Monday, 30 April 2012

The last NaPoWriMo poem...and relax!


Read me in threads.
See me in precise stitches.
Take in the text
lovingly woven
and specially chosen.

Find comfort in patterns,
decipher the colours
and look for the deliberate blemish
that is
my trademark.

Turn me over,
See how neatly worked I am.
Hold me in your hands
and see if you know me
or what is meant by craft.

Sunday, 29 April 2012

Penultimate NaPoWriMo poem


Sometime after the storm
optimistic freshness set in.
Skies that could be on the Simpsons
wipe the weather slate clean.
We can go out now.
We don’t want to but
the thought that we could
make things seem better.
Light takes on healing qualities and
shadows seem friendly,
losing their sinister intent.
It’s another Sunday evening
with dinner to come and the
final juice of freedom to be squeezed
from the weekend.
Another cycle,
the same old, same old
and contentment pervades
like the smell of the Sunday roast.

Saturday, 28 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 28/30 Grief Encounter

Grief Encounter

Just when you think the waters are safe,
that there’s air to breathe
and walking upright is normal again,
it strikes.

A freak wave,
or rogue wind
turns you cartwheels
with a sucker punch.

Today Dad came calling
and I’m breathless,
head swims in an
ether-induced haze.

If nothing exists in a vacuum
how does nothing
manages to hurt so much
leaving scars on scars?

As is the way of the English,
I fight fire with tea,
dunk biscuits the way my
mind soaks in memories.

But you can’t drink tea
with a stiff upper lip.
As I sip his voice echoes
and a smile returns.

Not at a remembrance,
but how awkward he would find this;
emotion, outward displays of affection
and the lack of decent biscuits in the south.

Friday, 27 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 27/30 Triplet Poem

This poem is a triplet. Three stanzas of three lines of three words


She is sunshine,
beams and vitamins,
rays and warmth.

He is rain,
deluge and downpours,
advancing cold fronts.

Do opposites attract
and can they
weather the storm?

Haiku for Jeremy Hunt NaPoWriMo 26/30

A bit of a cop out I know to do a haiku but yesterday was my launch event and it got incredibly busy.

Breakfast at Jeremy Hunt's Residence

"Toast darling"? She asked
"Yes", he resignedly said,
 "I probably am".

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 25/30

Mischief Winds

The rain gods came today;
showed their glowering faces
and puffed out cheeks.
The signs had knocked our door
had we been more astute.

Disturbed air,
a feeling of unease
and rippled shadows
made us wish we had  
crossed our fingers.

They’re out there now
weighing options.
Are we too small
for their powers
or will they taunt us?

So we draw blinds,
lay lines of salt
across thresholds
and whisper songs
forgotten since childhood.

We will trust to light now,
tend fire as if an orphan,
Swap secrets in the glow
and test truth
with the fragile flames.

Tuesday, 24 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 24/30 Poem "Golden"


They were in the middle of a comfortable silence.
An epic, comfortable silence.
So far it had lasted three and a half years.
Each day they woke and bit their tongues
To prevent spoiling their wordless cocoon.

Six months in, he had taken a breath to tell her
He was so wonderfully happy
At how comfortable their silence was
But she caught it and her eyes flashed both lightning and love
Letting him know she knew and saying it might be a jinx.

They left notes for each other
Magnetically pinned to the fridge,
Rediscovered the art of love letters and
found depths to themselves in silence
they would never have found by talking.

He had once left a note suggesting they learn to sign
But she thought that would be cheating and
somehow the silence would know.
So they read each other day by day
Looked deep beyond the other’s soul.

Each day became a dance to the music of rests
Of expanded hearts and anchoring love.
 They disconnected the phone,
Cancelled the cable and hid the radio
At the back of the closet.

Finally, he had to tell her and let it all out.
It was like a soufflé collapsing.
Wordlessly she packed and left,
Crumpled and airless
Wondering how long the next one would last.

Monday, 23 April 2012

Latest NaPoWriMo poem 23/30

That Time

There was that time
we got the good table
by the window with the view
and the sunset was ours to share
or not.

There was that time
we were given free
champagne and you drank
both glasses because I
was driving.

There was that time
the moon turned somersaults
just for us
because it said
we made him happy.

There was that time
we waited until
sunrise, then
turned our backs
pretending we didn’t care.

There was that time
with the butterflies,
like huge, unwieldy
homemade kites
landing on our hands.

There was that time
we remembered there was that time
but we couldn’t remember
how the story ended
or even if it had happened to us.

Sunday, 22 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 22/30 Children's poem

Eggs on Beans on Cheese on Toast

The meal I like to eat the most

In the town or on the coast

Every day, that is my boast

At posh parties when I’m the host

Order by email, phone or post

I’d fight anyone, even ghosts

I prefer them to Sunday roast

‘Cos it’s the food I love the most


Saturday, 21 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 21/30

Café Antonia (and other fallen soldiers)

It’s strange to think
there are places on the planet
that you can pinpoint
exactly where you where
ten years ago.

Her birthday and a recommendation
from a friendly hotel receptionist
led to not just a meal,
or an experience,
but a story.

We wouldn’t have been brave enough
viewing the exterior,
and a French Moroccan restaurant
in Spain?
We paused.

But it was one of those rare times
when you felt the planets aligned,
the heavens had deigned to favour you
and lady luck greeted you
with a big, wet French (Moroccan) kiss.

Waiters, atmosphere, décor, wine, food, prices;
characters in a narrative
told many times.
We sent many on the pilgrimage.
All came back believers.

Now our memories are just two ghosts
trapped inside the corpse
of another failed business.
We ask a local,
“It’s complicated” he says.

Tonight, we will light a candle;
remember that first tagine,
wine charged by the centimetre
and waiters who showed chefs wiped-clean plates
that promised hope for the English after all.

Friday, 20 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 20/30 Latest poem


We are the faithful,
waiting for sun.
We believe in the sun,
we know the sun,
know beyond doubt he will be here soon.
We have felt his love,
our skins show our devotion:
from the lobster of new disciples
to the deep mahogany
of long time apostles.

While we wait for the sun,
we discuss the sun;
the time he appeared yesterday
and how glorious that was,
how clouds tried to thwart him
but because he loves us so much,
he overcame the clouds
and blessed us with his presence.
We drank wine and broke bread
and rejoiced by the taking off of clothes.

Some were baptised in the pool
and others just donned sunglasses
in honour of him, overcome with thanks.
It is late in the afternoon now
and still we keep the faith.
Cream and oil waits to anoint us
towels lie ready to be our shrouds;
surely he will not disappoint us today
when we love him so fiercely
and have spent so much on air fares?

Thursday, 19 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 19/30 Seven degrees

Seven degrees

If the “Seven degrees of separation” theory is true:
That every human being on the planet
Is only six steps away as a
Friend of a friend of a friend
Of a friend of a friend of a friend,
How come only fourteen people
Turned up to my last gig?
By my calculation, that is over
seven billion dropped balls,
or un-pulled out fingers.
Incompetence or apathy on a massive,
Epic, worldwide scale.
Shampoo sales must have been
through the roof that day;
head and shoulders above
all previous records.
Or perhaps they all stayed in to watch
Simon Cowell’s latest programme
As their souls were swept to hell.
Just a thought!

Wednesday, 18 April 2012

Today's Poem from Tenerife

Girl, undressing.

Today in Tenerife, it is twenty-four degrees
with a little too much sand in the sky.

The girl is working, setting out her
kaleidoscope of dresses, tops and shifts.

When she is ready,
she announces the parade.

On one chair is an unfeasible number
of garments for one girl to wear.

The other chair crouches silently
waiting for the discards after their solo.  

She begins. Parading by the pool
in elegant toe-first steps.

Ten metres to the right, back to centre.
Ten metres to the left, back to centre.

Appoaching base camp, without breaking stride
her hands cross just below the waist and

grasping the hem, in one single,
upward fluid stroke, she has undressed.

Men become meerkats, staring and storing 
her tall, tanned, toned frame

now dressed in only
bikini and high heels.

Just as quickly, she shucks on the next dress
and for an hour repeats the cycle:

To the right, to the left,
undress, re-dress.

It is a lifetime of one night stands
enacted in an hour.

Afterwards, men buy their women
tops and dresses from her.

Penance for their wishes
to have been an audience of one

just once in a faceless hotel
in any anonymous town.

As she leaves they would say,
“I don’t even know your name”.

“Rebecca” she replies,

Tuesday, 17 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 17/30 Poem called "Tired"


Let me lie forever.
Let me drown in sleep,
Forget about life altogether
Just leave me counting sheep.

Abandon me to Morpheus,
May dreams be my waking state.
Let me marry my duvet and pillow
And only regret it when it’s too late.

Think of me as present in spirit
While the rest of me simply unwinds
I’ll be your sleeping partner
And you can rob me blind.

So, just let me lie here forever
No matter how urgent the news
Or if I really do HAVE to get up
At least, please let me press “Snooze”

Monday, 16 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 16/30 Poem Long Game

Long Game

He shivers in sunshine;
gasps though
oxygen is plentiful;
he walks to work
the long way
just to past her house.

When he sees her,
the universe falls into place
like tumbler locks,
yielding its secrets and treasure;
the whole thing, from the big bang on,
was to give birth to her.

She is freshness and light,
softness and wonder,
angel whispers and silk,
but more than all that,
she does not wear it
like best jewellery.

And one day,
he will talk to her.

NaPoWriMo 15/30 Code breaking

I missed the midnight deadline on this one but for the best of reasons: a full day of poetry activities at the wonderful Wenlock Poetry Festival. I got home close to midnight and I had started the poem but was too tired to concentrate.

Code breaking

There was no swearing
in a Pentecostal house.
So parents, when discussing words
children should not hear,
would clinically dismember them
and whisper each letter.

This somehow drew the word’s sting.
The same logic says chocolate bars
are less fattening in chunks.
When I learned to spell
they were undone, but weren’t prepared
to go as far as anagrams.

Saturday, 14 April 2012

NaPoWriMo 14/30 Nearly Halfway!

This Coming Saturday at 11.43am.

Graham had always known he was slightly
psychic. He could always accurately
predict one, out of the six lottery
numbers every week. Well, nearly always.
And he could tell you if a coin would be
heads or tales, fifty per cent of the time,
which couldn’t just be a coincidence.

His unrivalled expertise however
was in predicting when church bells would peal.
His skin would stretch tight like a drum bracing
itself for the stick; nostrils would rabbit
twitch, all body hair would point magnetic
north and he’d whisper, “Look out! This is it”.

Though he knew, he knew it would happen, there
was always that suspension of breath and
heartbeat when anything might not happen;
followed by the wave of high-speed caffeine
adrenalin euphoria when it
did. No less than a kind of exquisite
dying in so many  bittersweet ways.
This is why, he never went to weddings.