The Injustice in the Corner

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

If

After a good start to this year I got a bit distracted and didn’t write anything for a while. This week I suddenly seem to have found my mojo again. I have been writing lots. From odd lines that will eventually develop into full poems, to snippets and phrases I have just jotted down to insert in a future poem, to a rather random short story. They are mostly first drafts still and will need a bit of tweaking before I share them, except for the one I am sharing now. I was playing around with different poem structures and with increasing and decreasing syllables and this was the result.

If

If
Only
It were true
That which you say
Statements of great love
Pretence of devotion
The words by which you deceive
The lies that you exhale
Carry me away
On clouds of hope
But like rain
They soon
Fall

World Poetry day 2022

It was one of those nights . . . so I got up and wrote this.

It’s the end of the day and my eyes are tired
But my brain just will not switch off
My body won’t let me rest either
Preferring to sniffle and cough

But my eyes are just so very tired
The sandman has been with his wares
And yet even this intervention
Won’t let my brain forget its cares

I can no longer keep my eyes open
My limbs found their night-time weight too.
But still in my brain there’s a buzzing
I know will last all the night through.

And now that my eyes are closed tightly
I find I am caught somewhere twixt
The slumber I so much desire
And the wakefulness that still persists

I think that this night might be hopeless
But slumber eventually descends
And just as if waiting this signal
The sun through the peaceful dark rends

Mashed Potato

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

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

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

Day 5

Today’s prompt required a bit of time travel – going either into the future or the past to write from the perspective of someone on the brink of a life changing event. I have recently been reading The Mirror and The Light which has inspired my setting, although I cannot be sure the scene I envisioned is an accurate depiction of life in the 16th Century.

I am not yet ready
In time I will be
But time, I have not enough
The guests are assembled
The candles are lit
There has been much bustle and busyness
Many hands bearing trays of finest produce
Have borne more in one morn that in the past sennight

I am not yet ready
In time I might be
Yet not today, not so soon
The tables are laden
The feast all prepared
The clatter of wheels has told me the tale
Of many kin bearing gifts of richest treasures
As would befit the auspicious occasion

I am not yet ready
More time is requisite
Yet time I am not allowed
The servants attend me
The stays are bound tight
There has been much arranging and fixing
Many hands shaping this” finest of ladies”
to be the fine wife of our noble Lord

I must now be ready
The time has arrived
The time I would halt if I could
The fanfare has started
The doors are flung wide.
There has been such anticipation
Many Lives holding to what this day represents
I must play my Part, Obedient submission

Day 3

No I didn’t miss day 2. I wrote a poem for the days prompt, but I am not happy with the last stanza so I will post it at a later date.

The prompt for day 3 was censorship. I scribbled lots for this one, crossed it all out and scribbled some more. Then crossed some of that out, replaced bits and shifted words around and then crossed the whole lot out again. Eventually I decided that I didn’t want to rhyme 3 days in a row and wrote a haiku instead.

Censorship

The harder you try
To still the song of my heart
The louder I'll sing

Resolutions

Today’s prompt was to write about my resolutions. I don’t tend to make resolutions as I am no good at keeping them so I went in a different direction.

I could resolve to give you the world 
To capture the moon in a jar
To swim the vast wide ocean
No journey to you too far

I could resolve to show you the world
To offer it all on a plate
To fetch you your heart's desire
No obstacle would be too great

I could resolve to offer the world
In hope that you'd open your heart
If I were to offer the heavens
Would you then play your part?

I could just resolve to be honest
To tell you the way that I feel
To let you know you are Loved
The truth of my passion reveal

What then would be your resolution
Will our futures hence intertwine?
Or will you resolve to dismay me
I pray you will not be unkind

The Chimneys of Portpatrick

It’s always easier to write when on holiday. The combination of more time and being generally more relaxed, with visiting new and interesting places helps the creative flow. We have visited Portpatrick a few times now, finding out about ships wrecked on the rocky shore line, and how it served as a version of Gretna green for couples who caught the boat across from Belfast.  The ferries no longer come into Portpatrick, the little bay and harbour could not cope with the large ships required these days, which now dock at Cairnryan a little further north. Instead Portpatrick remains a picturesque little coastal village – a beautiful unspoilt spot away from the hubbub of much of modern life; a great spot for a relaxing break. It was only yesterday as I walked down to the sea, that I noticed the extraordinary number of chimney pots on the buildings around the bay. I found myself a comfy large rock to sit on, gazing out at the sea, and wrote this poem.

The chimneys of Portpatrick
That stand above the bay
Stretch up heavenward to the sun
That shines on us today
How long they’ve stood there watching
I really do not know
They have seen the waters rise
They’ve seen the tide ebb low.
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Have stood there oh so long
They’ve heard the ocean raging
Witnessed her waves so strong.
And in the still calm moments
That come both day and night
Know the peace just hides from view
The ocean’s fearsome might
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stood solemn as the waves
Threw boat, then boat against the rocks
And not all souls were saved
The lighthouse stood as warning
It’s light shone through the night
The brave and daring lifeboat crew
Risked all for stranger’s plight
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
That witnessed so much woe
Also saw such joyful days
Saw lovers come and go
Across the sea from Ireland
Where family disapproved
Wedding vows they came to say
Their lasting love to prove
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stand cold and smoke no more
Yet still we come to visit
This bonny stretch of shore
And while we swim the waters
We drink, we eat, we play
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stand proud above the bay