing the bridge stream ripples shine But the fish can be seen so clear Lilydog picks up a new scent Old fox has been looking for scraps When we’re walking out in the dark In the cool air of summer nights A low-flying owl hoots hello When we’re walking out in the dark
Every year I meet up with one of my friends for a day out doing something totally bonkers. In 2010 it was Saw at Thorpe Park. The rules are simple, each year we take it in turns to choose an activity; it has to be out of the safety box and preferably totally insane. We have jumped out of planes, bungee jumped, and many other ‘you must be out of your tiny minds’ stuff. It was her year to choose what we did, she chose this and I actually hate rollercoasters, I am terrified of them so this was a real challenge. We did it, we didn’t die. Here goes…
The Scream by Edvard Munch, 1893. Multimedia on cardboard. National Gallery and Munch Museum, Oslo, Norway
Saw Form: Paulo Comitatu Sonnet
The queues were so long that day And we stood gulping fear The screams all we could hear Our dread hidden in cheer The queue moved and its all one way Committed to the ride Waiting, no place to hide Such fear, I think I cried Our turn, darkness making us stay A crack; a closing bolt A power surging volt We both felt the sharp jolt Into the light and we are climbing high My thoughts, ‘this is it we’re going to die!’
I love two-wheels, but I have to admit I would rather a Suzuki Gixxer (not exactly a moped) to a Raleigh, I think that was the pushbike I had as a kid. Somehow “Funky Moped” made #5 in the UK charts, the B-side was “Magic Roundabout” so we all know what sold that record, right?
Biker Dudes Form: Muzdawwidj
Each year they would say what would like For Christmas and I’d glare at my old trike I really wanted a bike
And each year I’d hope under the tree A sparkling bowed bike would be But no not this year not for me
So I made do with the old tricycle Until me and my mate, Michael Built a proper two-wheeled bicycle
Now the fun we were gonna raise Has we sped off into the summer haze Ended up with knees in a graze
We’d made some obvious mistakes While distracted by mum’s chocolate cakes We had forgotten the brakes
But we were willing to learn We bought brakes with the money we earned Now we were ready to burn
At last our bike was really brill And we were up for the thrill, until We had to cycle uphill
And this year they asked what I would like And I said I wanted a fast and loud motorbike They said take a hike
And for all that patiently read through to the end, here’s Jasper and “Magic Roundabout”
This prompt and PotC playing on my playlist – that’s got the imagination going better than any coffee. So I will let it run and see where it goes…
Landlocked Pirate Form: Free Verse
Toes dipping and dangling into clear blue sunshine ripples reflecting like glass are they echoes of the things I’ve done the things I’ve not done returning to haunt me should I send out messages of ‘I’m sorry, maybe next time’ or bottle them all up until my return this is not my last chance to navigate the waters of living defending my reasons to be but I am a landlocked pirate and messages caught in bottles don’t travel far in glass bottomed pools and Davy Jones don’t keep his locker here in the crystal blue so slipping in to the waters as the ripples bind my flesh and bones the only gold the sun light I think today I will swim for to sink for treasure needs more than Jack Sparrow’s rum
Extremism, the breeding grounds of hate and bigotry. It’s not radical to hate, it is not cool to discriminate. You know those two are waiting in the wings don’t you? Kip and Gai, mainly Gai this time, and some memories of his old country – here goes
Criahtrana Flash Fiction
I was watching my future husband working on his project for Adasi. Kip was full of hope, full of dreams for the future, his passion for peace radiated from him. I think he just wanted to forget his past, even pretend it never happened. Not that he could, of course. I know the evils done to him by the political regime of Criahtrana, our old homeland, ripple through his nightmares most nights. Most nights I hold the love of my life as he sobs and screams.
Kip doesn’t remember the old Criahtrana, before the despot President Robles and the Free People Party took power. The irony in their political name is heart-breaking. Before them, Criahtrana had been free. Maybe a bit backward as it was a mainly rural country and most people worked the land in some way. The FPP came along with promises of modernity, technology, and a world competitive economy.
Rapidly the beautiful countryside was taken over by smoke-belching factories, and those who protested against that simply disappeared. All too soon freedom meant toeing the party line and kowtowing to Robles dictatorship. Well, that world competitive economy never happened as the outside world hit Criahtrana with economic sanctions and more economic sanctions. To Robles that was a declaration of war.
All too soon the Borderlands were seen as a place of refuge for those of us who opposed the regime, Getting there was seen as treason against the state and, if caught, meant certain death. I had travelled from the coast, using the system to survive. I dressed in the grey trousers and white shirt uniform, not to conform but to hide. It didn’t pay to stand out.
I had been in the capital Qiekery for no more than a week when I met the young and naïve teenager, Kip. I remember how he tried to fight me for a piece of stale bread. His scrawny malnourished body pained me and I let him have the bread. I watched him eat like a starved animal, then listened to the rebellious spirit that was Kip tell me of his plans to escape.
‘You’ll be dead within a month,’ I said.
‘Worth the risk, even death has to be better than this.’
‘True,’ I said. ‘Tell you what, maybe, if we work together, make real plans, one of us might stand a chance. I have been working the system for years to get this far. If you want to eat you have to work, if you want to work you have to appear like them.’
‘It’s knowing when it is safe when there is a way into the Borderlands’
‘That’s what nights are for, do you think it is only us wanting to get out’
‘So you know how to find things out too,’ said Kip.
I nodded. Looking around for an empty building to shelter in. I saw an old shop, empty and silent. ‘C’mon, let’s get outta here the militia will be out prowling soon’
As a hay fever sufferer summer has always been about the summer nights when the pollen levels drop and life is breathable again. So my somewhat misspent youth was in a south coast city so I am going to divert from my norm and not write summer nature for once. Here goes
Naïve Kisses Form: Italian Quatrain
As pink skies shimmer the night lights And city streets begin to buzz Rhythms inviting just because We’re dancing away summer nights
A G and T or whiskey shot Before heading to the next place Neon lights shine bright in the face Summer heat and the chicks are hot
The romantic strolls by the quay Where unloading cargo shines shout The sailors and girls making out In the echoes of the city
And we walk on down to the shore A midnight picnic on the beach That cheap wine as sweet as a peach But young hearts need for nothing more
Away from lights and from the crowd Away from clubs and rowdy bars Naïve kisses beneath the stars Exploring love that’s not allowed
As Saturday night greets the dawn A bleary-eyed walk through the park And folks think we’re up with the lark As church bells ring the Sunday morn
Garden art just brings Monet to my head, a great artist inspired by his garden at Giverny. I am privileged in that I have been there a few times and can honestly say they bring his art to life- so here goes
The Water-Lily Pond by Claude Monet, 1899. Oil on canvas. The National Gallery, London, UK
Waterlilies Form: Free Verse
Serenity in brushstrokes of paint when all we see is images of war on the screen political scandals and a stabbing on city streets yet he gave a sweet escape from the living hell of reality a moment of tranquillity from his gardens of art Giverny impressions of beauty light dancing with colour floating on the surface of the dark hidden depths enchanting the mind with exotica and erotica so sensual the delight nature evocatively posed as Monet’s nude and for me this is garden art
Two things sprang to my mind and I just wasn’t going to look up a Shake’n’Vac ad as I love Queen, and this is a classic. This year for me has been one of clearing out and dumping the mess of life and getting life back on track. Is my mind any cleaner, well, it is clearer, but it still has its down and dirty moments – naturally? So here goes
Dusty Cobwebs Form: Heroic Stanza 1
Open eyes, I can’t see the way ahead Just drifting through, listless from here to there Like an empty ship with nowhere to go Nothing is left and no reason to care
Inside my mind, no thinking is found And looking back that hindsight is a pain Things I should have seen, things I should have known Hindsight where red flags fall like pouring rain
Cobwebs of the mind cluttered up by love Passions of the heart that should be sorted Out of my reach, it don’t belong to me Imaginings of love, old and distorted
It’s time for a clear-out, time to forget Discard the sorrows and drown it all out Sleep it off to awaken the new dreams Part with holding back, shaking off the doubt
No more hiding in shadows of decline Nor refusing to see the way ahead The reality of a love gone wrong It’s time to wake up, get out of that bed
To look for the moment the senses feel The shake of the dust as the cobwebs fall And the future sweeps it in a trash can New beginnings await to show it all
Discarded sadness and anger in the past No longer matters, I no longer care Old memories may come but they will go Now, a fresh start and it’s going somewhere
Dust, cobwebs, love, emotions off my back I am moving on, I’m ready to grow Dejunked and refreshed with my dreams alive In the tranquillity I need to know
In the days when health and safety wasn’t even a thing, when as kids we did crazy-assed things, got battered and grazed, and oooh we are still here, building carts that had no brakes or real steering was the bees – here goes
Old Bits of Wood Form: Envelope Sestet
Those old bits of wood hidden in the shed We had plans to put them to better use Drawn out on scrap paper stained with spilt juice Summer holidays no lazing in bed We hunted for hammers and nails instead Those old bits of wood hidden in the shed
Packing some sandwiches out on a trip No swimsuits, no towels inside our bags Just a bundle of old torn greasy rags As we headed out for the rubbish tip While some mates dragged through a rusty old skip Packing some sandwiches out on a trip
And in those adventures we found some wheels One from an old pushchair, one from a trike A broken pedal car what’s not to like Not one wheel looked the same and all were steals This ain’t about style but how freedom feels And in those adventures we found some wheels
We put it together, found some old rope Tied to the front wheels to act as a guide And then it was ready for the first ride So we set out to a nearby hill slope Not standing a chance and even less hope We put it together, found some old rope
Pulling at cut straws to see who would drive Mike got on board and so off he went It wasn’t long before the wheels were bent He crashed and we called out ‘are you alive’ Those homemade carts just how did we survive Pulling at cut straws to see who would drive
With Metallica acting as my wake-up on my DAB alarm this morning – I love heavy rock, especially Metallica so not complaining. A write about alarms, well, I know what alarm drives me batshit crazy so here goes-
Running Out of Juice Form: Triple Bina
Wake-up alarm time to do Thoughts still lost in a dream
Sipping tea pausing a dream Getting dressed ready to do
Bright yellow says let’s do this, work is not a dream
Outside a car breaks the silence But it’s outside leave it alone
The phone rings I’m not alone And I wonder what happened to silence
Empty streets of silence working home alone
Then I hear it piercing my mind My soul cries and my heart feels flat
Incessant echo from inside my flat Where is it now haunting my mind
The worst sound in my mind, somewhere a battery going flat
As a non-driver parallel parking isn’t an issue for me as I am forever a biker. So maybe I skip that and go into the definition of the word parallel instead. Well, good old Google has thrown this at me – a parallel poem takes its form from another poem and uses the same line structures as another poem, but the focus is on a completely different topic. Some words from the original poem are retained, but some words are replaced with new words. Interesting, here we go….
Chosen completely at random, the original poem is Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
Where Destiny Begins Form: Parallel Poem
Where is this place where destiny begins And the end echoes it’s too late And classroom lessons have no more impact And revising exams is no longer fact And all we see is just an act Reality check Polo mints can’t change fate
Let us forget the maths where irrational fractions suck And the voices telling us the sins Past the buildings where lost souls go Confessional hearings where justice says no Lets us go now before walking is too slow This place where destiny begins
Yes we must learn what our instincts know When our guts offer signs for us to make it so As the children of light we see where to go This place where destiny begins
And what a prompt, immediately I am taken back to my childhood and visits to my great-granny’s house. In the backroom old fashioned irons sat on the hearth although I think she would have stopped using them by then, she did still use a table covered in a blanket for an iron board – and that I do now. I believe she used to take in laundry to make ends meet, a common practice between the two world wars. I will let my imagination play for my lovely granny, Daisy May
Pressing Matters Form: Common Measure
On the hearth, they sat in a row A glimpse back to days past Of when she took laundry in And things weren’t so fast
No machines for this or for that A copper, a mangle And white linen hung on the line Freshly squeezed, no tangle
Her irons sat gathering heat While tea brewed in the pot Table covered with blanket cloth For the irons get hot
Bedding sheets and petticoat lace She pressed them all just so In neat piles all neatly folded Fresh and ready to go
The sweet scent of Monday morning Hangs gently in the air Perfumes of freshly cleaned linen Infusions take me there
Away from the hum of machines Churning and spinning fast To a cup of tea and steamy heat And the old ways long past
The prompt of missing – it is so going to be Gabbie – and I am beginning to love writing for her as using my creativity for her brings her a little closer – or, at least I think it does so it does. Twenty-odd years ago I couldn’t have written her because all I saw was the emptiness of not having Gabbie with me – now, whilst still an emptiness, it has also become a warm love-filled presence.
Love In the Missing Form: Free Verse Theme: Love
In those moments of delusional thinking
when I felt your presence embracing me
all the times I felt down
all the times I felt weak
I felt your kiss turn my frown into a smile
only to become dazed and confused
by feelings of empty loneliness
yet in that lost emptiness
the ache in my heart reminds me
of our love and how much I miss you
and how this stage of my life
is living the waiting game
for our love to be free again
and no matter how sad I feel
how miserable life may seem
I can still smile with the knowing
of how our love will be
when it is you and me together again
and the long silent hug where tears
melt into joy
in that desperate craving of being you and me
until then I will love and miss you
the missing half of me
Thank you, GC. My initial thinking – ouch this one will be a challenge. I never know quite how old something is to be considered Retro – so I Googled it and landed on this
imitative of a style or fashion from the recent past. “retro 60s fashions”
I was born in the 60’s – so I must be Retro then. Ok ‘ere goes
Wind Back the Clock Form: Free Verse
Too old to be modern when crafted in the era of free love and flower-powered hippies dancing to the ’60s beat but it’s where I’d like to go with Bakelite door handles and a crystal set playing The Beatles I’d feel so fine, away from the crazy nights of crystal meths and feeling blue because some jerk on social media didn’t click ‘like’ hell, I want to go back, be retro as I don’t fit in here maybe the ‘80s and the electro beat or glam rock stomping the’70s way that would do so screw the 21st century and all its mod cons I’m all set to travel back in time wind back the clock and go retro
Well I know I am a kitchen gadget nut as I love cooking but outside of that who needs them – well thinking about it. It seems I do
Not So Old Style Form: Burns’ Stanza Theme: Home Subject: Gadgets
I thought I was an old-style guy With few mod cons helping me by Perhaps I’m wrong or so thought I The DAB that wakes me up And the morning is still quite shy As coffee drips in cup
That’s two before my brain awakes And the mobile vibrates and shakes Sipping my coffee as dawn breaks Denmark is calling me The Viking speaks they need more takes That’s how it goes you see
I see a message on my pad The prompt is in, the poet’s glad He needs the break from working mad Gadgets? I have so few And the laptop casts out its shad That’s five I’m shocked its’s true
And I’ve not started cooking yet Pasta machine already set Lasagne for tea a good bet And the stand mixer waits The air-fryer and smoothie set How is there room for plates?
I think it is time to admit I use more than the one gadget For in my life they seem to fit But one I really need A teasmaid by my bed to sit Oh yeah that’s one I need
Written to the following gem of a prompt – thank you GC
Oh bloody hell!!!! This morning my random word is ‘afraid’ and along comes GC and his prompt of ‘fear’ and ‘what if’ – coincidence most certainly, but one I won’t ignore. I daren’t – living in fear, being afraid, and only what if’s were my life for more years than I care to remember – not anymore! Here goes —
Confronting Reflections Free Verse
Fear hiding in my room
Afraid and alone
What if they find out?
Fear purging clothing, purging veins
Afraid of a pair of jeans
What if they say too much?
Fear of no way out Afraid there is no way out What if there is no way out?
Fear of mirrors Afraid of her reflection What if it could change?
Fear they only see her Afraid of their hate for him What if?
Fear of the hate Afraid of discrimination but What if I stand my ground?
Fear of being me Afraid I will never be me What if I can be me?
Fear of living Afraid destiny is denial What if I die?
Fear of the questions Afraid of the answers What if I survive?
Fear looking in the mirror Afraid I will see her What if I see him?
Fear of the future Afraid of the past What if tomorrow is the same?
Fear walking down that road Afraid the doctors will say no What if they say yes?
Fear Afraid What if?
Fear fading into memory I’m Afraid there are no regrets What if, what if, what if?
Fear needs to be faced Afraid or not What if she can’t survive
But he can
Author’s Note: My thanks to the lovely person who sent me the Trans Raven – absolutely love it
Written as a response to the following prompt – hoping the pingback thing works. Thank you for helping me through this year’s NaPoMo and hopefully beyond
My intuitive thought here is a limerick, I have to say I am no Lear but will go with it and see where it goes. And so it went – do I need to put an adult language warning on this – well you’ve been warned there, I guess
And if an excuse is even necessary a bit of silly stuff from my hero, the Macca
Oh FFS Form: Limerick
At nonsense verse I’m not that slick My humour don’t fit its rhetoric Dry and dark has no thrilly And it all gets rather silly But at least I keep it rhythmic
Now there is something far worse Than badly written nonsense verse The bad joke, makes me sink So silly I can’t be assed with the ink As it leaves my mood feeling quite terse
Yet the teller thinks they are funny And get upset at ‘no you ain’t, hunny’ In an irritated tone So bad I won’t even groan I’d sooner eat ice cream gone runny
Bad jokes that can never amuse Or cheer a bloke down with the blues It really is a case Of oh please shut your face And let me watch the paint drying views
Don’t get me wrong I laugh ‘til I ache When the wit is dry it will make me shake At humour that’s dark Overflowing with sarc Just don’t make me say ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!!!’
Written as a response to the following prompt – thank you
Well, the quote “Mannequins are the artificial intelligence of the modeling industry.”― Mokokoma Mokhonoana did it for me. It triggered the memories of my daily ride home from a night shift. Was it AI telepathically talking to me each day as I passed by all those years ago -mayhaps
Like I need a reason to add a bit of Bowie
The Coat Form: Alternating Quatrain
Confusion of thoughts walking past A Moss Bros shop in a world of dreams Behind the glass so wide and vast His pose caught in spotlight beams
A casual stance in a winter coat Empty face glistens like sweat on his brow Trapped in his world as passers-by gloat I feel his pain, but I don’t know how
Both of us trapped locked on the inside With no way out for him or for me Does he know how many tears I’ve cried Yet I’m sure he knows the longing to be free
I looked in his face and said I’ll do it for both of us, mate Setting the path on the way ahead A destiny echoed by thoughts of fate
Today I walk taller as I pass by
New mannequins dressed for a summer afloat
I don’t stop, I’ve no time to sigh
But in my wardrobe hangs a Moss Bros coat
Jezzie G 