Progress (Day 24)

Back when I wore shorts

And was always laid up in bed

With all kinds of vicious colds

I used to frequently hear my father

Cussing

and swearing

imagining he was Hoplong Cassidy

when he took out flies and ants.

Now I am as old

as he was back then

And ill yet again,

I can hear my partner

running around

With similar cans

Like they are pistols

Screaming and swearing

Why won’t the stay dead.

Why won’t they stop jumping

Up and down

like they are backing dancers

for Lady GaGa?

Why won’t they stop dancing

like they are in three legged races

and stop teasing you

like at the Chicken on

the other side of the road.   

I think you will be proud

to see the progress I’ve not made.

(Today's challenge at NaPoWriMo asked us for
'Today’s prompt is a bit of a doozy . . . so if you feel like you don’t have it in you, feel free, as always, to take a pass! Today’s challenge is a lipogram/Beautiful Outlaw/Beautiful In-Law. A lipogram is a poem that explicitly refrains from using certain letters. The most classic letter to swear off, at least for English speakers, is “e.” A Beautiful Outlaw is a variation on a lipogram, wherein you refrain from using any of the letters in a certain name. For example, if you chose the name Sarah, then you could not use s, a, r, or h. A Beautiful In-Law is another variant, wherein you only use the letters in a certain name (better pick a long name!)'.. Sadly owning to stress at work and also ill health, I wrote the above which went on about my weekend where i was recently ill.. Enjoy!) 

Last Acting Job (Day 23)

All I have to do
is to start telling you
and I am back there again
head in my hands
looking blankly at the floor.

Listening to the audience
as they laugh and hoot
before the lights swoops over
them like a intergution light
on a tranced voyage.

Listening to the rain
move like footprints
and the course giggling
of Frank as he whispered
'Are you ready yet?'

Of course I wasn't
but I couldn't tell him that.

I couldn't tell him
why my head felt like
an out-take of the Scream
and why my wig never
felt level
and my eye liner
and make up
felt like disscolving acid.

I couldn't tell you
about my broken finger nails
and ripped out eyelashes
as well as my worn out boots.

You saw the half drunk bottle
of Whiskey thou.




(Day 23 of NaPoWriMo asked for 'oday, I challenge you to write an ekphrastic poem — that is, a poem that responds to or is otherwise inspired by a work of art. Probably the most famous ekphrastic poem in English is Keats’ Ode on a Grecian Urn, but there is no lack of modern ekphrastic work. Take Auden’s Musee de Beaux Arts or Robert Lowell’s For the Union Dead. So go forth and find a painting, sculpture, photograph, or even a piece of music, and use it to inform your poem for today. Art creates art — it’s so efficient!' I err.. reflected on the reason I packed
in being a actor many years - enjoy - lol) 

The good, the bad and the brush off (Day 22)

Looking up from my plate

After finishing my tea

While hearing your pots

Crash like cars beeping

In the distance

I see the ghost of your

Little cat’s smile.

I see her eyes move

Up and down

In a sudden interest

As she follows my hands

Then my head

As I stood up.

I see her nose twitch

In the air

Like a bloodhound

Assisting Sherlock Holmes

Hunting the hound

Of the Baskerville.

I see her nose sniff

Like Lassie in hunt

For treasure

Before then been

Taken over by Black Beauty

Running wildly

Over the hills.

I see her nose

Twitch like Skippy

As she threatened

To start hopping

All over the place

Before stretching her

Paws towards my food

Like a Cheetach

From the Tarzan films.

She reached over

With giant paws

Moving slowly

And quietly

To get to my plate

Before I realised.

She reached over

Like a silent cheetah

Mixed with a Chameleon

Moving slowly

Slowly

Slowly

Slowly

Across the side of the chair

Then the edge of the couch

Like she was crossing

The savannah

Slowly

Slowly

Slowly

Only to find I ate all of my tea

But I gave her something extra

Anyhow.

(Day 22 of NaPoWriMo asked for a poem about a plant.

However as I was out, I mis-read it as about a animal and wrote another

poem about my partner's younger cat who was very keen to get

at my Cheese and Onion Sandwich the other night)

Three short hay(na)ku for Cathym (Day 21)

(I)

Face

kisses face

in morning rain.

(II)

Loving

You is

More than truth.

(III)

I

Love you

I love you.

(Day 21 of http://www.napowrimo.net/ asked for 'Our prompt today comes to us from Vince Gotera, who suggests that we try out hands at hay(na)ku. This is a verse form similar to the haiku, invented by Eileen Tabios, and which Vince named! For more on the history of hay(na)ku, take a look here.

The hay(na)ku form is pretty easy. Each hay(na)ku contains three lines. The first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words. You can chain hay(na)ku together into multi-verse poems.

Here’s a simple (and admittedly not very good!) example:

Do
you like
writing poems? Yes!

Unlike the haiku, hay(na)ku have no syllable restrictions, so your words can be as long or short as you please. Happy writing!'.. Although I have wrote haiku before, this was a totally new form for me and therefore been the case, it made sense my first three attempts at this were wrote for my partner and although are fairly simple maybe were fun to write) 

Journey (Day 20)

Our train froze down a tunnel
Sucking sweets
Before spitting them back out
And crunching them across the tracks
So it sounded like broken conkers.

Our train disappeared

With stiffened red curtains

Blowing in the darkness

Like a door minus it’s hinges

And the air smelling pepper

Before choking out soot

And down our walls

Like it was holding onto the sky

Asking you to wait behind the line

While dancing on diamonds

As the journey home

Never felt more far away.  

The End (Day 19)

Looking back what you were thinking

When we climbed into your nana’s attic

And you kicked the ladder out

From underneath our feet.

Looking back you said

That was the point

And we should have

Somewhere more private.

Somewhere where the dust

Felt more than a apologsy

For being forgotten in time.

Somewhere where the fragmented sun

Would feel like it

Was permanently blinking.

Somewhere interesting

Where we could dribble coke

Over the top of the world,

Crunch biscuits

Into its spine

And sugar plum cakes

At it’s heart

As we celebrated the end

Of our childhood.   

Sleeping Lullaby (Day 18)

Rest your sleeping head, my love

And count a wistful goodbye

As the dawn blows a wet handle

Against the walls of our tent.

Rest your sleeping head, my love

And kiss the winds of dawn

So your blanket becomes a wall

and the wind sounds like Jazz.

Rest your sleeping head, my love

And climb each cloud

Swimming through colours

Splashing up to our necks.

Rest your sleeping head, my love

And listen to the grass swaying

As the dawn blows a wet handle

Against the walls of our tent,

Watched by constant love.

 (Day 18 off http://www.napowrimo.net/ asked us to write a lullaby.. 'Soothing, short, repetitive and usually rhyming . . . lullabies exist in every culture. Perhaps you could write a special lullaby for poets? “Hush little poet, lay down your pen/Momma’s gonna buy you the complete Dickinson.” The rhyme’s a little slant, and the meter a bit wobbly, but it will do! Happy writing.' The piece I wrote here for is another of my sleeping poems to my other half done in a lullaby style (ish).