Everyday Poetry

Sketching my hand I haven't been able to get to art group since my operation,  so I've been sketching whatever comes to hand.  This afternoon I decided to draw my left hand,  something I have done over the years as it's always conveniently there in front of me! Today though, I was struck by just how many lines amd wrinkles there are on it - it has become an old lady's hand. Where did all these lines come from - These crevices, These lumps and bumps, These barely hidden veins? The pencil outlines each indentation Each fold of the skin, Each in and out Of fingers, no longer smooth. The back of my hand admits It has lost its elasticity Almost without me noticing, Until the truth of this life drawing Captured it in honest observation. All my six decades visible As this gnarled hand Emerges on the page. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Book bomb Writing magazine sets an exercise this month,  to write a poem about a book you've recommended for discussion at a book group, in terms of both its physical properties and actual content.  It's always a risk suggesting a book to other people,  who may have a different take on it to you - that's really the point of a discussion group - but  it's also an emotional risk when it's a book you love. It weighs heavy in my hand This large format paperback With its rich Pre-Raphaelite cover, Its brittle yellowing pages Hinting at its age, Its ridged spine bearing witness To the number of times I read it In the flush of an old love affair: Hands held in the Tate gallery The exquisite pain of snatched moments. A shared love of art and literature The public face of sublimated passion, The utter impossibility of it all Reflected in the story held inside its covers; It weighs heavy on my heart. Now, after twenty or more years have passed It's sa

Storm This month's Writing magazine explores the difference between free verse and rhyming verse, in relation to how we choose to end each line.  It suggests writing two poems about a storm, one in free verse where each line ends with a word evoking fear,  and the other where the lines rhyme. I know which one I prefer - how about you? 1. Caught In the thunder's crash The flash Of lightening creeping Ever nearer, The whip Of the trees' lash Ancient branches creaking Groaning,  shrieking Overhead. Hurry Through drenching dark, Scurry, disoriented, Lost, Shiver,  shudder, Fingers freezing, Searching for the lights of home. 2. Caught in the sudden thunder's crash Dazzled by the lightening flash Under frantic whipping trees that lash Towards the lights of home I dash. Creaking branches wildly thrash Ancient oak,  beech,  elm and ash, My homeward flight beneath them rash Through hidden puddles madly splash. While up above dark forces clash,

Post operative haiku After all that rushing about getting ready before the operation,  I'm forced to adapt to bed rest for 48 hours. In the long stillness Broken bone and torn skin knit, Together again. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved