A rest from writing bad poetry
Phew! Napowrimo is over, with a huge sigh of relief. My poetry has been less than satisfying this April. Inspiration must strike before I start again.
The bread experiments are progressing well – it is tasty and keeps fresh for days. I can’t work out how to programme the machine to bake overnight, so the latest loaf was baked
at 2300 last night, and the house still smells good this morning.
Quilting: not so good – another experiment in paper foundation piecing should have been finished days ago, were it not for my ineptitude! I am using this free pattern from generous Cath Hall of Wombat Quilts. So far so bad, it maybe abandoned:
I have been rhapsodizing over the joys of spring for several weeks, but this week has been cold and wet, so morale has taken a knock.
Napowrimo ends today
Thank God for that, I hear you say.
Now we can let go of stress –
write poetry that flows
or none at all, as heaven knows
good poetry is not mechanical.
This daily regime tyrannical
to poetic contemplation.
A poem a day for a month
leads to verbal constipation.
So until October, this is the end.
DAY 30 – NaPoWriMo Prompt for April 30, 2015 This is the End, sang Jim Morrison. Write an end poem. It can be an end of the month poem, a last poem for your next collection of poetry, an end of an era, relationship, or world poem. The last four words of the poem should be: this is the end.
Lost in fog near river,
weaving through my trembling legs
small cat came and purred.
Cat led the way home
beckoned by porch light.
Smog hid London streets
‘til a gust of blessed wind
showed us stars, still there.
Tanka and Haiku for Heeding Haiku Challenge at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie
Where people connect
recollect they have a brain
their skill with numbers
exercise the social art
before the time comes to depart
or on the way to suicide
when partner asks you why
you bid that slam
you lost the rubber
two trumps left uncounted
error fatal –
counting trumps is vital
partner gloats with cruel recital
of your mistakes in spades
Image by Tess Photography
Tit for tat –
I took her head
she took mine back.
She spoiled my dinner
leaving me with no mouth.
I really can’t abide the surreal.
What’s wrong with really real?
For Mindlove miserys menagerie Photo Prompt
with returning warmth.
with speckled green.
attract bumble bees.
found new families.
with increasing light.
The Napowrimo prompt for today is the hay(na)ku). Created by the poet Eileen Tabios and named by Vince, the hay(na)ku is a variant on the haiku. A hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words. We can write just one, or chain several together into a longer poem
That first evening gown was made for me
by a lady who lived down the road.
She sewed for a living – her purse must have been small –
she didn’t charge much for the hours that she spent
measuring, cutting, pinning, tacking, stitching,
ruining her eyes in poor light.
That first evening gown cost Mum four pounds
with dark yellow velour for the boned strapless bodice,
diaphanous lace for the skirt in a pale iridescent shade,
which didn’t go well with my mottled, freckled teenage skin.
The skirt was graceful and swirly, the top close-fitting and sexy
for my first ever evening dance.
That first evening ball was disastrous.
The weather was bitter, the gown no protection.
It was stained later, by a mishap with ink.
The boys weren’t impressed by my innocence
so nobody asked me to dance.
The Whirligig Wordle words (of which I used all but two) were: Shade
stain lace diaphanous clip iridescent mottled weatherdissonant velour purse
New gadget – jury is still out
I’ve been missing the taste of home made bread for a couple of years, since the house move deprived me of strength to knead. K came to lunch on Thursday, bringing a superb loaf of bread which she told us had been made without hassle in her bread-making machine. “Shall we?” said I.
“Let’s look into it” said Jock, so I did, quailing a bit at the prices. “Second hand, perhaps?” I thought, and clicked on le Bon Coin – a free small-ad site, geared to localities. A photo grabbed my eye, and a minuscule price, with the big advantage of it being a ten minute drive away.
An hour later we carried the ‘new’ machine proudly into the kitchen. Snag: no yeast, and the corner shop was closed for holidays. The Boulangerie was open, and sold me some fresh yeast. Second snag: all the recipes for bread by machine use dried yeast, so an empirical decision was taken on how much fresh to use and how to incorporate it into the other ingredients which have to be added in strict order.
Careful reading of opaque and repetitive instructions led to tentative switch-on-and-pray. The next three hours were punctuated by occasional weird noises until an urgent sounding ping told us the bread was ready.
A very odd shaped loaf (not enough yeast, unevenly distributed) was extracted with difficulty, and trial slices were cut as soon as it was cool enough to handle. Verdict? Texture OK, taste so so – Jock’s perpetual cry of “needs salt” was for once justified. I’m supposed to be on a salt-free diet, but you can’t make decent bread without salt, so I had put in about half a teaspoonful.
When we go to the market today we will get some dried yeast and try again. If that doesn’t work, we’ll write it off to experience.
for Heeding haiku, who would like us to pretend.
Live at one remove:
exist through a viewfinder
to protect from hurt.
Take off the veneer,
dive into reality –
live life unashamed
Oh how I wish for a ground hog day
just now as spring comes out to play
Pastoral scenic perfection
with delicate greens to delight,
backdrop of trees shimmering in pearly light.
A field of gold on the horizon,
with daisy and bluebell for decoration;
cherry pink foretaste of feast to come –
for the birds, not us, but who cares?
My joy is now, for a world in bloom.
Ephemeral beauty sings to me
but how I wish it could stay
for ever and ever enchanting,
perpetual ground hog day.
Some of us are blessed in our surroundings
happy to be here on God’s good earth,
beauty in the air and everything around us.
Drought, earthquake, fire and flood have brought a dearth
of sustenance, catastrophes abounding,
destruction caused by greed of man and worse,
devastation caused by acrimony,
and inability to live in harmony.
An Ottava Rima is a poem written in 8-line octaves. Each line is of a 10 or 11 syllable count in the following rhyme:scheme. Abababcc I think I could have done more justice to the theme in free verse. Posted at dVerse Poet’s Pub and the Challenge
I know that life is short
sometimes sweet, sometimes sad,
never easy, that’s for sure,
merely to be lived.
Today’s prompt at Phoenixrising is to use the Indian form, Naani, which means an expression of one and all. It consists of 4 lines, the total lines consists of 20 to 25 syllables. The poem is not bounded to a particular subject. Generally it depends upon human relations and current statements. Yesterday’s prompt at Napowrimo was to write about something we know.
Sanguinary language shocks
elderly guesthouse ladies,
who turn their heads in shame
Unhappy nightmare night
leads to daytime gone askew,
moments of dreary plight
A flurry of crimson flowers
pulls us back from the brink of sleep
into the cage of day
A bad night led to this dreary use of the Whirligig Wordle words kindly dreamed up by Magical Mystery Teacher.
One glorious morning in Spring
she was doing a Highland fling –
a dance energetic
her movement frenetic –
dressed in bling to welcome the Spring
The form for today at Phoenix Rising is to write a limerick
Posted in Poems