NaPoWriMo: Day 14 (very behind!)

Tags

NaPoWriMo, poem, poetry

So, I just wrote this in response to the prompt I shared this morning! Enjoy 🙂

Strawberry flowers

 

Found everywhere this morning

In the strawberry flowers

Ants? Out!

There is more

 

Breath-taking, breath-making

Sigh, gasp, make us

Breathe. You are alive

Watching things grow

 

Cruel season as much life

As promise of death

Too short, too soon

Declaring itself alive

 

With the smells of cut grass

And the hum of winged

Beasts determined to land

In my hair. I matter

 

And don’t matter all

At once god is an artist

Painting the future and helping

Some of us to get there

 

One colour at a time.

How…?

Tags

how?, poem, poems, poetry, questions, video

Here’s a video version of a poem I wrote recently. It’s made entirely of questions, because I really don’t have any answers at the moment.

I hope you enjoy it.

And if you want to read it, here’s the link.

https://wordsthatserve.wordpress.com/2020/04/14/napowrimo-day-12/

All the love x

NaPoWriMo: Day Thirteen

Tags

NaPoWriMo, poem, poems, poetry

I’m a bit behind – it’s ok, I’ll catch up. For now, this:

 

 

Pain

 

Instructions be be followed,

Or not,

At your own pace.

 

Close the gate, lock it, chain it do not

Answer the door, shut the windows,

Stuff the cracks in the walls, your skin, do not

Let it in because sometimes we have to begin

by resisting.

 

Some people may be able to skip this stage.

You do not have to be one of those people.

Once it gets in, which it will,

Take it on, carry it, find a way for it to be

Manageable if not comfortable while you

Move on together.

 

Some people may be able to make friends with it, forgive it, appreciate it.

You do not have to be one of those people.

 

Once you’ve carried it for a while, which you will

Time will come for you to put it down, temporarily

or for good, that’s up to you. Then again

 

If you don’t want to put it down, ever, that’s ok too.

One day you will anyway, through no effort of your own

You will not longer be alive to carry it.

NaPoWriMo: Day 12

Tags

NaPoWriMo, poem, poetry

When all you have is questions…make a poem of them.

How…?

 

How many spiders are there in this house?

And do they really all need second webs?

How many times have I looked at these windows and thought,

they could do with a clean, then returned to

eating, reading, drinking, tweeting, watching, eating?

How many cakes, cookies, sourdough breads does it take,

to grow a person too big to leave the house, even if

they wanted to?

How many rainbows have been stuck on windows?

And does that mean the people inside are always in

a colourfully uninterrupted state of sun and rain?

 

How many Thursday nights would it take to make

our gratitude loud enough to be heard in heaven,

or whatever name you give to that place or state

where the ones who’ve already left are now?

How many samey days will it take to make me forget

days used to have names, Monday, Tuesday…next day?

How do you make friends with being scared?

 

How long before I can harvest those radishes I planted?

How do you mend something that’s never been this broken before

and can’t be delivered in battered, broken, much loved pieces

to the experts at the BBCs Repair Shop, so they can make it right

on a Wednesday night while mum and I watch from the sofa?

How can we make sure, so totally absolutely, guarantee nobody

falls through the gaps as the world cracks along

fault lines we knew were there but chose to step over,

walk around, stuff with psychological sociological polyfilla?

 

How many people allowed in the shop at any one time?

How much salt in those crisps, those tears, the sea and where

did it all come from? And how many minutes of tears to fill

a 330ml can and is that how you drink the pain away?

 

How do you grieve numbers, or manage the agony when you dare

to give each one a name, and a family and an unrealised dream

or two or three?

How many times did you, I, he, she, they

the postman,  the rubbish collector, the funeral parlour worker,

the doctor, the nurse, the hospital cleaner, the residential home carer

the one who stacked the shelves, the one who cooked your supper

wash their hands? And when you add all those twenty seconds together

and launch that number into the sky on a prayer would it find

enough stars to know itself?

 

How many zooms before you start zoning out?

How many friends does it take to make not ok, ok?

Why is this happening?

How many?

How much?

How long?

NaPoWriMo: Day 11

Tags

NaPoWriMo, poem, poems, poetry

There, then

 

I wish I were there, then.

But I’m here, now, wondering how

to escape with paper and pen

back to that time when

 

I stood at the sink in the early morning admiring

the colour of the water dyed by the red cabbage

I’d just washed, then watched that beautiful blue

disappear down the plug hole.

If I were then again, there again, I would

bathe in the beauty of wonder instead of

letting it drain away. If I could please

just be there again, then again, when

 

we sat at your kitchen table drinking tea

while you sang to your baby granddaughter

and we laughed through the love gathering

in the air threatening another shower of devotion.

If I were then again, there again, I would

ignore the call of the parking meter and

linger over the Portuguese custard tart. If only

I were then again, there again, when

 

I pushed my shopping trolley ahead, leaning

forward until it pulled me gliding down the aisles

with my pizza, spinach and coffee, still shopping

regularly enough not to need that much

and I could enjoy a brief chat with the woman

behind in the line once I’d placed the divider on the belt

to be sure her things didn’t mix with mine. Simple times

worthy of a postcard right now I’d gladly pay

 

the cost of a flight to Dad in Bali just to push

my supermarket trolley through carefree aisles

again instead of hanging the present in a noose

of nostalgia.

NaPoWriMo: Day 10

Tags

NaPoWriMo, poem, poetry

 

A forest in the palm of my hand

 

If only in potential.

A collection of tiny big bang beginnings

landing, seeking, breaking, taking.

Or not. Some beginnings birth only

endings, while others birth more

 

tiny big bang beginnings seeds that hold

the future seed that will birth future generations

of trees not yet brought into being.

 

A forest

in the palm of my hand.

 

But where to plant it? And who

will take care of this forest I sow, as it grows?

Will I ever know these potential trees in their full

knee high to the sky majesty?

 

And who will be the one to bring them

down with the roaring saw of a man made storm?

I clench my hand into a fist, resist –

 

Listen

To the roots longing to dig deep,

To the leaves longing to drink and bask and dance

Through the seasons,

To the yet-to-be-borns longing to kick

Through autumn leaves and climb

Into the loving embrace of branches.

 

To the forest

in the palm of my hand.

NaPoWriMo: Day 9

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NaPoWriMo, poem, poems, poetry

NaPoWriMo: Day 8

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NaPoWriMo, poem, poetry

NaPoWriMo: Day 7

Tags

NaPoWriMo, poem, poetry

Relearning How to Hug

Bodies rusty and clumsy
hearts choke overexcited
how does it start again?

In the eyes, look for
the warmth, a smile. Don’t
worry, you’ll recognise it.

Then raise your arms, keeping
eye contact, wrap your arms
across their back, overlapped.

Not too light or tight, don’t
grab hold for dear life!
Then breathe. Now let go.

You must
let go.

Let
go.

Friends

Tags

friends, poem, poetry

 

Friends

 

 

Friends are there

for each other right

building their might

behind not you or me

but us, together, we

must tend this world

without a scowl or a smirk

just the willingness to work

at the compassion that says

I know your pain

I’ve been there

I know your joy

I’ve flown there

with wings so strong and free

I was sure I could take the whole world with me,

but they stayed behind, why,

I don’t want this just for me

It’s nothing if not shared, so frankly

what’s the point if you’re not in the sky too

refusing to look down and

racing at the clouds

until they part like a floating white sea

you, me, free

laughing our way over the mountain peeks

until we reach the other side

and fall clinging to each other

through the pain of a landing

that doesn’t break us but sows

the seed of something new

in a soft soil that takes our tears

as invitations to try again

bigger, brighter, lighter, taller

reaching up with the grace of

tender topmost branches

that dance and sway

and leave the flying to the birds

preferring to stay rooted in the earth

because this time it’s not just about the highs

but earth and sky

and everything in between

I mean, love is the trunk

that thickens in circles, expands

with the breath of the years that roughen

the bark and keep the insides wildly tenderly

alive, so thank you

for rooting me in the earth

who’s darkness I was afraid of

for I never know what I’m made of

until you need me, see me

feed me your belief in the me I can’t

yet see myself but catch a glimpse of

in the light of your love but it’s not enough

to thank you I want to grow you too,

shine so you can see

the best in you.