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.

Corner

Posted on by estlh

I am a dreamer. I dream often and regularly remember bits, if not all, of the fantastical tales and crazy adventures I have during slumber. The weird and wonderful worlds I inhabit whilst sleeping can be a rich source of inspiration for my writing whilst awake, and I keep a note book beside my bed to jot down anything I want to hold on to. Sometimes when I look back at them my night-time scribblings make no sense at all, but once in a while when I check my notebook I am amazed at the insight or poeticism I find there.

A few days ago I had an unusual dream, even for me. Instead of being in the dream, playing ny part, I was an observer. And as the scene played out before me it wasn’t live action it was a black and white cartoon, all rough drawn and jiggling. I can only remember a very small part of it but it was such a striking visual images that it inspired a poem.

I can see myself in the corner
In a small stark patch of light
All couched and folded inwards
In a world of black and white

The darkness that surrounds me
Is slowly pressing in
The fear of it constricts my chest
I feel it chill my skin

But flickering, and glorious
A white light comes to shine
And rages ‘gainst the darkness
In this corner small of mine

So sensing something easing
I dare to lift my head
And see the light expanding
And catch a glimpse of red

I can see me in the corner
In a growing patch of light
All couched, but less uncertain
In a world of colours bright.

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.