Wednesday, 30 April 2014

Last day of NaPoWriMo

 I think this month long exercise has shown me that poetry needs work and if you find just one word in a piece that you are happy with and know will be staying, then you have had a good writing session.  It has also shown me, pretty much what I already knew, that anything worth doing is worth taking time over and that I am not a natural poet.  It has been fun however and another month long writing excursion begins tomorrow!

The moon has fallen into the sea,
But the stars are lonely, wishing it back,
I watch them shifting, calling to me,

My arms are reaching far out to the track
where the moon should carefully slide.
The journey is fairytale, the ending not clear,
I want the moon back on its celestial glide,
Whatever I try I will never get near.

Tuesday, 29 April 2014

Hit and Miss

So this is the  first chapter of a short story or maybe something longer that I started a while back and I'm considering dusting off and working on a little.  I have a great fear of showing people my writing so I figure putting on here is a good way to get over that.  I really like these characters but it is hard to make them empathetic when you are in both heads - I like the how the perspective changes and who hasn't been in a situation where they have read it completely wrong?

Hit and Miss

My drink was out of my hand and over his top before I hit the pavement.  The protective properties of the polystyrene lid did not meet expectations, which made me question; how does stuff like that get through quality control?  I dared a glance up.  It was a very dark liquid and an impressively white t-shirt.  Tight white t-shirt.  I was mid apology when a stabbing pain ripped through my chest causing my,

“God, I’m so sorry, it was the sun, I couldn’t see.  Look at the mess, I…”

to crescendo into the tiniest of small shrieks.  I was clearly having a stress induced panic attack.  I needed a lie down in a quiet place.  However, surreptitious wriggling confirmed it was actually the underwiring on my bra that was the problem.  It had finally given way under extreme provocation.  I ignored it as I needed all my wits about me.  This nervous tourist’s autopilot had been activated: in bouncing off a stranger in L.A, I was inviting either being sworn at loudly or shot.  The first was clearly publically humiliating, the second painful and possibly fatal, so not a great option either. 

It was the last day of my holiday and I was on my way to the airport. I didn’t want my up-until-then-fantastic experience of Americans (so friendly! So helpful!  So loving of the English accent!) to be ruined by running into the self centred, abusive and loud stereotype that a woman had enjoyed warning me about as I waited for my flight to be called at Heathrow seven days earlier.  She had wonky orange eyebrows so her information was immediately filed as suspect but even so, I was poised to take the potential rapist’s eye out with the toe of my boot if the situation called for it.

            “May I give you a hand?”

Apparently, the situation did not call for it; I hadn’t ricocheted off a psycho.  No, he was your actual gallant American gentleman, like Cary Grant in that film with the leopard (but up to date and not in black and white).  It was immediately obvious that he was a nice guy; he had a dog!  You couldn’t miss it; an irritating brown wiry thing that slobbered in my face.  If my hair hadn’t already been completely wrecked by the untimely intervention of that rubbish bin as I went sideways, the dog would have finished it off for me.  Options for regaining my dignity were limited so I grabbed its ear, as action which had the desired effect.  It reversed swiftly with a whine. 

He, (the guy not the dog), had an interesting face, almost handsome but in a slightly off centre sort of way.  Of course, it could have been the angle I was checking him out from.  Or it could have been the mild concussion I was pretty sure the double vision I was occasionally experiencing since hitting that bin indicated.  Or, perhaps he did simply have an almost-gasp-aloud-drop-dead-gorgeous face.  I know it was L.A, but really, who needed perfection?  He clearly hadn’t had any work done, nobody would have settled for that nose without a lawsuit following in hot pursuit.  Natural then.  After just a week of immersion in all things Tinsel Town, that was refreshing.

A few seconds of clarification confirmed that the blurriness was actually the result of my having lost a contact lens.  Scrabbling around for it did not help.  I had landed on the smoothest surface imaginable (no gum, no glass, no needles; not what I was used to) but I still couldn’t find it.  The problem was I needed my glasses to look properly and I wasn’t wearing those because I was wearing my lenses to look less academic and more Hollywood.  If I had been wearing them, I could have found the lens easily but then, firstly, I wouldn’t have walked into that guy and secondly I wouldn’t have lost the contact lens because I wouldn’t have needed to wear them.  That circular and ultimately redundant line of thinking was giving me a headache to rival the one I already had from the bin.  It was a harsh way to remember that Pride really does come before a Fall.  Hell.  The name on the star beneath my fingers was unfamiliar through one watering eye and one screwed up one.  To add insult to injury I had managed to get dust behind the lens that had stayed where it was supposed to.  Why couldn’t I land on somebody interesting and well, known, like Marilyn Monroe?

I stopped over-thinking the situation before the offer to help me up was revoked and accepted his outstretched hand.  No wedding ring.  Short fingernails.  No dirt.  Soft hands but not overly soft which would suggest he spent all day with his hands in a sink full of washing up.  That implied good prospects.  Thankfully he didn’t notice the dog slime on my fingers.  However, I reminded myself that I was not into romance any longer so an absent wedding ring was no matter.  No, I was into hook ups and instant gratification with whoever took my fancy.  No more romance.  No.

Once up, I leant casually back in a relaxed manner against one of the palm trees.  A sweet wrapper stuck itself to my sweaty knee.  That wasn’t quite the sophisticated look I was aiming for but I couldn’t remove it without drawing attention to the fact that a few seconds ago I was face down in a bin.  I hoped he had missed that bit when he was pushing his sunglasses off his face and into his shortish, dark hair, slightly flecked with grey but in a distinguished, intellectual way not a creepy old man sort of way.  Jiggling for a bit dislodged the wrapper so I continued my casual leaning.  It stuck to the dog’s tail.  We both pretended not to notice.

“I’m so sorry.  That was completely my fault.  Can I get you another drink?”

Not having that contact lens in had the potential to be a problem.  If I looked directly at him, he wasn’t in focus so I had to squint a bit.  I experimented with closing alternate eyes to see if that improved the image.  When I did it fast enough, there were two of him which was an unexpected bonus.  I preferred the one on the right so I hoped he was the reality and not the mirage. He was saying something; it was a nice accent from both of them. Meanwhile, leaning against the tree was proving far less comfortable than it looked when models did it in calendars.  Who knew bark was so knobbly?  I stayed put though so as not to look indecisive.

I suspected he was trying to pick me up, but possibly he was just being kind because from the way he steered me back towards Starbucks, it appeared a non-alcoholic offer.  He seemed very embarrassed by the whole event actually.  Maybe American girls didn’t go around throwing themselves at men like him.  Maybe he wasn’t used to the attention.  I formulated a plan; being gentle with him was less likely to scare him off.  He still seemed a little nervous, but I had time to kill before my flight and I figured that at least he’d have to leave the mutt on the pavement if we went inside.  It insisted upon sticking its nose into my crotch and there’s only so many times a girl can be polite, continue walking while crossing her legs and try not to draw attention to this before she has to stop laughing it off and begin to wonder whether in the packing back at the hotel, the least fresh knickers got left out to go home in.  It did not bode well for an unplanned sexual encounter at any rate.  Not that I was planning an unplanned sexual encounter.  You needed to be properly prepared for something as unplanned as that.  But again, I reminded myself, it was hook ups, not long term romance I was looking for so never mind the pants situation.  I could always get out of them in the toilets beforehand if necessary.  He wouldn’t suspect a thing.


He was definitely thinking about giving me his number.  I could see a pen in his jeans pocket and a handy piece of paper tucked in there too.  I continued to act casual and decided to give him the chance to slip it to me when we had sat down, when he was a little more relaxed.

With that in mind, he tied up the dog and we stepped inside the coffee shop.


I wasn’t paying attention when I hit her.  I don’t mean hit her in the violent sense, although the force she landed on the sidewalk with was pretty violent.  She was lucky; at least the trashcan broke her fall.  It was simple; I was going one way, she was going the other and we met in the middle.  It could have been awkward.  People can be weird. She was in a rush, which explained how she didn’t notice me strolling along, enjoying the sun, trying to phone my agent.  The on hold music was beginning to fuzz a little; I think it was the palm trees affecting the reception.  I’d been on hold for a while but getting reacquainted with the hits of the nineties is never a waste of time. 

I remember the second thing she said after she asked me to help her up.  It’s tricky, offering assistance to a damsel in distress, especially around here so I find it’s best not to.  You risk being accused of molestation or having a can of mace sprayed in your face, being kicked in the balls with a spiky toe or worse, having a treatment for the ‘most original screenplay you’ve ever seen’ pressed in your hand.  She was British, I could tell from the teeth. You can age horses the same way. Not too yellow so she wasn’t that old.  It’s impossible to tell here where most fifty year olds look fifteen so the teeth are a useful aid.  Mid twenties maybe. 

So there she was on the floor, running her fingers over my name.  Sweet.  There was a tear in her eye; she was overcome with emotion.  I’m familiar with that reaction.  She gave me a wink.  She recognised me.  It always happens.  What a drag to have to stop for a fan on a day when my time was so tight, still lucky for her I just happened to be near my star. She could get a picture of me with it later.  She looked a little desperate.  Probably wanting a hook up, like they all do.  I’m just not into that scene any more.  No, no more fucks with no strings attached.  The next girl I fall for will be the real thing.  It’s romance I’m looking for now.  My therapist told me it would be good for me to stop thinking just of myself for once.

After she screamed in surprise at seeing me, she muttered,

“I love your dog”

and tried to pull him in for a kiss.  At least it was something like that.  The fact that she was in Jim’s face having a good tussle showed me she was a dog lover.  I was right about her nationality.  She sounded like the Queen.  I’m all for a dog smooch myself but sometimes Jim is a little over eager.  He was whining with happiness but he just isn’t as in control of his libido as I am so I pulled him away before he started humping her leg.  That can scare a girl with a nervous disposition.  May be something to do with a damp dick on bare legs.  I’ve never considered it in any depth but personally, I’ve never found it to be an issue.  I take him in the shower with me.  My dog is very hygienic. 

The girl was all apologetic where I, if someone had run into me like a train,  would have had more to say along the lines of, ‘what the fuck are you doing? Can’t you look where you’re going?  Are you fucking blind?” But then I had missed a couple of my anger management appointments. 

Mentioning the dog first was cute.  Of course I got that she was trying to pretend that she didn’t know who I was.  Most girls wouldn’t bother with all the pretence.  It had to be the English reserve you hear so much about.  I understood that she was feeling overwhelmed; my palms get sweaty in the presence of greatness too.  Once I left a damp patch on Jennifer Anniston’s dress at a book signing.  I don’t think she noticed.

I introduce her properly to my dog, as she’s offered to buy me a drink to make up for ruining my t-shirt.  That was a kind gesture.  It was pretty much my best shirt and until my agent got back to me on those projects I was waiting to have greenlit, I wasn’t certain when I could get another one like it.  No chance of being invited to a Hollywood party and finding somebody else wearing the same as me.  I like to keep it individual.  I’m not a character actor, of course.  I don’t want to be pigeon holed into that tunnel where dreams get lost. Nope, no type casting happening here.  Absolutely not.

Jim really couldn’t get enough of her and I have to say he is a very good judge of character.  When a screenplay is sent to me, I always read my part to him.  If he jumps around a lot, I know I’m onto a winner.  He hasn’t jumped around for a while but that’s definitely down to arthritis not the quality of the scripts. 

The girl was pretty twitchy.  I get jittery when I meet someone I really admire too so I put it down to nerves.   I guessed she was plucking up the courage to ask for my autograph.  I carry a pen and small jotter on me for just such occasions.  I decided to give it to her when we sat down, once she was a bit more relaxed.

With that in mind, I tied up my dog and we stepped inside the coffee shop.   

The boy at the castle

I am hugely impressed with Maria's, see amazing explorations into poetic form and have to admit that I have failed dismally in that respect during the month of NaPoWriMo this April.  I have enjoyed writing short pieces and it amuses me that most of them are maudlin in nature - it must be lurking under the surface of my psyche!!

What is your name? she demands imperiously
Tone indicating she expects to be taken seriously
Come here she commands as she drops back on the bed
He shuffles towards her with fear and dread
There's no need to worry I know what I'm doing
She nods behind her to where they are queuing
This is a mistake he begins with a quake
She laughs and looses her hair with a shake
Don't be a fool this is part of the test
You have to complete it to be one of the best
The king would not stand for anything less
When you have finished you can go back to your chess
You don't understand I'm simply not ready
I've heard it before you just need to be steady
That's all I expect, how bad can it be?
Don't worry, it's only little old me
Little old you? He exclaims with sorrow
I doubt after this I will live till the morrow
The king is renowned for his love of the sword
My time with his wife would not be ignored
She shrugs with a warning look in her eyes
He shakes his head causing some surprise
He leaves the room and slams the door
He will be taken for a fool no more
As the night draws on, the king rewards his honour
He shakes his hand warmly, he won't be a gonner
He has made the right choice and dismissed the queen
He feels that for her part she was just being mean
He left his village for courtly life
Not to end up with the king's wife
She was playing a game and he stayed true
The reason for her choice he never knew
He left the castle once the party was over
And lay down to sleep, alone in the clover

Argh I really hate rhyming couplets!  So twee!!  Move over Shakespeare...  



Monday, 28 April 2014


Sitting in the dark
Is a way to get things done
It crystallises thoughts
It hides fears
And allows sadness to sing

Sunday, 27 April 2014

May morning

My foray into blank verse...

Iced blossom falling gently from the tree
Sticks inelegantly to rain slicked streets
Airborne pink and white confetti swirling
Heralds May Day approaching in Oxford
Morris men with bells and ribbons jumping
Will emerge with the river mist rising
Early start, ball gowned girls with missing shoes
Stagger with champagne bottles to balance
Against men in muddy tails with murky eyes
Heading home to bed. Lectures forgotten.

Friday, 25 April 2014

A little late for St George's day


Saintly George looked brave
While the dragon considered
And the maiden sighed
Tired of waiting she ran, fast
Leaving the pair to dream on

Thursday, 24 April 2014

Seven year baby

So my baby is seven years old today.  Even though everybody said time would fly, I didn't believe them and certainly for the first year, they were wrong.  Time dragged, it was often boring and I wanted him to be interesting and do stuff!  Now though, he is too old, I want time to slow down and if I could have that first year back again, even if I would be bored again, I really think I would grab at the chance.  It isn't very PC to say that motherhood is boring, especially not the beginning bit where it is all new and supposed to be wonderful, but like anything, change is often difficult to work around and accepting that takes time in itself.  Life sometimes is dull, not full of endless excitement and unbounded joy.  I think this is why finding wonder in the small things can keep you going during the worst of times. 

Small things
When I look back through your memory journal,
Do you know what I see?
Moments that were not extraordinary but just special to me.
Those times kept me alert for change,
For the opportunity of growth,
Chances not just for you alone but for us both.
There is the first time you looked at me,
The second time you fell off the bed,
That time I carried you upstairs and accidentally banged your head.
Such small happenings that only we might remember,
I kept all your nursery records, your tooth eruption chart and your theatre tickets too,
I hope that in the future this will mean something important to you.

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

Iambic pentameter exercise going ... somewhere?

Believe when I warn; you will not be true,
Ignore what I say; it will still be heard,
Some will scoff, some will laugh, but they listen,
Heartless are those who choose the easy path,
You are one who must obey my command,
If you want change, then you must change yourself,
Be brave, walk strong, do not look back again,
And I will be waiting, gladly waiting.

Monday, 21 April 2014

Poetry project

I would like to write a sestina but I don't have the time (always with the excuses...) so instead something a little less formal.

Looking back

We look back to go forwards
Time ticking, time stalling
Fashions reinvent themselves
We fail to reinvent ourselves
And in the failing, we change
Science remakes as religion reminds
Our hearts to stay true
But it is too hard 
Just too hard
And though we tug at the tide
We are ripped from the shore
And thrown into the wake of not knowing
Or understanding.  Or caring.
We gaze forwards and turn back.

Sunday, 20 April 2014

Do you want to build a snowman?

So I'm back in the land of poetry after what feels like a long time camping, even though it was only five days.  I don't mean it was long because it was bad, just long and wonderful but hard work.  Living in a bluebell wood for a few days made me want to be able to do it forever.   Realistically of course, it wouldn't be practical or much fun in the floods and snow but as is so true for so many things, a girl can dream and pick out the best bits to log for those times when fun seems very far away and happier times need to be recalled to keep the soul together.

I'm currently watching Frozen for the fourth time.  I love this film.  Without wishing to over analyse, this film is almost perfect.  It has heart, humour, memorable characters, fantastic songs and a familiar enough story structure to make following the narrative straightforward but with the addition of two great twists on the romance genre that make it interesting and special.  The utter conviction and love Anna has in her sister that she is not bad and can be turned (back to the good side, ahem) is terribly powerful.  I love the two sisters and the implications that freedom has for both of them.  I never fail to cry at the point when Elsa revels in her freedom, only to realise that being alone is not the answer, and in a beautifully symmetrical storyline,  when Anna thinks that the answer to her loneliness is to be found in the first handsome prince whom she literally walks into.  How much they both have to learn.  I am also quite a bit in love with Christophe and the way he talks in the voice of his reindeer, Sven, when they are having a conversation but that's really incidental.
Anyway, back to the poetry.

She slams the door and turns away,
He laughs and says she knows he's right,
She's had enough of this for another day.

Each day she tries hard to pray,
But too soon it's time to turn out the light,
She slams the door and turns away,

She folds small into the place she must lay,
Fearful to disappear into clasping night,
She's had enough of this for another day.
A little voice tells her it will be okay,
But the future once glowed so bright,
She slams the door and turns away.

How she regrets their meeting in that bay,
She needs to find her strength and might,
She's had enough of this for another day.

It must be time to find a different way,
She's going to pack and catch that flight,
She slams the door and turns away.
She's had enough of this for another day.

Saturday, 12 April 2014

Poetry day 13

Now I've caught up with myself...

Solitude acrostic

Silence at 4 a.m is a beautiful thing
Only I and the birds appreciate it
Life is beginning over again
In the light rolling onwards
Tipping a rose glaze through the clouds
Under a plane's lazy underscore
Darkness is banished and expectation beckons
Enjoy the mystery

All this poetry stuff is very raw and unfinished. One of the things I have noticed is the difficulty in balancing line length and importance.  This is clearly something I would need to address if going forwards to edit and polish anything that has been written this month!

Poetry Day 12

Okay, it's a day late but I spent my time which is called, laughingly, 'free' or 'spare' finishing a book called Divergent.  It's a YA book full of interesting ideas although there is something perhaps lacking in the drive of some of the characters which makes it a difficult one to really get into and I found it hard to empathise with their issues.  This is a poem from the perspective of the protagonist, Tris.

It's my time to choose
My mind is my own
I don't want to loose
I don't want to leave my home
But I must
I hide confusion and I am silent
There is no trust
I will be forced to be violent
Faction before blood is what we learn
I have to be strong to say no
Now it is time to smash through and burn
It is my time to go

Friday, 11 April 2014

Poetry month and I've forgotten which post this is...

So yesterday I had to do two super speedy poems as I hadn't done one the day before and now here I am, rushing still because I didn't get up early and the 'spare' time I did have today was spent going to see Noah at the cinema.  I am never going to look at cute, brightly coloured arks sold in toy shops in quite the same way now.  I am falling back on a primary school staple - the Kennings poem.  It is an ancient Norse verse that describes something without naming it and the form is a chain of pairs of words (or kennings).

Can you guess what it is yet?





Wednesday, 9 April 2014

Second poem of the day and I think I promised Maria I would write a limerick but am going with a cinquain instead.  Invented 100 years ago by the delightfully named American poet, Adelaide Crapsey.


Door slams
Shouting echoes
Peace is shattered by hate
Tempers boil into the winter

I missed a day!

Okay, so I didn't quite get around to writing a poem yesterday.  i thought I'd do it in the morning, but didn't.  Then I thought I'd do it in the evening but went to see Captain America instead.  Soon, I will get around to writing about Frozen - I love that film.  There is so much to discuss.  However, I need to keep my promise to myself to write something everyday so here is a brief little effort to cover yesterday.  It has to be a haiku as they are fast (but not easy so apologies as this one is out there with no editing clothes on, poor thing).


Sparrows in the trees
Sebastian Faulks' novel
Neither is restful

Monday, 7 April 2014

Poetry Day 8

So today I have been tasked with writing a haiku that includes the word, 'nostalgia'.  There are only 17 syllables and this is three of them!  Here goes...

Nostalgia fills me
Dragging my heart into shreds
It searches waste land

Nostalgia fills me
It searches waste land, dragging
My heart through the dark

I don't think you can have punctuation so the second one probably doesn't count.  Fun though to try and consolidate ideas into such a small space.

Sunday, 6 April 2014

Poetry Project Day 7

An ode to the wonders of the milkshake...  yes, my tastes run more in this direction than cocktails and sophistication!

Moo Moos

Moo Moos,
Pink and white box in the Covered Market,
How you tantalise,
With your perplexing flavour combinations.
What tortured mind ever conceived of a biscuit milkshake?
Everyone loves an Oreo but liquidised?
Look into your science - it doesn't work,
There will always be bits at the bottom
Waiting to unseat the unsuspecting slurper.
But a flake?  Snickers?  Kit Kat? Bring it on.
I challenge anyone not to be impressed with the sweets -
Starburst; sherbet; liquorice; smarties, anyone?
So Moo Moos, you are truly inventive and have enhanced my life.
But please get that queuing system sorted out.

Poetry Day 6

The Conquest

Shouts echoing across the grass
Softly churned to mud beneath metal shod feet,
Flags flutter, caught in a cruel wind,
Whipping the onlookers into a frenzy of noise,
Congratulations and curses fly,
Colours clash, faces hit the earth,
Blood is let, bruises bloom,
Limbs twist, breath kicked skywards.
The jousting ground?
The rugby pitch.

Saturday, 5 April 2014

Poetry Day 5 - officially running out of ideas.

Hmm, so now it is the first day of the Easter holidays and I have a whole side of A4 full of things I have to/need to/will go insane if I don't do.  They range from completing job applications to cleaning out the kitchen cupboards, writing a Philosophy of Education essay and planning days out with my lovely team of two children.  The children are currently sulking as I am on the computer and despite the fact that they are having hours of TV fun this morning (which never happens on a weekday), something is amiss.  They want my time and I can't give it to them, not right now.  So far, I've managed to clean the bathroom and make a gratin along with making them bacon rolls and freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast.  You'd think they would be grateful!  In fact, I'm procrastinating right now in prioritising this poetry activity over stuff I need to do for work which has kind of reached the ridiculous crisis point that means I no longer care as I doubt much can be done. Early this morning I was in the garden, cleaning out the chicken run and this poem is a response to that and the simple lack of urgency that exists out there.

Chickens at first light
I hear them before I see them,
Moving, clucking and keen to be out,
The coop door slides open,
An explosion of bird bursts into the air,
Their voices rasp through the cold,
Eyes beetle bright and searching,
Three hens fat on stick legs,
Are gone into the gloom,
Hoping for worms and a dust bath.

Thursday, 3 April 2014

If you haven't already heard the Selfie song, you probably soon will.  I can imagine it will be on in gyms, aerobics classes and even (although I'm too old to remember them), clubs.  It will probably be the sound of the summer in the sorts of European clubs where the British go to make idiots of themselves; although I'm sure they don't set out to do so.  If you haven't heard it and have no idea what I'm talking about - the lyrics are here  I was thinking about how different the life of the song's protagonist is to mine - not that mine was ever like this I should add, this lifestyle looks far too exciting - so as a result, you can probably guess, here comes my version.

From the new mother's perspective
When I was sat at the table in the coffee shop
I kept on seeing other women staring at their husbands
They look really tired but they have bothered to put makeup on
They are still making an effort
 Do you think they have to, to keep the guy?
Now their bodies are more tuned to the needs of a baby
And not his?
Oh look, she's taking a selfie 
Of her and the baby
And he's checking out that laptop girl with the latte over there
Do you think she'll notice?

Out in the park
That couple with the adorable plum coloured buggy
are holding hands
But look
She's the one doing the holding
He's doing the pushing
She's chatting to the baby
He's looking at his phone
Who's on the screen?
Oh look, he's taking a selfie
And they are not included
It's his old life, not the new one that he wants to showcase
The mother is fussing with the baby
It's hat is at the wrong angle
Do you think she'll notice?

Poetry attempt Day 3

I'm late with this because today has been a bad day so expect a grumpy poem.  While I enjoy, as I put it, sending words out into the world 'with no makeup on', today this is a real chore.  However, it is also a target I have set myself so in true Brit grit style, although it is hardly equivalent to spending a day on the coal face, I have written something.  You may notice that already, after two days, I have no idea of my own so have gone to the wonderful Jenny Joseph and When I Grow Old for a little inspiration...

When I am an old woman...
I will be dead. 
Therefore I should do all the things I want to do now.
I will have worked until I'm 68, 
But still won't have a pension.
I will have spent my time working where I am unappreciated,
But spent my salary on fun and frolics,
Larks and yums,
And the sort of things that make tedious people say 'why'?
I won't need to answer them because I will be too busy
Flying hawks, 
Baking cakes that defy gravity with their tall stature
Learning to ride side saddle
Trying to avoid breaking my arm ice skating
Rolling down hills with my children
Drinking ridiculously thick milkshakes with any chocolate I please in them
Eating chocolate
Walking in Paris
Building an enormous sandcastle with a flag AND a moat
Shouting loudly in a park and not caring when people stare
Going to the cinema, theatre and galleries at the drop of a hat
Playing tennis and actually hitting the ball
Sitting in a cool coffee shop with my laptop, writing something magical 
And delivering a lamb.

Don't forget the lamb 
Or the chocolate.

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Poetry Quest day two


Words. I am searching for you,
I know you are out there,
Hiding just out of sight,
I catch a flicker as a noun scampers,
That verb, there -
Did you see how it leapt
translucent from the page?
Caught in mid air and supplied with emphasis
That it did not intend.

Words. I am searching for you,
I listen and think
I hear you whispering in the box on my desk.
Come here,
Don't be shy.
Be organised and do your job,
Work for me,
Create my world and
make my stories sing.

My plan for this poetry exercise, which is pretty extended as it lasts a whole month, is to have fun with words and tty to get back to a place where the words are doing the work of the character.  Where the words really do speak for themselved.  This is a state I need to be in (as in a good 'state of mind' not a complete, 'argh, nothing is going right, I am a terrible, worthless person' sort of state which is not so helpful) to write well and it is one I have not been close to for a while.  Anyway, poetry attempt two with no revisions and an already noticable lack of balance between stanzas is here, written in a few minutes and now left - not for any particularly artistic reason, just that I need to crack on with a philosophy essay and there are chocolate biscuits waiting if I get a lot done before 5.30 (a.m.  I know. Hardcore).