Everyday Poetry

Last day of the Napowrimo challenge I have to say it's been a fun ride,  but exhausting! The last challenge is to write a poem based on a weird fact, so I'm re-posting a poem I wrote on holiday which ends on a weird fact gleaned from Ripley's Believe It or Not.  With apologies to those who've seen it before. Sitting on a sunbed in the middle of the Atlantic Sizzling in the thirty plus degree heat Of a January morning My skin is on fire,  sweat running in rivulets, I'm a wax effigy, slowly melting. In a strange reversal Of an English midsummer sunbathing session I find I'm scanning the sky for the relief of a cloud. After three days at sea I've decided The best sky for sunbathing is a thin layer of cotton wool Stretched thinly over a blue,  blue sky Allowing brief moments of intense heat to punch through. Or like yesterday,  isolated grey clouds Bringing short, sharp showers Sprinkling cool rain onto too-hot skin. Drifting away in a heat -

Pheasant Pick a poem from the Plath Poetry Project's Calendar and write a response to it.  I chose her poem The Pheasant, in honour of the pheasants who regularly visit our garden bird feeders. Plath's poem used a verse form of 3 line verses, each line having around 9 syllables;  my response follows the same format. The birds are fed in our garden All through the hard winter months Spring breeding, summer feeding, and autumn The feeders hang in the lilac tree Birds perch in its branches waiting Their turn for the sunflower hearts. Goldfinches, bullfinches, chaffinches, Pick out each seed, find its plump heart Tossing  its husk onto the ground. Then, with a clatter and whirring of wings The pheasant appears over the hedge Calling out its loud chock - chock greeting. He visits the feeders throughout the day Strutting through the undergrowth Pacing slowly, with meticulous care Beady eyes searching this way and that Gobbling discarded husks and specks of fa

Prose Poem Write a prose poem in the form of a postcard.  The poem should convey the picture on the front as well as the message on the back.  Since I'm spending the weekend with my daughter I thought I'd write a postcard home to describe my journey and say I've arrived safely. Yesterday I travelled from the cold, wet, windy Cotswolds, driving through dark and dismal spray to Birmingham, the airport bursting with the bustle of everyone's excited expectations.  A blink of an eye above the clouds and I was welcomed with a wash of warmth and brilliant brightness, and the long, long, long, lingering, lovely, loving embrace of my darling daughter, so dear, and yet so far away. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

The lovers Pick a tarot card and write a poem inspired by its picture or meaning.  I'm not familiar with the individual cards but I know there's one called The Lovers.  I've written a lot of love poems,  so this is a gift on a day when I'm travelling to the Isle of Man and haven't got a lot of spare time.  Here's one of my favourites which I wrote in 2006. My hairy-arsed miner tells me "If you knew how much I love you,  you would never feel down" And suddenly a smile erupts from deep inside to chase away my frown. This pure piece of poetry Astonishingly unexpected from this man of hidden feelings Provides the support I crave,  and respite from all his teasings. How different people can be My torment of insecurity demanding constant reassurance His absolute assumption of a shared unspoken confidence. He asks,  "Do you need anything else to make you happy?" Now there's a question.  © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Ri

Tattoo The challenge today is to write a poem that includes images that engage all the senses, being as concrete and exact as possible.  Invite the reader to see,  smell,  taste,  touch, taste and hear. This morning I had my second tattoo, After a gap of twenty years, I felt I was ready. For the first,  I went with a friend Who took me to a tattooist she used In the busy heart of Swindon's shopping centre In a parade of nondescript grey concrete shops. The parlour was full of eager customers, Flicking through lever arch folders bursting with designs Their conversation buzzing along like an echo Of the incessant buzz of the electric needles. At home,  when I had decided upon a swirl of ivy Following the curve of my left breast, I had failed to anticipate it would be so public. When it was my turn,  I perched high on the red vinyl chair, On display,  the sharp taste of terror in my mouth Flinching as the needle burned into my soft flesh Watching the hands on the

Warning Write a warning label - for yourself!  I spent some time wondering where my trigger points are and found there's lots of advice I could give to myself : don't allow near biscuits or cake; don't load games onto your tablet etc. But I wanted to produce a poem warning others about an aspect of my personality they might not be aware of,  as I don't like it very much, and try very hard to keep it hidden.  It's hard to be this honest,  but the process of writing this poem was beneficial,  and ended up being a warning to myself not to take things so much to heart. Care instructions: Such a docile exterior,  so willing to please So generous with her time,  her attention,  her cash, She'll always try to say yes,  drop existing plans to help you Offer without prompting, be your rock in a storm. But, user beware! If you should repeatedly Forget to say thank you,  take her for granted Contact her only when you need her help Assume she'll be there

Leave taking The prompt today is to write an elegy,  to honour the memory of someone, with a note of hopefulness in it.  This poem,  written not long after my dad died,  isn't exactly an elegy but certainly contains the sense of hope and loss. You smiled at me I know you did. Never mind what the doctors said Seeking to reduce my distress at your condition What do they really know? Half truths designed to reassure and soothe. They weren't there when I called your name And you looked at me and smiled. They weren't there when you winked at me And I asked you in amazement - Did you just wink at me? You did,  didn't you? And you - oh so slowly - Pointed with your finger at your eye And smiled again. They say that from the time the stroke hit You would have felt no pain Would have been unaware of where you were Or who was with you. But they weren't there when I said goodbye And you smiled and cupped your good hand round my elbow Like you alwa

Finding my voice Today's challenge is to write a poem based in sound,  perhaps incorporating overheard language or regionalism.  I've recently written this for a poetry group I belong to,  for our next meeting where we'll be sharing poems written in dialect.  It really needs to be read out loud, but hopefully the use of vaguely 'phonetic' spellings will help give a flavour of the various English dialects I've used. When I was a kid I didn't have an accent I just went dahn tahn wiv me muvver Played in the alley Greeted me mates "aw righ?" Pronounced things to be lahvly or orrid Admired flahs in the park Took trips to Sahfend Drank wor'er nuffin be''er Finished sentences wiv a question,  din I? Forgot me aitches, middle 't's. Grammar school knocked that out of me. At university,  oop north, Surrounded by a Babel of accents I made my accent stronger to create an identity To ward off the Lancashire drawl, "

Imagine the impossible Write a poem where the impossible happens - the sun rises in the west,  a circle has corners,  stars change their constellations. Softly at first,  then growing gradually louder, A grunting swishing sound floats over the tree line. Two large pink wingtips appear, Beat together,  swoop in a downward arc, Then beat together again, Straining with each beat to defeat the force of gravity. A pig, a big pink pig! Forcing itself up and over the trees, It circles the field below the woods, Growing in confidence with each new wing beat. Then over the trees fly two more porkers Round and round the trio circle Like porcine buzzards gaining height on thermals Then off they fly into the setting sun, Smaller and smaller,  dots,  then are gone. People gaze in wonder,  open mouthed, struck dumb Then buzzing with excited speculation - whatever next? Did Corbyn win the election? Have men begun doing housework? Will my poems finally be published? If pigs ca

 Narcissus Write a poem that plays with the myth of Narcissus in some way,  or comments on the narcissism of our time - beauty and body obsession. How foolish of Narcissus To stare at his reflection so long He fell in love and pined away. And yet - count the mirrors in our house An unbelievable dozen! One for brushing my hair in the morning, One (magnifying) for checking my chin for stray hairs One for brushing my teeth Two three-quarter length,  one up one down, For checking my my bum/ tum don't look too awful One for policing my yoga moves One for guests (rarely looked in) Three placed in inaccessible places to reflect the light One in the kitchen, to fill a space, One a last quick glance, before leaving the house. An excess of mirrors could reflect badly on me (Boom - Boom!) But I'm no Narcissus. Look closer at my list,  you'll see Reflected fragments, eyes, chin, hair, teeth, face There's precious little vanity in this house, No full leng

Small acts of rebellion The speaker or the subject, or the form of the poem,  should defy a rule or stricture that's been placed upon them. I was brought up to be compliant To be a woman in a man's world Look your best (make the most of what you've got) Try to fit in (what will the neighbours think) Don't argue (if you can't say something nice,  don't say anything at all). I've struggled with these strictures all my life. But it seems my mum schooled me well And just like then I conform,  with small acts of rebellion. Look your best! I've never been a girlie girl: Make up,  hair,  high heels and all that crap Is saved for when I decide to play at dressing up. Fit in! I've always hankered after a certain look, (Bohemian ageing hippie) But never had the nerve to try it on for size. Instead it appears in understated ways - Flamboyant earrings, brightly patterned scarves, Hidden tattoos. Don't argue! Even now,  l find it

Erasure Write a paragraph that briefly recounts a story,  describes the scene outside your window,  or gives directions from your house to the shops. Erase words from this paragraph to create a poem.  I chose the idea of directions,  from my house to one of my favourite local places. Inside Out The back door beckons you Down the steps to the gate To the end of the lane Along the forked path through the woods To the road,  the layby,  the gate, The bench. You stop, Release the pent up breath, Look outwards at the open view And smile. You have reached your destination. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Daffodils Bit of an odd exercise,  this one,  but ultimately rewarding.  The challenge was to pick a poem you're unfamiliar with:  I chose Sylvia Plath's "Among the Narcissi" because I love spring flowers,  especially daffodils,  and thought this might be a comfortable subject to work with. I didn't know the poem though,  which was the point. So  - cover the poem over and reveal the last line only.  Write a response to that line,  or something that is prompted by it.  Move the paper up a line and repeat the process.  Carry on until you run out of lines.  Your poem will relate to the original in reverse order.  Now use and revise this to come up with your own original poem. As I wrote out my first draft I kept the original form of four 3 line verses,  but realised the lines were getting shorter, like the distance the woman has left to travel,  so I made them deliberately fit that shape. Daffodils, sun yellow and gold,  punch through the distance, A woman,

Good Samaritan Today's prompt is to write about a family anecdote,  something crazy or silly one of your family once did.  I'm still not sure if this was crazy or just plain beautiful - the family jury is still out. The young man stands under the shower Letting the steaming water, and soft soapy suds, Wash over him. His head,  neck,  shoulders, The small of his back,  legs,  toes. Washing away the stink of the streets The fear of his vulnerability The shame of having to ask for help And being ignored. This old man,  this stranger Has offered him crisp white sheets, A breakfast - full English A new set of clothes, A small amount of money to get him going again. But for now,  it is enough to stand under the shower head And slowly begin to feel human again. When we heard what our dad had done Turned into some kind of millennial good Samaritan We were shocked,  full of what ifs? If mum were alive she'd never have allowed it! Anything could have happene

Play The NaPoWriMo challenge is to write about an aspect of play - sports were suggested but I visited my grandkids yesterday so have lots of inspiration about a different kind of play! I'm amazed at the 'busy-ness' of play The constant chatter,  even in the absence of movement Instructions to themselves or their play fellows "This is the boat" a blue blanket becomes the sea "This is  my car, your car is over there" (both invisible) "You do this and then I do this" So many instructions the game hardly ever gets played. Like a rehearsal,  or careful ordering Making sense of the real world The children for once in charge. I go along with it, Because last week I was a mummy dinosaur Stretching up high to reach lush leaves Sitting on my eggs to keep them warm. Today I get to be a pirate, All "oh ho, me hearties!" "Shiver me timbers" and walking the plank Much more fun. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. Al

Villains I had difficulty with today's prompt: humanise a villain whilst maintaining their villainy, show a vulnerable side to evil. I wrote down a list of potential candidates - Hitler,  Thatcher,  Trump,  Dr No,  vampires - but found it impossible to give them a softer side.  And then I remembered a cat I once had who was the embodiment of evil but of course i still loved her.  Kelly cat,  erstwhile stray, Taken in to help a friend with a baby on the way I was indignant,  judgemental - A new baby doesn't rule out a cat! Until I met her.  All claws and teeth and hissing, Arched back,  ears flat against her head And that was on a good day. She hid in tiny inaccessible places  Sneaking out for food when our backs were turned. Little by little she uncoiled her anger A truce was formed between us,  Not quite trust,  a beginning, But try to catch her in your arms She'd transmogrify back into a demon Slashing deep scars with her scimitar claws. As she grew o

Dreams The suggestion today is to take a word and write an imaginary entry in a dream dictionary. I often dream very vivid dreams,  amd last night was no exception! Last night I dreamt my wardrobe was filled With bright new clothes in deep shades of yellow - Golden yellows,  mustards, Ochres,  saffrons, umbers, All richly patterned in luxurious cloths, My delight was muted by anxiety Would they be too tight for comfort? On waking, intrigued by such specificity I looked up dream meanings on the net No shortage of interpretations Of the workings of my mind. I should prepare for success, New bursts of creativity, New wealth! All looking good so far. And yet - my dream-self worried they would not fit... Tight clothes? Your freedom is being suppressed, Shake off your fears and express yourself, Break free and take control of your life! This dream may be just what I was needing! © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

 Treasure "Take a saying and turn it on its head."  I'm not sure I've done that,  but today's prompt triggered a memory from my childhood. I remember one golden childhood holiday Swimming in the rough surf, Digging in the soft sands, of Woolacombe Bay, Trailing home tired but happy at the end of each day. One afternoon,  scuffing up the sand on the wooden boardwalk, I found,  not one or two,  but eight half crowns (That's given my age away!) Nestling,  half hidden, glinting dully in the sand, Waiting there,  as if just for me. I stopped stock still, half shocked,  half not believing, Dropped to my knees,  sifted them free. It felt too much to keep, a treasure Too much wealth to come across by chance, But my dad said "finders keepers" And I scrabbled them to safety in my pocket. Nowadays it's no good scanning pavements, Too many people pay by card,  or app. Perhaps I used up all my luck that day long ago, Or am being gently

Haibun I love learning new poetry forms! A haibun is a blend of prose poem and haiku,  the haiku acting as a "whispery, insightful postscript to the prose",  a "meaningful murmur" for the prose to sit on.  What a lovely description! They also avoid the use of a speaker, allude to the season,  and contain concentrated use of sensory detail.  I'm told that the 17 syllable haiku doesn't have to conform to the usual strict 5,7,5 pattern,  which is a relief.  The challenge is to write a haibun describing the natural landscape where you live.  April mist transforms the valley From lush green cattle-grazed slopes To an opaque wall of grey-white smoke. Brief muffled sounds pierce the hush Then float gently upwards,  seeking the sky. In the foreground, Winter-bare trees stand sentinel Holding back the mist. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Message to my future self My take on today's prompt is to imagine your future self and what message you'd give them.  I've been sitting in my conservatory far too much over the last few weeks,   frustrated at not being able to get outside to do any gardening because of all the rain,  so  I'm hoping my future isn't that far ahead! Caged bird These long grey days will be behind you These days of cramped confinement Looking out through runnelled panes Looking for things to fill your time Your body slowly sinking into apathy Your aching, unused limbs. Soon you will be outside in the sweet fresh air Sunlight will warm your skin Your body moving easily Coming back to life with your garden Toughening as you walk your landscape Rejoicing as you chase your grandchildren in the park. Until then,  savour this excuse to sit and think To plan, create, and gather energy. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Simultaneity I've learnt a new noun! It's the prompt for today, and inspired this poem which is a bit off point as it deals with a chain reaction rather than things happening simultaneously. It's getting there. The earth turns, Ocean winds whip waves into racing peaks, Which reach and beat upon the shore. Rain washes warm over weathered hillsides Welcome relief for wilting flowers, Bees sense their scent as warming rays break through Stretching a rainbow across the misting valleys. The earth turns,  and a new day is born. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Haiku in hope of spring I really wasn't inspired by the prompt for today's Napowrimo challenge,  (when big meets small), but it eventually led me to this haiku. Swallows swiftly swoop; Aerial acrobatics Catch a sudden swarm. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

The mysterious and magical Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is about the mysterious and magical; how somethings can't be explained literally.  For me mystery lies in nature,  and the realisation that I am simply one part of a marvellous ecosystem. Spell to ward off anxieties about ageing Take a token of each element: A drop of morning dew Gathered on a hillside,  overlooking a stretch of silvery water; A leaf of wild garlic Gathered from an ancient woodland,  barely disturbed by human feet; A feather from a goldfinch Shed willingly on the afternoon breeze,  as it visited your garden; A handful of insubstantial ash Gained from burning apple tree branches,  late into twilight. Mix together in a bowl made of stone Blend each element,  until they are one. Inhale deeply,  pondering how Each drop of dew,  each leaf,  feather, bough Is just one part of a rich ecosystem, One individual in an endless succession, Yourself included. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger.

Identity Today's NaPoWriMo prompt is about different aspects of your identity: wife,  mother,  grandmother, ex- civil servant,  artist,  poet,  Essex girl..... whatever, and how you feel powerful in some roles but vulnerable in others. As I was reading the prompt a poem I wrote back in 2009 jumped into my brain and refused to budge; so I'm cheating a little bit and not writing something new today.  I am the same woman How you have changed - but I'd recognise you anywhere! I look at my reflection and see silvering hair, A growing etching of lines on my face,  but know I am the same woman inside.  I am the same woman Who dreamed of the future Who worried about everything Who believed in the importance of truth Who respected difference, and Needed her friends.  I am the same woman inside.  I am the same woman Who marched for her causes Who struggled with insecurity, And the challenge of children,  Who dreamt of utopia whilst knowing her frailty.  I am

How long is a line? Today's NaPoWriMo challenge is to play with line breaks - stretch the line out,  make it shorter than you'd normally use,  create a hesitation mid thought etc. As I was considering the normal length of my line my eye was caught by a pigeon in our garden. The wood pigeon sits on a fence post,  looking For food? For danger? For company? For motivation? The wood pigeon sits on a fence post - Finds what it's looking for,  and Flies off.

Lost in translation  Today's challenge is very intriguing and really got me thinking about how impossible it is to understand a work of art from the artist's point of view,  whether it takes the form of a poem,  or a photograph.  I could probably spend hours on this one,  but I only had an hour to come up with something before dashing out to get on with my day!  I'll probably work on the first part some more,  as the extended analogy doesn't quite work for me. My daughter sends a photo, The view from her new house: A thin layer of morning mist Separates us from a strip of dark sea, Stretching across the framed horizon. I wonder,  why was its capture important to her? Was she simply trying to freeze-frame the view To share her pride in her new landscape? What had led her to that exact spot,  at that exact moment, Did sudden birdsong make her stop, did she smell the hedgerow? Or did she smile at the thought of the mist lifting, Revealing this new wider lan

Concreting the Abstract Today's challenge is to pick an abstract noun,  and describe it using 'relentlessly concrete' nouns.  Looking round my house waiting for inspiration to strike,  I came up with this! Inspiration Thick felted dust caught on cobwebs Strung from the ceiling like gothic bunting, Two pointed knitting needles stab carelessly Through balls of blue and lilac wool, Dirtied white plates lay piled in the sink Last night's curry congealing in greasy orange stains, A mother-in-law's tongue and Christmas cactus Wait in their china pots, leaves limp from thirst, White envelopes unopened on the kitchen table Hide their contents behind clear windows, While I stare through windows opaque with grime Thrown up by cars, vans and buses, on their way past my door. My house in chaotic disorder, I perch on the settee All tasks in abeyance, until inspiration has passed. © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

List poem Today's challenge is to write a list poem, the suggestion being all the items are made-up names - band names,  titles for romantic novels, new television cop dramas etc. Hmm..... not very inspiring,  but I thought I could work with the idea of a list of the street names where I've lived throughout my life.  Here's what I came up with.   Tynemouth Road, London Too young to remember Far from the Tyne,  in another grey city.  Rosebank Avenue, Elm Park  Leafy London suburb caught parental aspirations Golden childhood games in gardens and fields. Euston Grove, Morecambe  Away from campus,  but close to the bus station  Views of the Lakeland Fells,  close to the sea.   Queen Elizabeth Avenue,  East Tilbury  First mortgage, a challenge financial and practical,   First years of motherhood, hours spent alone.   Lower Crescent,  Linford An estate with a village feel, a park on the doorstep Lots of committees take up my spare time.  Ottrells Mead, Bra

Me,  you,  they. Today's prompt is to write something from different viewpoints,  possibly using voices in the first, second and third person.  I don't know why, as I've never experienced speed dating,  but this is what came to me. I stand outside the door, Nervous, excited,  full of dread. This could be the night I meet "the one" Or I could get no points at all. I've dressed with care,  'fun', but not tarty Had my hair done,  but not trying too hard, Make-up natural,  nothing too obvious, I'm going to sound interested,  try not to be needy. I paste on a smile,  push through the doors. You enter the room like you own it, Confident,  sassy,  smiling with ease, Everything about you polished,  neat as a pin. You've obviously tried very hard, But you're beige,  middle of the road, Neither one thing nor another. How's a bloke meant to know who you are? They eye each other up Her number 3, his number 5, Four minutes of

Lindt mini eggs Turns out I may have misunderstood the instructions and the previous poem was an early bird prompt for yesterday. When I checked the site after waiting until this morning to load mine, lots of poems had already been loaded and a new prompt had appeared for today. So today's prompt is to write about a secret shame or secret pleasure.  I love this time of year When, at last they appear in the shops All bright and inviting in their red foil wrappers Delicious, sweet, soft truffle eggs, Small enough to be innocently slipped Into the shopping trolley,  Like an after thought, or a present Intended for multiple grandkids.  Some never make it home, Their foil ripped off shamelessly in the car park My teeth biting through the thin outer layer To expose their soft heart.  Those that make it home,  are quickly hidden In places only I will think to go - Like some mad Easter egg hunt With me the only player, To be consumed in secret,  when you're not

Love poem Today sees the start of Napowrimo, the poetry challenge to write a new poem every day for all the 30 days of April.  It's a little daunting,  but as long as i don't put too much pressure on myself (no-one else will be!) it should be fun! The first prompt is to write a love poem,  to an object which should be hinted at but only revealed at the end.  Love of my life Please never leave me. I love the daily ritual Of waking in my morning bed Reaching for your warmth, and comfort. You keep easy pace with me throughout each day Lifting my flagging spirits Keeping me company when I rest Waiting patiently when I'm out and about Welcoming me home Ignoring any indiscretions When I seek satisfaction elsewhere.  I love the very smell of you,  Your taste on my tongue, You make my heart beat faster. Without you life would drag My days would pass in a daze. So please never leave me I cannot live without you Coffee.  © Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All