Never seen such glassy eyes
I mean blank empty
because this pink plastic skull
teeny tiny waist
and this curved torso
is a cavern
legs can be bent
figure is fully posable
hands curve to hold
these eyelashes are fully nylon
this hair is fully stylable
these feet are trapped
although the moon is full, the stars are out
although the stars are out, there’s frost tonight
although there’s frost tonight, the fire is warm
although the fire is warm, the room is cold
although the room is cold, I’m not alone
although I’m not alone, I’m scared right now
although I’m scared right now, my hands are quiet
although my hands are quiet, my mind is spinning
although my mind is spinning, I know what to say
although I know what to say, I’m keeping still
although I’m keeping still, I want to run
although I want to run, the door is locked
although the door is locked, I have a key
although I have a key, the night is dark
althought the night is dark, the moon is full
although ms quickly asked for a list poem, i’m kind of ignoring her…
morning light shimmers
sea mist forms twisting spirals
seashell in my hand
A haiku for Sammi’s weekend writing challenge – shell, in 12 words! (and 14 syllables…)
I dreamed I wrote a poem that made you cry
I dreamed I wrote a poem that burnt the page
I dreamed I wrote a poem that flew away
I dreamed I wrote a poem that smelled of chocolate
I dreamed I wrote a poem in a field of poppies
I dreamed I wrote a poem about a dream
I never wrote a poem that made you cry
I’m sorry I wrote a poem that made you cry
We were all there when I wrote a poem that made you cry
I was ill when I wrote a poem that made you cry
I forgot to stop when I wrote a poem that made you cry
I was on the train when I wrote a poem that made you cry
We were all there when the dog made you cry
We were all there when I dropped the plate and made you cry
We were all there when I ran away and made you cry
We were all there when the fireworks made you cry
We were all there when your mother made you cry
We were all there when the postcard made you cry
I dreamed that I was sorry that I made you cry.
This was my response to an interesting little prompt from Miz Quickly.
It’s a long prompt, so you can pop over there and read it for yourself, and then give it a go if you fancy. I’m never quite sure about these very structured “list”-y poems, but I thought I’d give it a go. Having written it, I’m still not sure about it. I might come back and fiddle around with it at some point.
I would like there to be something in between
an exclamation mark and a full stop.
A full stop goes “duh”,
on the mat.
An exclamation mark goes
I don’t always feel that way…
I want something a little friendlier
and more enthusiastic
than a full stop.
A little less over-excited
And don’t get me started on ellipses…
the drifting off of attention…
the valley lift…
my dearest punctuation tic…
I question all the time? or do I?
The colon and the semi-colon;
they are not my friends:
I never play with them;
they turn their backs on me;
too snooty for the likes of me.
Dashes, though – I love them –
they just run and run –
like frantic puppies panting for a walk –
turn every thing I write
into an homage –
to Emily, of course…
Yesterday I was a chair –
a soft place to nestle with a book.
Today, I’m a table, spread with food.
Sit, eat. This is a generous house.
I was a bed, for months,
baby head heavy on my shoulder,
and most days I’m a bookcase,
carrying a rich burden of words.
I’m a cupboard. Open me.
See, all that shiny viscera,
and cups and saucers,
and my beating heart
and I’m the TV in the corner
of the room, with sound turned down,
and I’m a deck-chair,
leaning back among the roses.
This just tumbled out as my response to Qbit’s comment on my last post. It’s a bit ragged at the edges, but I thought I’d seize the moment.
This mask –
once a god’s,
dripping – ah! –
eternity’s lead wall.
Oceans boiling away,
scented with destruction –
just an echoing stone,
the song a passing curio.
I’ve been admiring other people’s erasure poems and vaguely waiting for the right poem to come along so that I can play with it myself. I read Brendan’s piece here, https://blueoran.wordpress.com/2018/05/31/old-saint-brendans-water-mask/ and some words just popped out at me, so I decided to go with it. I would describe Brendan as a “big” poet – his poems are not just physically big, they have big themes, big references, big resonances. I hope I’ve managed to keep some of that “bigness” in this very small poem.
The lovely team at Vita Brevis have published one of my poems – and given it a beautifully apt illustration! via Doorways
“We are all suns”
you said – “Burning
to live, burning to die”.
We light candles.
What else can we do?
These short days
leave us scrabbling
for light, longing
for the world to tilt,
to throw the sun
a little higher in the sky.
We light candles,
burn fires, seek warmth:
there’s an ancient forest
all that sunlight stored
in deep darkness, waiting
for us, for millenia.
We burn to live.
We burn to die.
A rather late solstice poem. Maybe it just works as a winter poem?