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
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!
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.
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
Sometimes I write poetry because I am inspired by something. It may be an event, an emotion, something I have seen or somewhere I have been. Sometimes I play around with words and phrases, just enjoying the musicality of the english language. There are plenty of poetry prompts to be found on line and sometimes I like to use these as they can be a bit more of a challenge as they may involve writing about something that I really don’t feel inspired by, but it is these kinds of things that I think help exerecise the poetry part of my brain and, I hope, develop my skill. Today’s inspiration comes from the “Word of the day” on one of the writing sites I visit. The word is burglarious.
Creeping through the darkness with burglarious intent The band of cunning rogues on their wicked way they went. Slinking through the village under cover of the night Anyone who saw them there would surely get a fright
This motley crew had just one aim, they would not be deterred Tales of wealth and riches to this hamlet them had lured And finding that the stories they had heard might just be right Decided that it would be worth their while to try one night
Plans had all been made with care, the details checked so well Each knew what they had to do, they knew to never tell. Whispers of encouragement between them were exchanged If they could pull this off their lives forever would be changed
So upon the place they crept, each one would play their part They clambered o’er the wall unseen – made a promising start. But that was when it all went wrong for suddenly the light Detecting hidden motion hence shone piercing through the night
“Who goes there?” Called a gruff voice from a window way up high “Tell me what you’re doing here, also tell me why?” Blinded by the sudden light erratically they ran They’d thought the place was empty, whoever was this man?
The bunch were not the smartest, all sense now flew from their heads They scattered panicked ‘cross the lawn, trampled the flower beds. And then the scrape of metal bolts, the squeak of door flung wide The snarling, barking dogs flew out, their quarry they espied
But as they fled, little they knew that worse was yet to come, The man stood fuming at the door and cocked his old shot gun Terrified the gang all fled back o’er the wall they went Back home to rue the day they had burglarious intent.
You try so hard to bind my tongue At times I can hardly breathe Your hand is clasped so tightly over my mouth. Confined in your embrace Your warm breath on my cheek sends shivers down my spine
But do not mistake my inaction for fear Do not take my hush for dread
I am ready to rage and wail at the top of my voice I am ready to scream and flail and fight I will not be silenced I will not allow you to still my voice Though you may grasp at me ever tighter And squeeze the very life breath from my lungs I will kick, I will punch I will grapple with the bonds you have drawn about me. My voice must be heard. My voice will be heard. Though my strength may at times fail me, I will not concede I will not kowtow to your pride and self importance
Enfolded in your arms I will squirm and claw Emboldened by your arrogance I will strain and wrestle And I will break free I will find space To draw breath enough to fill my lungs to bursting And when I raise my head and forcefully release No sound will come For my silence is of my own making
It has been a couple of months since I was last able to sit down with my tablet and write. Life in the lead up to Christmas was so busy, and with an extra part time job as well, there just wasn’t the time. After over a decade of working 3 days a week, to work 5 days was a change I wasn’t quite ready for and it has taken me a while to get used to the extra organisation required when you don’t have time in the week to get things done. Of course one of the things I used to ‘get done’ was spending time in a coffee shop with my tablet and/or notebook putting my thoughts into black and white. I hadn’t realised quite how cathartic that was. A lot of the time I just write whatever comes into my head – I am no more disciplined than that, it may come out as a poem or it may just be a collection of seemingly random thoughts, but however expressed it is a way of getting what is inside out. Of putting into words feelings that up to that point I may not even have recognised, and I didn’t understand how much this benefited me until I stopped doing it. Of course the truth is I have not lost that much time, I still have time each week which I can spend however I choose, but to a large degree this is frittered away or distractions like my phone. The habit of walking to a coffee shop after the school run each Thursday meant I didn’t even have to think about putting aside time to write, now I need to be more deliberate about it, but I am determined to get back into the habit of writing each week. I am also determined to break the cycle of ‘busyness’ I subconsciously keep trapping myself in. Whilst thinking this week about the way I spend my time the line of a poem popped into my head, not one I have written, but one I had to memorise whilst at school. Written in 1911 by welsh poet William Henry Davies, it seems more pertinent than ever in our present non stop culture.
Leisure
What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
Life, as I understand it 