Everyday Poetry

Another sudden wrench. Someone I've been following on Instagram for a while has 'unexpectedly, suddenly, and quickly passed away', leaving behind a big gap.  I started following her as she was a vibrant, plus-sized woman in her 60s - a fabulous body positive role model. It's odd how close you can become to influencers, even though you don't really know them in any true sense.  A couple of encouraging responses to my comments doesn't count as a conversation, let alone a friendship, but I will miss you Manny.  Her big orange chair stands empty,  no longer needed for her quirky GRWMs featuring sequins, tulle, leopard print, leather, hand painted denim, riotous colours  you'd never dream of putting together but which worked so well with her sass, signature oversized glasses and smile.  She exhorted us all to live loud, to wear what makes you happy,  not to save the special for a special day, reminding us we only have one life to live.  © Copyright 202...

Part of my daily physio to counteract arthritic knees and hip is 20 minutes on the exercise bike. It's actually quite an enjoyable start to the day, giving me plenty of thinking time. Pedalling hard Easing knees, teasing ease, Breeze on my face as I race Towards a distant day Of walking without thought  Without stick or support, Walking out of the door Going further than before Each step bringing more. Legs pound, pound, pound, Thoughts go round, round, round. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

After posting on my Instagram page (@chris.auger.370.poetry) about having writer's block, this came to me in the gym this morning,  thinking about what each person's motivation  might be. Chasing dreams Training for a marathon  training for a park run getting out of the house getting an hour's rest from the kids shaping a toned beach body shaping up against low mood fitting back into those perfect jeans fighting back against old age looking for admiring glances looking to be Insta ready feeling muscles working hard feeling anxieties slipping away we're all strengthening, flexing, pushing, we're all chasing our own dreams. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

I haven't written any poems for quite a while,  resting after the intensity of the OU course in Creative Writing, and this year's Napowrimo which seemed to have sucked me dry.  But this morning a painting of Acker Bilk by my friend Jocelyn Gilfoyle prompted a memory of my Dad, which needed to be recorded.  He had a great love of instrumental music especially brass bands, which were unappealing to me as a child - after the first few tracks I'd usually had enough.  But I loved the novelty of him coaxing music out of his cornet, just by pursing his lips and blowing,  It only came out at Christmas, The scuffed black case with its puffy silk lining, The tarnished brass cornet nestled safe inside. Each year his girls would ask him to play His party piece at the family gathering, Amazed that his puckered lips could draw  Sweet notes from this unassuming instrument. He'd always start with an apology for being rusty, But once the first few wavering notes were tested...

Day 30: ' write a poem that describes different times in which you’ve heard the same band or piece of music across your lifetime.' I've chosen to write about the music of Ian Dury and the Blockheads, as I was a big fan back in the 70s.   Reasons to be cheerful Bootlegs tapes were the best we could get Back in the dissaffected punk rock days Of penniless rebellion.  Played loud and proud To shock, offend, we relished each  double entendre As Dury hit us over and over with his rhythm stick.  Blink of an eye, and they're hidden Behind New Wave CDs at the back of an MFI rack, Safe from prying eyes and sticky fingers,  To save the embarrassment of innocent questions About sex and drugs, and rock and roll.  Yesterday, driving home to the 'Sounds of the Seventies' Whispering Bob is featuring the Blockheads, Revealing a poignancy long forgotten  As Dury croons about his Old Man,  Elegizes Sweet Gene Vincent.  © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All R...

Day 29: ' write a poem that takes its inspiration from the life of a musician, poet, or other artist.'   I've chosen to write about Maya Angelou, whose poems and sexy vocal growl I find really mesmerising. She truly was a phenomenon - known primarily as a poet, writer and activist, she was also an educator, actress, singer and dancer. During her lifetime she was awarded the National Medal of Arts by President Clinton, the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Obama, and over 50 honorary degrees.  All this despite a deprived background where she was the victim of child abuse.  Phenomenal Woman            "A wise woman wishes to be no- one's enemy; a wise woman refuses to be anyone's                   victim." Maya Angelou . Her voice rises  an unstoppable force from the depths of her subterranean growl to the soaring flight of the freed bird, teaching us all to walk with diamonds...