Everyday Poetry

Second minute Following on from yesterday,  a minute is the length of time it takes me to swim a length of 25 metres,  during which time a host of thoughts go through my mind.  I usually swim 30 lengths each Sunday,  and this one is quite typical! I turn, kick off against the wall Start the first of twenty eight strokes Tell myself which length I am on Wonder if I'm fast enough As someone overtakes me Think "This is  the slow lane!" Inhale as waves wash my way Choke! Gasp! Splutter! Recover, Reach the far end. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Minute poem This month's Writing magazine competition is to write a minute poem - this is a poem of exactly 60 syllables about a subject which usually would take a minute to occur.  As luck would have it,  something happened this morning which gave me the germ of an idea. As unusual subject for a poem,  but it works! A seed Trapped in ageing close-crammed teeth Eludes the probing,  sucking tongue, Evades the too-thick fingernail, Dodges the rinsing water, Until tracked down,  evicted, By the long,  slender toothpick Slipping easily inside the gap As if made for the job. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Cruel to be kind This month's Writing magazine informs me that February 17th is Random Acts of Kindness Day,  and suggests writing a poem where the narrator has to be cruel to be kind.  The prompts reminded me of a very particular event. Course mates But not yet a couple, You hand me your work, And a red pen - joking "Do your worst!" Later, on my own, I take it up, Read it through quickly, Sighing.   Then, Read past the misspellings, The bad punctuation, The ungrammatical sentence structure, To mine the seam of gold underneath. I remind myself that your tutor (Who does not love you) Won't take the time,  the trouble To seek out this kernel. Will give up, Throw their hands in the air Throw your hidden gems On the pile marked F Without a moment's qualm. With love, with kindness I pick up the red pen, Begin slowly, choosing When to change, When to make a note in the margin, When to suggest a different phrase or word order (Different

Emerging from hibernation Every year, from Samhain to Imbolc (roughly November - January) when the days are short and evenings come early,  I find myself less and less willing to go out.  Sometime during February the days become noticeably lighter in the late afternoon,  and I find myself making plans.  It's not just me, either.  One of my friends just described herself as needing to shake off her winter hibernation!  This poem is for all of us hibernators, but especially Linda. For three long months I've sat, Knitted, Read, Played puzzle games Planned fabulous holidays, Ensconced in my conservatory (Warmest room in the house) Looking out at the gloomy half light, Here in the lea of the hill. Saturday was Imbolc Balanced halfway Between winter solstice and spring equinox: Marker of new beginnings, A time to plan changes, To create new possibilities. As if by magic I hear from friend after friend - Fancy a coffee? Come for a walk? Shall we meet up for

Snow scene I love it when it snows - its so unusual and therefore rather special.  But it has its downsides: I get older I worry more about slipping over, and I tend not to want to drive out of our narrow lane which doesn't get salted or ploughed. Rain washes away the snow Returning the fields to green Freeing cars to a bare faced lane. For three days I've admired the snow fall The monochrome landscape The crisp freshness in the air, As I carefully trudge ankle deep Placing each foot with ridiculous care, A pole for extra support. Now I'm free to return to the world, To walk at a normal pace To drive when and where I choose, I find myself missing the harsh beauty of the snow. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved