Everyday Poetry

Day 29: '  Taylor Swift has released a new double album titled “ The Tortured Poets Department .” In recognition of this occasion,  Merriam-Webster  put together  a list of ten words from Taylor Swift songs . We'd like to challenge you to select one these words, and write a poem that uses the word as its title.' One of the words jumped out at me, and triggered some uncomfortable thoughts about how my stiff hip might impair any walking on holiday.  This has been the winter of the albatross,  Gliding through each day, t aking the easy route, Enjoying the ease of rarely flapping my wings.  For so long, drawn  comfortably  round my shoulders, This same albatross n ow weighs heavy, nestling  Amongst the clothes i n my suitcase, goading me. I stuff it down hard, trying to ignore the clack of its beak, The panic in its shriek;  I must  channel its effortless glide, Forget its ungainly hobble as it stumbles about on land.  ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 28: ' try your hand at writing a  sijo . This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables. The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise.' I haven't written any meta poems for a while - poems about the process of writing poetry -  which is perhaps why this bubbled up and onto the page, almost fully formed.  This game that we call poetry, this calling up of words, Bleeds us of our thoughts, spills them across the innocent page, Shares our intimate secrets with unsuspecting strangers.  ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 27: ' write an “American sonnet.” What’s that? Well, it’s like a regular sonnet but . . . fewer rules? Like a traditional Spencerian or Shakespearean sonnet, an American sonnet is shortish (generally 14 lines, but not necessarily!), discursive, and tends to end with a bang, but there’s no need to have a rhyme scheme or even a specific meter.' OK... basically a 14 line poem, rambling towards a conclusion, with a twist at the end. I can do that.  They bring the outside inside Giving the eye a gentle place to rest, Kidding us, sat in our modern caves, We still live in a lush, green space. In the corners of each living room My inside pots w ait patiently for the rain My outside pots are drowning in. They sit, and wait, until  I remember  How many weeks have passed, since Their parched soil last drank from the watering can. I often thank my mother for the gift of the original African snake plant, the  Brazilian Christmas cactus,  Whose offspring now thrive on my neglect; While t

Day 26: ' write a poem that involves  alliteration ,  consonance , and  assonance .  Alliteration  is the repetition of a particular consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words.  Consonance  is the repetition of consonant sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and  assonance  is the repetition of vowel sounds.' Great,  I've been wanting a format challenge and now I have one,  but what to write about? I'm going away on the 1 May - perfect timing - and one of the first things we're doing is a helicopter ride over Victoria Falls. I was really excited to book it,  but now my risk aversion has kicked in and I'm wondering how I'll get through it! What was I thinking?  I could kick myself,  The fear of flying over the abyss Outweighs the bliss I felt before Reality set in.  This is the person who felt the impossibility  Of passing from solid floor To glass parapet, who cowered  At the top of the Blackpool tower, Opting to take the picture - Far better than the

Day 25: '  write a poem based on the “ Proust Questionnaire ,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and  adapted by modern interviewers . You could choose to answer the whole questionnaire, and then write a poem based on your answers, answer just a few, or just write a poem that’s based on the questions. You could even write a poem in the form of an entirely new Proust Questionnaire.' Typically I read the prompt in a rush before going swimming, seized on the word 'virtue' and composed something while in the pool.  It was only when I got back home that I realised the question was about the most overrated virtue.  Too late, I've written instead about the most underrated virtue: kindness.  It's hidden in the little things That brighten up each day. It's in the chores done without prompting,  The coins you save for my after-swim hairdryer,  The morning coffee brewed with a smile , The blanket shared on chilly evenings. It's in the well

Day 24: ' write a poem that begins with a line from another poem, but then goes elsewhere with it. This will work best if you just start with a line of poetry you remember, but without looking up the whole original poem. Or you could find a poem that you haven’t read before and then use a line that interests you. The idea is for the original to furnish the backdrop for your work, but without influencing you so much that you feel as if you are just rewriting the original!' I didn't have time to give this the attention it deserves,  but here's what I came up with.  The title is taken from the translation of Rabindranath Tagore's One Hundred Years Hence. Whilst he was certain the unknown poet in the future would read his lines,  I've taken a more realistic view! Not one of my best,  but I was in a rush to go out.  A hundred years from now No-one will know, or care What size of jeans I wear.  My daily angst over what to eat That I should care more for my feet, Wheth

Day 23: ' write a poem about, or involving, a superhero, taking your inspiration from  these four poems  in which  Lucille Clifton  addresses Clark Kent/Superman.' My childhood hero was Batman, which used to be on TV around tea time on the night I used to go to Girl Guides.  It was the series starting Adam West as Batman and Burt Ward as his sidekick Robin, and there was just about enough time to watch up to the closing credits before I had to run out the door.  The TV had pride of place opposite the dining table, Encouraging the habit of watching TV at mealtimes,  Eating too fast, matching the pace of the action onscreen, Not noticing what was disappearing from the plate.  Friday evenings were spent with the caped crusaders,  With just enough time to eat dinner and grab my stuff  Before the mad dash to Guides. The jeopardy of the rush  Increased the excitement of Batman chasing the villains,  Landing a Biff! Pow! Bam! on their weak and puny bodies,  His cape swirling in their

Day 22: ' write a poem in which two things have a fight. Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it. Like, maybe a comb and a spatula. Or a daffodil and a bag of potato chips. Or perhaps your two things could be linked somehow – like a rock and a hard place – and be utterly sick of being so joined. The possibilities are endless!' I'm devoid of surrealist imagination this morning,  but I do have strong memories of long car journeys when our children were small.  Each journey would start well enough With cassette tapes of jolly children's songs To sing along to; both sides on constant repeat.  We'd turn to games of 'I spy', 'First one to spot',  Their favourite: 'I'm thinking of an animal'. We'd talk about what we wanted to do Once we arrived in Cornwall,  Where there were cousins to play with,  Sandy beaches, animal sanctuaries, The excitement of Flambards fairground.  But there were too many miles from London.  It would begin with

Day 21: ' write a poem that repeats or focuses on a single color. Some examples for you – Diane Wakoski’s “ Blue Monday ,” Walter de la Mare’s “ Silver ,” and Dorothea Lasky’s “ Red Rum .”' "Come in," she said,   "it's time there was more of you in my life," And starting small, her nails took on a scarlet sheen,  A hint of depth, of danger, beneath her surface.  Next, her lips blazed red -  it took a while to find the perfect shade -  And longer still before others had the chance To see how it lit up her frequent smile. Once ushered in, red found itself at home Among her safer colours.   Blue and black, good friends, still hung about, Reliable, safe.  But in amongst,  Bright splashes of red, and its cousin pink, Lit up her life with warmth, and fun. Soon shoes, boots, a purse, a bag, appeared,  A t-shirt, dress, a winter coat,  And soon her day was incomplete  Without a splash of red t o draw the eye, To stop her blending in.  ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Au

Day 20:'   write a poem that recounts a historical event.' I haven't got time for a lot of research this morning,  so I'm drawing on my memories of marching against fascism and in support of socialism, in London and Manchester in the late 1970s. It seemed necessary, almost commonplace, To travel on a coach with fellow students, With our long hair, flares and desert boots,  Singing rallying songs, putting the world to rights, Completely convinced of our convictions. It was thrilling to be marching amongst thousands A wild blend of backgrounds, a melting pot,  All calling and responding to chants, We felt sure of saving the world, Righteous glory ate up the miles.   Brightly printed banners marked affiliations - Socialist Workers, Communists,  Labour,   L iberal,  every Trade Union under the sun -  For that day our divisions didn't matter,  Our unity was our strength.   At day's end we'd reach a park,  For speeches, songs and celebrations. A fog of nostalgia c

Day 19: ' What are you haunted by, or what haunts you? Write a poem responding to this question. Then change the word haunt to hunt.' I honestly don't think I'm haunted by anything.  Of course I've done things I'm not proud of,  but I've made my peace with them. Instead, I've chosen to write more literally about haunting, using a story my sister told me about the period when they first moved into their house.  Oddly enough, this came up in a conversation with my daughter earlier this week.  Coincidence?  At first, we thought it was the chaos of moving,  The upheaval in our lives making us forget the little things,  Where we'd put the keys, left a bag, our glasses.  It was only when we knew for certain,  When they turned up in places we'd definitely not been,  We began to believe the unbelievable. Gathered in the hallway, taking strength From our new family unit, but feeling foolish,  A tiny bit scared, we issued a challenge: 'Stop trying to m

Day 18:' write a poem in which the speaker expresses the desire to be someone or something else, and explains why. Two possible models for you: Natasha Rao’s “ In my next life let me be a tomato ,” and Randall Jarrell’s “ The Woman at the Washington Zoo .”' My choice may have been due to me deciding to compose it during my Thursday morning swim! In my next life I would wish, to come back as some kind of fish, To swim in river, lake or sea, that's the life I'd wish for me.  Perhaps a roach with orange fins, that glitters as it darts and swims, But not a tench, even in its prime, I'd rather not be bathed in slime. A brown trout in a Scottish river,  or its rainbow cousin all a-shiver, Perhaps a koi carp from Japan, white and gold, my tail a fan. To come back as a common pike, now that's a fate I would not like, Always angry,  with no friends, that's not how my story ends.  The best choice by far, I believe, is to live in a coral reef,  Brightly coloured, safe

Day 17: ' write a poem that is inspired by a piece of music, and that shares its title with that piece of music.'  Written with thanks to The Electric Light Orchestra for giving me years of pleasure.   It blasts out of the Echo dot, full volume, Every time you work on the house.  A predictable accompaniment,  Repeated so many times it starts to irritate,  Until its insistent, driving melodies Transport me back to the innocent 70s, When I believed university was teaching me  Everything there was to know about the world, When in truth, I still had it all to learn.   Without realising, I find myself singing along,  Long forgotten lyrics rising easily to my lips,  My old bones thinking themselves young again,   Dancing to the well known rhythms: There's gonna be a party all over the world,  It's a living thing, such a terrible thing to lose,  Don't bring me down, no, no, no, no, no, Mr Blue Sky,  please tell us why,  You had to hide away for so long, so long. The weight

Day 16: ' write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does. The “surprise” ending to this  James Wright poem  is a good illustration of the effect we’re hoping you’ll achieve. An abstract, philosophical kind of statement closing out a poem that is otherwise intensely focused on physical, sensory details.' I've chosen to write about a moment in time that was a gift from my first husband.  He encouraged me to fully absorb the moment using all five senses,  so I could call it up in times of stress, which I tend to do if I ever need dental work or other medical procedure! I've never thought to turn it into poetry until now.  The whorls of the bright blue, wind-worn, slatted-wood beach lounger  Echo my fingerprints, a s the sun beats down on my tender,  Sun-baked, sunscreened skin, t he sweet smell of coconut mingli

Day 15: ' take a look at  @StampsBot , and become inspired by the wide, wonderful, and sometimes wacky world of postage stamps.  Stamps are a quasi-lyrical, quasi-bizarre look into what different cultures (or at least their postal authorities) hold dear.' When I was a child in the 60s,  nearly all my friends had a stamp collection, and we would buy packets of used stamps from all over the world. In a pre-digital age it was a rare glimpse into exotic foreign life. I remember the excitement  Of each new, small, transparent packet, With its teasing coloured jumble  Of tiny child-sized squares, oblongs, rare triangles, Promising new discoveries, or swapsies.  Seated at the table - album, pot of glue at the ready - The packet would be carefully opened, Tipped out in a cascade of flimsy paper, Ready for sorting into countries of origin.  Basic detective skills were needed To figure out Magyar, Polska, Nippon, Even Ireland hid itself as Eire; An early lesson in the democracy of langua

Day 14: ' write a poem of at least ten lines in which each line begins with the same word or phrase.  This technique is called  anaphora , and has long been used to give poems a driving rhythm.' It was very tempting to use an old poem I love my kids ,  but one of those kids recently shamed me into creating a new poem every day for this challenge.  So I decided to turn it around and think about who or what I am, and what I might like/ love about myself.   It started relatively easily,  with uncontroversial statements, but as the lines went on,  it became a cathartic self revelation - hopefully not too self indulgent! I am the one who'll always listen, bear your pain, share your worries, celebrate your joy; I am the one who spins the positive, tries to fashion the silk purse, trace the silver lining; I am the one who feels at peace when walking through woodland, glimpsing the sky through a tracery of branches; I am the one who loves carving a path through water, the sensualit

Day 13: ' play with rhyme. Start by creating a “word bank” of ten simple words, one or two syllables apiece. Five should correspond to each of the five senses (i.e., one word that is a thing you can see, one word that is a type of sound, one word that is a thing you can taste, etc). Three more should be concrete nouns of whatever character you choose (i.e., “bridge,” “sun,” “airplane,” “cat”), and the last two should be verbs. Now, come up with rhymes for each of your ten words. Use your expanded word-bank, with rhymes, as the seeds for your poem.' Salad bowl lunches are quite complete With leaves,  tomatoes,  cucumber,  beet  So why did I go and add the radish Whose aftertaste is so hard to banish? A compact ball of innocent pinky red I ate one during prep,  which led To another,  then another.  Its crispy crunch Made me glad I'd added them to my lunch.  Its skin an odd mix of smooth and rough, I found that three were not enough,  So as well as those I'd already ate I

Day 12:' write a poem that plays with the idea of a “ tall tale .” American tall tales feature larger-than-life characters like  Paul Bunyan  (who is literally larger than life),  Bulltop Stormalong  (also gigantic), and  Pecos Bill  (apparently normal-sized, but he doesn’t let it slow him down).' I've chosen to write about the Irish myth of  the giant Finn MacCool, who built the Giant's Causeway   as stepping-stones to Scotland so as not to get his feet wet, and who once scooped up part of Ireland to fling it at a rival, but it missed and landed in the Irish Sea. T he resulting Isle of Man has its own myth of Manannan, a benevolent sea-god, so he makes an appearance too. Each visit, I give unspoken thanks To the giant temper of Finn MacCool, And wonder how such an ugly rage  Created tranquil beauty from that clod  Flung hard into the heavens from Lough Neagh To land in the perfect spot in the Irish Sea; Around which, in times of need,  Manannan draws close  his cloak o

Day 11: ' write either a  monostich , which is a one-line poem, or a poem made up of one-liner style jokes/sentiments. Need inspiration? Take a look at Joe Brainard’s poem “ 30 One-Liners ” or Frank O’Hara’s “ Lines for the Fortune Cookies .”' Good grief! And I thought writing haiku was difficult! It's impossible for me to be that succinct,  so I thought I'd try to come up with a line for each activity/experience during the day. Breakfast was pure fantasy, sadly.   Early Morning Coffee steam mingles with the mist that creeps towards the house. Swimming Pool Scything the water,  each stroke slick,  towards the half-mile goal.  Breakfast The pan-warm egg melts butter into the greedy bread,  as I take my first bite.  Washing Day Clothes transform from a crumpled, dirty jumble to a folded, fresh-scented pile. Rain Hangs like tears from the washing line, day after day.  Dinner Sharing stories from our day,  we weave our separate threads together again. Evening The TV flicker

Day 10: ' Ezra Pound famously said that “poetry is news that stays news.” While we don’t know about that, the news can have a certain poetry to it. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on one of the curious headlines, cartoons, and other journalistic tidbits featured at  Yesterday’s Print , where old new stays amusing, curious, and sometimes downright confusing.'  I was drawn to a story which appeared in the St Louis Post Dispatch, Missouri, on September 15, 1907, about a barber who shaved two men's heads at once,  because both said they were next in the queue,  and neither would give way to the other.  OK,  I'll admit I'm a bit off prompt because my poem is inspired by ,  rather than based on this story,  but it reminded me forcibly of trying to have a conversation with my grandkids,  sometimes two or three at a time!  Arrival They are so glad to see me They clamour for me all at once,  To come see the new Lego creation, To sit at the table and

Day 9: 'the   prompt for today takes its inspiration from   Pablo Neruda , the Chilean-born poet and Nobel Prize Winner. While he is most famous in the English-speaking world for his collection   Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair , he also wrote more than two hundred odes, and had a penchant for writing sometimes-long poems of appreciation for very common or mundane things. You can read English translations of “Ode to the Dictionary” at the bottom of   this page , “Ode to My Socks”   here , and “Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market”   here .   Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own ode celebrating an everyday object.' No pressure then! Stirred, but not Shaken This teaspoon, chosen with its companions As part of an inheritance, Tipped from its regimented, mahogany box Where every item knew its place To find a humbler home in the  jumble of a drawer, Sits,  slightly tarnished,  but with either end Rubbed shiny from regular use.  It knows itself to be essential For