Fairground – dVerse MTB

I feel like cotton candy: sugar and air
You know I’ll taste of fairgrounds –
sugar, grease, too much adrenaline.
Right now, the world’s a helter skelter
and I’m just barely hanging on here.
I’m screaming. It’s all too much –
I mean the music, and the lights, and
that girl swaying where she stands.
The whole world’s hot dog shaped,
too smoky and too salty. We’re heading up
and out – my heart’s a chair-o-plane,
a roller coaster, and this soft pink
camouflage is fooling nobody. Not even me.
I fired the gun and hit the ace of spades.
I threw the ball. I missed the prize,
but I got you, hot hand clenched tight and sticky,
face flashing in the broken light
from the headspinning waltzers. You and me,
we never walk, we run,
we never talk, we laugh,
we never stop. We keep on going,
way beyond the last ride,
and the dark place, where there’s someone
retching noisily, and someone moaning,
way beyond the Ferris Wheel, up high
beyond that great Big Dipper. Hold me tight –
I’m only just still here, I’m everybody’s
candy dream – and you? You’re restless, and I know
you will always be restless. It’s in your blood.

 

This is for Amaya at dVerse, who gives us a fascinating prompt. I wasn’t sure how this was going to work out, but I think we got somewhere. Amaya told us to take  two quotes from two different books. We can choose them randomly, or with purpose. One forms the first line, one the last, and we must write the poem in between them. I chose a fairly random quote from The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, and The Virgin in the Garden by A S Byatt – both books are highly recommended, and neither have much to do with fairgrounds. I opened at a random page and chose a line that spoke to me.

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Dear you – for dVerse

Just to let you know
that I know
that this
will not be easy –
for any of us. Not
for you, and you
won’t protect us.

I’m here, in this home
that you don’t really
understand, and yet
you’ve passed on things
I like, so maybe
I underestimate you. Maybe
there is a wildness in you
that you’ve held tight inside,

maybe that wildness
is the thing that will
cling on, that will
have to be
untangled, thread by
painful thread.

I am not blaming you.

Please know that. Even though
ours is a second step,
second hand love, it is still love,

and you are someone I would hold,

but maybe never know,
and maybe they don’t know you, either,
and maybe that’s the thing
that will cling on,
that will have to be
untangled,
thread
by
painful
thread.

I am not blaming you.

I am just looking into
these next months, and
wondering what I’ll
have to do, how it will be,
when that first home
is emptied, becomes
just a set of rooms.

I’m going to sign off now,
reminding you I love you,
for the warmth of you,
and the laughter,
and the home you made,

and I will never blame you.

 

A letter poem for Bjorn at dVerse. 

Summer rain – a trimeter for Frank

The rain comes down in rods,
In sheets, in cats and dogs,
We sit and watch the day
Dissolve, get washed away.

Like maidens in a tower
Beseiged by men of power
Dark arrows from the sky
Keep us at home, and dry

And all the dripping leaves
The darkly clouded trees,
The raindrops on the glass,
The mud be-spattered grass

Are things that give rain joy,
She treats them as a toy –
She’d play with us, no doubt,
If we went running out

And jumped and danced in mud
And laughed at the small flood
That tumbles down the lane
And sings a song of rain.

 

Te TUM te TUM te TUM. A trimeter for Frank, who is hosting MTB at dVerse. For my American readers – this is what happens in England in the summer. Ah, well, we make the most of it. In fact, when I went to tag this, “summer rain” was already a tag, so it’s obviously a common theme for me!

Early morning – minute poem for dVerse

Days when I walk in the garden,
Early morning,
When the dew clings
To all green things,

Before the sun climbs up too high,
Burning the sky,
When each leaf glows,
Each flower grows,

Then I am open to the world,
My soul unfurled,
And I glow too,
And I grow new.

 

Frank is minding the bar at dVerse tonight. He’s asked us to write a minute poem – 60 syllables, arranged 844 x 3, with an aabb rhyme scheme. Frank is a bit of a king of forms, so he’s setting the bar high.