Everyday Poetry

Day 30:  write a cento. This is a poem that is made up of lines taken from other poems.  A  good way to jump-start the process is to find an online collection  of poems about a particular topic (or in a particular style), and then mine the poems for good lines to string together. Argh! Just what i don't need on a busy Saturday! Intriguing idea, but necessity kept it short.  I've given the source poems afterwards,  in case you have time and inclination to read the originals - fantastic poems,  all of them.   Nothing is as beautiful as spring                           Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees         The budding twigs spread out their fan              The edge of the blackthorn clumps in gold.     I watched a blackbird on a budding sycamore -  Now rings the woodland loud and long            In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.                         And April I love for what                                     Hath put a spirit of youth in everything       

Day 29:  write a poem in which you muse on the gifts you received at birth — whether they are actual presents, like a teddy bear, or talents – like a good singing voice – or circumstances – like a kind older brother, as well as a “curse” you’ve lived with (your grandmother’s insistence on giving you a new and completely creepy porcelain doll for every birthday, a bad singing voice, etc.).   I have often given thanks  For the gift of height, donated Unknowingly by my father's ancestors, An unspoken benison bestowed each time I've reached into the dim depths of a cupboard Or peered over the bobbing heads of a crowd.   Less gratitude has been expressed For the girth, the width, the breadth, The frankly weighty flesh,  The stocky, heavyset physiques That blessed my rugby playing uncles, My hard as nails 'Big Nan'. Despite the  curse of genetic gifts That failed to make me tall and slender - An ethereal Redgrave, a gamine Twiggy - I've enjoyed the benefits of being  buxo

Day28: write  a concrete poem - one in which the lines are shaped in a way that mimics the topic of the poem. For example, May Swenson’s poem “ Women ” mimics curves, reinforcing the poem’s references to motion, rocking horses, and even the shape of a woman’s body. I've tried these before,  and found it's best to keep the shape very simple.  So here's an ode to the sun!  Oh  sun! Oh Helios!  Oh brightest star!  Where on this earth have you gone?  You made yourself right at home last week Came early,  bathed us in your fiery glory,  left late, Warmed us through nicely after a cold and dreary winter Encouraged the airing of summer clothes and the baring of arms, The squirrelling away of each  snug big winter coat, and woolly scarves,  Bobble hats, thick gloves, heavy boots; all laid  in dusty boxes under the bed. You led us in droves to garden centres,  loading our boots with tender plants,   Annuals,  perennials, fists of seed packets,  fire pits,  enough to break the bank,

Day 27:  write a “duplex” - a variation on the sonnet, developed by the poet Jericho Brown. Like a typical sonnet, a duplex has fourteen lines. It’s organized into seven, two-line stanzas. The second line of the first stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the second stanza, the second line of the second stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the third stanza, and so on. The last line of the poem is the same as the first. Wow! I like a challenge,  and the idea of a new poetic form.  Altered repetition makes the brain work hard, looking backwards and forwards at the same time, much the same as this poem does.  A scar now sits above the village Where once grew woodland, densely green.  On either side, dense woodland still stands tall Framing the bare brown slash of exposed woodland floor.  The exposed ground looks bare only from a distance Look close, underground lie flowers, awoken by sudden light.  That new light has woken the azure haze of b

Day 26:  write a poem that is one lengthy, epic simile, relying on the surprising comparison of unlike things to carry the poem across.    I've never admired or sought to emulate the heroic pomposity of an epic simile, so here's a more down to earth extended simile instead.   Like the promise of a comfy cardigan  Slipped on against the chills of early spring - When it's too warm for central heating Yet not quite cold enough to light the fire - I look forward to slipping into The warm and welcoming embrace Of our book group this morning,  Your ready, open-armed welcome  Wrapping me round with friendship And keeping the day's ills at bay.  © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day25: today's  prompt is based on the  aisling , a poetic form that developed in Ireland. An  aisling  recounts a dream or vision featuring a woman who represents the land or country on/in which the poet lives, and who speaks to the poet about it. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a dream or vision, and in which a woman appears who represents or reflects the area in which you live.  She comes to me, sweet and tender,  As I sigh, and weep my dreadful dirge Over the diseased roots of the apple tree, Pleading forgiveness for its felling. Her arms encircle me, soft as the breeze, Her soothing words whisper in my ear: Don't grieve, it is the natural way.  Life thrives,  matures,  then weakens, Succumbs to the force of disease Which also needs to thrive. The tree lives on in your memory, Will be reborn in the sapling, waiting, Ready to take its place.  My tears dry on my cheeks As the fresh scent of apples   Dissipates on the breeze.  © Copyright 2022. C

Day 24:  channel your inner gumshoe, and write a poem in which you describe something with a hard-boiled simile in the style of Raymond Chandler. Feel free to use just one, or try to go for broke and stuff your poem with similes. This challenge was as hard as a rind of cheese, left at the back of the fridge for far too long.  Try as I might to be hard boiled,  I'm as soft as a marshmallow held over a bonfire. But it forced me to find some unusual if not very sardonic similes.  I wandered lonely As a cloud caught on the surface of a goldfish bowl As a malteser lost in a packet of salt and vinegar As a punk rocker at a folk music festival. She walks in beauty Like an owl's shriek on a frosty winter's night  Like a drop of engine oil hitting the surface of a dirty puddle Like a scarlet smear of lipstick across a drunkard's cheek.  Oh my love is Like a red, red traffic light on an open road Like a nail picked up by an unsuspecting tyre Like a string stretched tight across a

Day 22:  write a poem in the style of Kay Ryan, whose poems tend to be short and snappy – with a lot of rhyme and soundplay. They also have a deceptive simplicity about them, like proverbs or aphorisms.   I'm going 'swimming' with my grandkids again today.  It's fun,  but also frustrating because they don't seem to be any closer to taking their first proper strokes.   There's precious little room For either in this pool Crammed full  Of brightly coloured foam. Noodles, fantastical f loats -  Ladybirds,  cars,  boats  -  Litter the surface  With easy buoyancy. How will you ever learn The thrill of the glide, The slicing through The clear blue To the other side,  When your feet  Can so easily reach The bottom? © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Day 22:  write a poem that uses repetition. You can repeat a sound, a word, a phrase, or an image, or any combination of things. Trees ease me,  Their clean green  A calming balm. I find my mind Slows and composes  Its pace from a race, Dropping to a stop. Trees please me.  © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Day21:  write a poem in which you first recall someone you used to know closely but are no longer in touch with, then a job you used to have but no longer do, and then a piece of art that you saw once and that has stuck with you over time. Finally, close the poem with an unanswerable question. Those three recollections could only lead to this poem.  That time my work brought me to London, And our first of many secret meetings, You introduced me to the pre-Raphaelites That fecund brotherhood of literature and art.  You stood before the Awakening Conscience ,  Your neatly trimmed beard,   Silk necktie and patterned waistcoat A throwback to the century before And told me, in a voice heavy with approval, You discovered at his death, y our father kept a mistress. Would my life have been the poorer, or richer, If I too, had turned away from your embrace,  Taking the long journey west without That Romantic flutter in my heart? © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Day 20: " write a poem that anthropomorphizes a kind of food. It could be a favorite food of yours, or maybe one you feel conflicted about. I feel conflicted about  Black Forest Cake , for example. It always looks so pretty in a bakery window, and I want to like the combination of cherries and chocolate . . . but I don’t. But how does the cake feel about it?" I used to love pork sausages. To my parents frustration I'd usually order them when they took us out for a special meal. I still cook them for other people,  but haven't eaten meat since I was 25. What ever did I do t o turn you away  From my fleshy delights,  My saucy spit and sizzle,  Towards my insipid, virtuous cousin?  Each time I grow fat in your pan Moving through quarter turns Temptingly browning in my own grease, I hold my breath, hoping this time Will be the time y ou choose me, not her. Vain hope!  I'm always rolled onto the other's plate.  At least he still loves me.  © Copyright 2022. Chris A

Day19:  write a poem that starts with a command. It could be as uncomplicated as “Look,” as plaintive as “Come back,” or as silly as “Don’t you even think about putting that hot sauce in your hair.” Whatever command you choose, I hope you have fun ordering your readers around. I have a busy day ahead of me,  so I'm addressing this one to myself!  Hurry up! Don't waste time looking out the window Those birds will fly from lilac tree to feeders Without your supervision, will trill their rippling song  Regardless of your need to identify its source.  You're too busy.  Hurry up! You have breakfast to eat and a poem to write, Sticky-fingered with the marmalade you made Last winter.  Get those words flowing fast Even as you crunch into the toast, from the bread you made On Sunday.  Hurry up!  Remember you have booked into the gym at 10am You don't have time for elegant phrasing  Complicated rhyme and rhythm -  Just get something down on your tablet Fast.  Hurry up! Don't

Day 18: write a poem  that provides five answers to the same question – without ever specifically identifying the question that is being answered.   Well, there really is only one question,  and the answer is most definitely not 42. It is the in and out The breathing in of the outside world Its inward rush enlivening body and mind In a neverending gift of power,  For us to expel and breathe in once more.  It is the before and after,  The passing on of genes in an endless baton race,  Each generation a random mix of ancestry, Each individual entirely unique,  Holding the seeds of the future.  It is the here and now The sights,  sounds,  smells,  touch,  taste Of the external,  firing synapses,  making paths,  Creating favourite places,  where we long to return To bathe ourselves in beauty.  It is the us and them The company of loved ones,  of treasured friends,  Each unique,  entirely separate person Who chooses to share part of their life Making ours a little richer.  It is the what an

Day 17:  think about  dogs you have known, seen, or heard about , and then use them as a springboard into wherever they take you. Many years ago, my sister gave me a copy of a much treasured tiny, old, black and white photo of our parents, when they were first engaged.  It was taken on the farm where my father was evacuated during the second World War,  and where he took his fiancée to show her off to his 'second parents', Ma and Pop, who eventually became our much loved 'third grandparents'.  He sits, front-centre between them,  Shaggy black coat towards the camera, As he gazes  up at the young man's eyes, Head resting on an unresponsive left hand.  The man has no eyes for his loyal friend,  His right arm circles a pretty girl's waist,  His head almost but not quite touching hers, Both happy, smiling at the camera. They sit on the steps of a dark doorway, Flowers creeping up pale stone walls to either side, Captured forever in that moment,  Elegant in their 

Day 16: a fantastic prompt today,  to  write a curtal sonnet. This is a variation on the classic 14-line sonnet, developed by  Gerard Manley Hopkins . H e used it for what is probably his most famous poem, “ Pied Beauty .” A curtal sonnet has eleven lines, instead of the usual fourteen, and the last line is shorter than the ten that precede it.  Unfortunately I'm far too busy to tackle it today before I go out with my grandkids for some Easter fun! I'll definitely come back to this prompt,  but for today here's a cheeky haiku I've come up with instead.   Some days it is hard To set aside time to write; Life has other plans.   © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 15:  write a poem about something you have  absolutely  no interest in, and  investigate some of the “why” behind resolutely not giving two hoots about something. I simply don't get physics,  The how of the universe just passes me by.  I've tried to listen to the soft earnest tones Of the delectable Professor As he tries to explain in layman's terms How the universe works, how we got where we are.  My record stands at twenty minutes  Before brain fog swept in.   At school I enjoyed the hands on-ness of science: Didn't flinch at dissections, Caused casual explosions in test tubes,  But physics was a step or two too far.  I was fine with fashioning Plasticene  Into a miscellany of shapes To send them falling down cylinders of paste - Spoiler alert: torpedoes won.  It even made sense recording the speed of echoes Bouncing off the school's red brick wall.  But however hard Mr Twizell tried to explain I could never believe the laboratory bench Was in motion, every mo

Day 14:  Today’s challenge is a fun one: write a poem that takes the form of the form of the opening scene of the movie of your life.  Does it open with a car chase? A musical number? A long scene panning across a verdant plain? You’re the director (and also the producer, the actors, the set designer, the cinematographer, and the lowly assistant that buys doughnuts for the crew) – so it’s all up to you! I doubt a film of my life since I've retired would be very interesting - it'd be a slow moving British film about female relationships, set in the countryside! So I've chosen a  more interesting 'scene' from when I was working.   Westminster Bridge: the camera pans along The frontage of the Houses of Parliament. Two women, one early forties (Nichola Walker?) One slightly older (Emma Thompson if available) Cross the crowded morning street, Narrowly dodging black cabs, buses, bicycles. They enter an imposing grey stone building,  The camera panning to the brass plaque:

Day 13: write a poem about the hope that everything will turn out well.  Sometimes, good fortune can seem impossibly distant, but perhaps you can muse on the possibility of good things coming down the track.   My mum always told me to count my blessings.  To be honest,  that often felt like a kick in the teeth,  If I had some blessings to count, I'd not need her reassurance.  Sometimes I just felt a bit down, what I needed was A big fat hug and a dose of tea and sympathy.  When I phoned her to say I'd been miserable My teenage marriage one huge mistake She told me I'd made my bed and must lie in it, No marriage a bed of roses, clouds have silver linings, Before reminding me once more to count my blessings. I counted those blessings for twenty eight years And it's true there were many silver linings Before I realised the grass really was greener  On the other side of the marriage fence. Her advice gave me two of the best things in my life.  So when you tell me of your tr

Day 12: " write a poem about a very small thing. Whether it’s an atom, a button, a hummingbird’s egg, dollhouse furniture, or the mythical  world’s smallest violin , I hope you enjoy your poetic adventures into the microscopic." I'm sitting in my snug conservatory while it rains outside, pondering how each individual raindrop,  or person,  is simply a small part of something much larger.  I watch a random raindrop As it tracks down the window, Missing, or merging with others, Magnifying and inverting the view As it falls towards earth, Like it was always destined to do.  © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Day11: " write a poem about a very large thing. It could be a mountain or a blue whale or a skyscraper or a planet or the various contenders for the honor of being the  Biggest Ball of Twine ." That summer, even the grandeur of El Capitan Could not lure you from where you sat Sulking together in the back of the hire car After the long journey across the desert.   The trip of a life time - San Francisco to LA Down the tucks and turns of the Pacific highway -  Revealed weird tufa shapes on frothy beaches,  Wild trees on rocky cliffs; all nature passed you by.  You loved the man-made: the switchback tram rides,  The Aquarium at Monterey, Universal Studios,  Disneyland, The American Hard Rock Cafe,  Each motel's all-you-can-eat doughnut and muffin breakfast. You loaded up on soda and chips at gas stations, Turned your headphones up way too loud, And sat in teenage mutiny throughout All the long drives in between.  So we left you in the car, with warnings not to wander,  Walke

Day 10:  Today’s (optional) prompt is pretty simple – write a love poem. I never tire of writing these! Earlier, As we made our slow way  Past lakes of geese and swans  Towards where the kingfishers hide,  You quietly took my hand in yours, Not once, but twice, and gently squeezed. In our beginning, In that strange time Of snatched bright days, We held on to each other As if the other might fly away And be lost forever.  After all these precious years Affection is something you keep Away from the gaze of strangers.   So I casually held on to your hand As if it were an everyday gift And softly smiled inside. © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Day 9:   write a nonet , a poem of  nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the second has eight, and so on until you get to the last line, which has just one syllable. I've just come back from visiting my daughter on the Isle of Man.  I love it there and it's well worth the 5 hour journey door to door.  Face the frenzy of security Brave the bustle of departures Sit poised for your announcement Step wearily through the gate Find your reserved seat  Pass the dead time  Until you  Safely  Land.   © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.