December 1st

Posted on by estlh

So I found a poetry prompt advent calendar. Day 1’s prompt was simply ‘A candle’

The room is still
Save for the flickering light of the candle on the mantel
It’s orange cast dancing on the wall behind.
The persistent motion is mesmerising as she watches through the window
The light shed by the candle does not spread far,
Showing her barely more than the silhouette of the familiar old chair
His chair
In its rightful position by the hearth.
But the hearth is cold and empty.
Summoning her courage, she takes the few small steps to the door.
She pauses, sighs, hand on the handle before,
Resigned, she pushes it open.
The sudden chill that floods the room
Is all-encompassing
And the feeble flame is no match for it.
As the door shuts behind her
All is
Darkness

Three times

Posted on by estlh

Often I will have inspiration for just a few lines of a poem. I’ll write them down and come back to them at a later date to write the whole thing. A while ago I wrote the first Stanza of this, originally about a very different matter. However when I came back to it the poem has gone in a totally different direction. So here, very different to what I intended, is the finished poem.

The first time I said no I meant it
The second I wasn’t so sure
The third time I said no I knew that
I’d bend if you asked me once more

The first time I said yes I waivered
The second I felt that I must
The third time I knew I had no choice
To say no would lose me your trust

The first time I walked out I tested
The second I still wasn’t sure
The third time I walked out I knew that
I’d never walk back through that door

The first time I felt love he meant it
The second he meant it much more
The third time 1 felt love I knew that
I’d always be scared and unsure

The first time he promised I questioned
The second I silently wept
The third time he promised I knew that
Once more and 1 might just accept

The next time he promised he held me
In earnest looked straight in my eyes
Whatever wherever whenever
He’d always be right by my side

And that time I really believed it
For once more my heart was made whole
With him by my side I have risen
And reclaimed the me that you stole

In the shadow of the volcano pt 2

Posted on by estlh

The people living in Pompeii in 79AD  had no idea they were living next to a Volcano. They didn’t even have a word for volcano, and the earthquakes that occurred before the eruption were not recognised as the warnings that they were. Yet today the people who live and work in this area do so in the full knowledge of what vesuvius is capable of. Towns and cities sprung backup in the area  due in part to the fact that minerals present in the volcanic soil make the area around vesuvius incredibly fertile. Also the hardened lava underneath is porous, meaning the area has it’s own built in natural irrigation system. Hence there has always been an abundance of food and agricultural jobs to provide for those living here. There are even varieties of grape and tomato that grow only in this area and have geographically protected status.

Vesuvius is still very much an active volcano. Over the last few centuries it has erupted in 1660, 1682, 1694, 1698, 1707, 1737, 1760, 1767, 1779, 1794, 1822, 1834, 1839, 1850, 1855, 1861, 1868, 1872, 1906, 1929, and lastly in 1944. With 80 years now having passed since the last eruption, volcanologists agree that  vesuvius is overdue one, and after an extended break this is likely to be quite large. Yet still plenty of people go about their every day lives with the shadow of the volcano looming over them. We only stayed in Pompeii for a week, but already by the end of the stay my initial awe of vesuvius was abating. It was still a spectacular presence in every viewpoint, but it was odd that I became accustomed to the proximity of such destructive potential.

So life just goes on
In the shadow of dire might
Fear long forgotten

To be young

Posted on by estlh

A few days ago I was having a conversation with someone about attitudes towards young people. Particularly the judgement thrown at them purely for acting like they are young and inexperienced and know less of the world. We have all been there at some point  – we all learn as we travel through life. Admittedly, some of us learn better than others, and sometimes we learn the wrong lessons altogether. But being young is not inherently a bad thing, and is something an individual has absolutely no control over!

This conversation brought to mind a poem I wrote back when I was a youth and was feeling judged for being young. It took a lot of rummaging through old notebooks but I eventually found it. Written when I was just the tender age of 16, here it is

The dying hate us
For we are still being born.
As we laugh and joke
They shake their heads in disapproval;
We are living too much for them.
They love the life they are dying,
why should we live more than they can?

They try to take our life from us
They complain to everyone
And grumble remarks as we pass.
We can do no right.
If we try to live a little bit for them,
To rejuvenate their dying breath,
They do not want to know.
Our life threatens them,
And they are untrusting and suspicious.

Their birth was so long ago,
It is forgotten,
And they cannot understand those
Who live like they’ll die tomorrow.

At the well

Posted on by estlh

A few years ago I wrote a poem about the women in the bible who encountered Jesus. In my poetry journal today the prompt was to write a poem from the point of view of someone in a well known story. I chose the woman at the well.

He saw me.
I had come alone to draw, unseen, unjudged, from the well.
He spoke to me
Asking for a drink from one he should have ignored
He told me
That I should never thirst again – he would make it so
He revealed to me
The truth of who he was and why he came
He knew me
He knew the very worst but did not shrink from me

When previously I had felt judgement,
here I met compassion
And for the first time I felt free.
I found truth,
I found purpose,
And I felt beautiful.

Coffee & Cake

Posted on by estlh

Writing poetry can be a funny business. Inspiration can come from all sorts of places, and often a few lines will come to me when I am in the middle of doing something entirely unconnected to writing. This is why I am never more than a few feet from a notebook, and if one cannot be reached then the voice recorder on my phone comes in useful. At night I make sure my notebook is on the bedside table open on a blank page so if inspiration strikes in the night I can jot it down without turning on the light, (and just hope I can interpret the scrawl in the morning!) When it comes to actually sitting down and writing one of my favourite places to do this is in a coffee shop. With a sweet treat and a hot drink I can sit and write to my hearts content. And when the words are not flowing I can people watch and let my imagination tell me the stories of those around me. At times I will write something from scratch, but often I will use one of my notebooks or voice notes as a starting point. But just because I originally wrote a few lines or phrases inspired by X or Y, that does not mean the poem I actually write has anything to do with X or Y. It is not at all uncommon for the poem I end up with to have very little to do with what I was inspired by in the first place, and for the poem I write to comes as a bit of a surprise. Often something innocuous and unextraordinary can lead to a deeply personal poem. Poetry can sometimes feel a bit like opening myself up and letting my bare soul fall on the page, which is why not everything I write gets shared!

Coffee and cake, paper and pen

Thoughts pouring out of my head once again

Into the light of the stark black and white

No longer hidden from my own sight.

Forced to acknowledge what I would ignore

I knew this would happen – it’s happened before

I try to write fiction, to make myself smile

But unpleasant truths escape all the while

Sat in my seat watching people unwind

While I pour out the disquiet of my mind

And yet though this poem was not my intent

The words express all that inside me is pent

Releasing the tension, unwinding the coil

Freeing the ire that within my head boils

And so by the time I at last drain my cup

Unburdened, I pack up my pen and stand up.

The Injustice in the Corner

Posted on by estlh

Inspired by a ‘ thought for the day’ that was shared at The Arches project last week, this just kind of flowed out in response.

The injustice in the corner
Is ever so small
I turn my back, don’t see it
Ignoring your call

The injustice in the corner
I do not wish to see
Though slowly growing larger
Does not yet bother me

The injustice in the corner
Is no longer small and faint
I have to now acknowledge it
To hear your complaint

The injustice in the room now
So clearly in my view
Can still be ignored if I
Close my eyes and ears to you

The injustice I must see now
I’ll stand and rail against
But words are feeble weapons
And my strikes make no offence

The injustice right before me
I try to reason away
But all that I’m achieving
Is a break, a slight delay

The injustice in my face now
Continues hour by hour
So I must wrestle with it
And try to staunch it’s power

It may seem overwhelming
But yet I’m not alone
The seeds of revolution
Have already been sown

And so we come together
Injustice to oppose
Our common purpose strengthens us
And hope for justice grows

Mashed Potato

Posted on by estlh

The prompt for today was to create a set of rules for something that wouldn’t normally have rules. Inspired by a recent painful experience, I have written the rules for mashing potato.

The rules for mashing potato

The first rule of mashing potato
Is peel them, remove any skin
Although it’s delicious on jackets
For mashed it goes straight in the bin

The next rule of mashing potatoes
Is boil them all up in a pan
Remove all their starchy robustness
Then drain them as fast as you can

The third rule of mashing potato
Is splash in some milk or some cream
Some butter, and maybe some pepper
- it really will taste like a dream!

Then make sure your masher is sturdy,
As that is rule number four,
Then pound them and bash, squish and mash them
Until all the lumps are no more.

The last rule of mashing potato
Is never do it in a vest –
To splash scolding spud down your cleavage
Will leave you not quite self-possessed!

The best way of eating potato
Is mashed, and although I agree
That fried, baked, boiled, roasted or scalloped
Are yummy, it’s mash that’s for me!

 

DAY 14

Posted on by estlh

Today’s prompt was to write a poem in a single sentence begining” She told me”

She told me once about an amazing day, 
when the sun had shone down 
from the bluest of clear skies 
upon a child of undetermined age 
while she skipped gleefully through the field, 
wiggling her fingers through the waist length grass 
that was dappled with the reds and yellows of wildflowers 
and hummed with the frenetic activity of 
creatures she could not yet name, 
but which fascinated her curious eyes, 
hungry eyes that drank in every drop of the 
idyllic scene, 
before he found her 
and roughly grabbing her arm 
dragged her back to her 
cold, grey-skyed reality.

Explosions and balloons

Posted on by estlh

Posting 2 in 1 today. Although I have not been posting everyday I have actually been writing everyday. Some of what I have written has just been odd lines or stanzas, but here are 2 completed poems.

The first prompt I used was to right about an explosion of joy. As I was short of time, and because I love them, I wrote a haiku.

So incredible
An explosion of pure joy
He said "I love you"

The second prompt I used was to write a poem either about a birthday or to someone on their birthday. This prompt happened to fall on the day my son turned 16, so of course I wrote a poem to him.

You are no longer a babe
Standing tall above me 
As we celebrate this day of your birth 
A day where once there were balloons 
Where parcels were passed, statues danced, and lions slept
But time has passed and 
You have outgrown these things 
Now as you stand next to me 
You stand in a place ‘twixt man and boy 
Know that I will always be 
Stood here beside you 
As you find your feet in a fast changing world 
And take your place in the unfolding tale 

For today let’s just celebrate 
The wonder that is you