Everyday Poetry

At our poetry group meeting this morning we were talking about the process of selecting poems to share, and all agreed we prefer more modern poets. At one point Jill said,  " I discarded all those which started "O Thou" straight away". I took that as a challenge!  "O Thou art" is such a bloody stupid way to start a poem. Leave aside the fact we're not living in the 17th, 18th or 19th centuries, and poets nowadays prefer gritty realism in their slams,  whoever heard of addressing a flower, grasshopper, moon or mouse, face to face? Even in these days of mental health awareness it would be considered rather odd. And even if they could (or cared) to listen, they'd not appreciate the lengths you'd gone to to praise their beauty, industry, or funny ways. These pompous odes are best left in the historical section,  let's not give them airspace. Looking back is so cheugy, so cringe. ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

The Sestina is all about the words at the end of each line, and has only 6 of these end-words, for the whole 39 lines. There are 6 stanzas of 6 lines, followed by a 3 line stanza.  The end-words repeat in a strict order: Stanza 1:  1 2 3 4 5 6 Stanza 2:  6 1 5 2 4 3 Stanza 3:  3 6 4 1 2 5 Stanza 4:  5 3 2 6 1 4 Stanza 5:  4 5 1 3 6 2 Stanza 6:  2 4 6 5 3 1 Stanza 7:  1+2, 3+4, 5+6. The title for today's offering is exactly what I told myself to do.  When faced with another complicated verse form it's the  only  thing to do! There is a special kind of happiness When the band begins to drum When your feet pick up the rhythm, And your body wants to dance. Throw caution to the wind, my love, We can let our party start. In truth, it may now take quite a time before I want to start Dancing, sometimes I need a little liquid happiness Before remembering this is what I used to love More than anything.  But when the beat of the drum  Sets my body reverberating, and the floor begs me to d

Today's exercise is to write a pantoum.  This incredibly difficult verse form must surely have been dreamed up by the devil! These are the rules:- Each stanza has 4 lines The rhyme scheme is abab bcbc cdcd dada The 2nd and 4th lines of the first stanza = the 1st and 3rd of the next stanza,  and so on (!!) In the last stanza,  the original a lines become b lines (???) The very first line of the poem becomes the last line. Fortunately there was an example, so rules 3 and 4 started to make sense.  But good grief, this was hard!  (In the discussion following the exercise the book suggests it can result in an obsessive,  melancholic mood - I think I achieved that.) The Brink One day is much like all the rest - Wake, eat, maintain, endure and sleep - When you're not feeling at your best, When back to bed you want to creep. Wake, eat, maintain, endure and sleep Seems far too hard, too much to bear, When back to bed you want to creep, And groan out loud "Life isn't fair!"

My book has taken a formal turn, setting us exercises to write in various poetic forms. The first is the villanelle, a very repetitive form,  where two of the lines repeat four times, and there are only two rhymes for all 19 lines.   I've been looking at poems about insects for my next poetry group meeting  so perhaps it's not so surprising I've written about how to attract bees.   The honeysuckle lifts its skirts up high Pink frilly petticoats all on show To snare the bees as they fly by.  A sunny day in late July While bees about the garden come and go The honeysuckle lifts its skirts up high.  Buddleia, ox-eyes, foxgloves, all attempt to ply Their wares; scent and colour all they know To snare the bees as they fly by.  Bees buzz, hover, land, take to the sky Their senses enflamed; while down below The honeysuckle lifts its skirts up high.  Their sickly sweet scent drifts like a sigh From a weary lover; soft breezes blow To snare the bees as they fly by. With many near ri

A series of haiku, to create a montage of our visit to Thornbury Fire Station's open day last weekend. A red fire engine Stands proud outside its station Calling: Look at me! Kids queue with parents, For their turn to sit up front Wearing yellow hats. On the grass, dummies Lie expectantly for those Who know CPR. A boat fills up fast With mini coastguards keen on Saving lives at sea. The cherry picker -  The only ride at this fair - Is disappointing. The most popular Attraction: an icecream van. Kids wait in the sun. My grandkids too shy To talk to those on duty, Bore too easily. ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

The latest activity in my course workbook is to write a sonnet, using a previous draft as a basis.  Never one to follow rules I've decided to start from scratch - if I'd wanted to write any of the others as a sonnet I would have done so at the time!  Apparently nowadays you don't have to stick to strict iambic pentameters, and it's OK to use half or slant rhymes. All of which makes it easier to do,  but somehow harder to come up with something of substance.   Anyway, I've been spending far too much time scrolling on my phone lately,  so that's the subject I've come up with.  Screen buddies It's easy these days, to sit and waste the time You could be spending better.  Too easy to scroll Through lives being lived by others, so fine And dandy in their onscreen world, it's all So perfect, all smiles and laughter. Have no doubt About what they're doing. It's one big sell To make you like, or buy, or share. It's about Selling a lifestyle, and t

Create a poem about an animal, and play with line breaks.  I've always found it tricky to know where to place the break.  In a poem with regular metre and a rhyme scheme it's easy,  but free verse is tricky.  What makes it different from a piece of prose? Is it affectation to break it where there is no natural pause? He brings a flash of glamour, the flash of blue-tipped wings, glorious against the pinkish brown, the twin black moustachios framing his white throat, he looks the part: more dressy than his jackdaw cousins, more flashy than the dapper magpies, he catches the eye. All dignity is lost, while upside-down he flaps and hangs to stab the fat balls, peanuts,  thick long beak piercing through the feeder's mesh. He is in a feeding frenzy, chicks hidden safe in nearby woodland. A sudden move; he's gone. The stage abruptly empty, left free for more dowdy birds, waiting in the lilac tree. ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

I've a feeling this might turn into a mini Napowrimo! Today's exercise is to choose a memorable day in your life,  freewrite on it for 10-15 minutes,  then create a poem using at least 5 metaphors or similes. This is much more than I'd usually use, and felt a little forced.  I've chosen to write (with a huge dollop of hindsight) about my first wedding: as I've recently written about my second it seemed only fair.  Still as a restless statue, I'd lain long hours of the night,   Uselessly trying to mitigate the spikes of hard rollers, Listening to the tap-tap of ill-omened rain. In our long homemade dresses, my sister and I  Got ourselves ready in our parents' bedroom;  Kids playing at the grownups we thought we were.  My nerves and long train loaded into the white Jag,  My Dad distracted me on the short, momentous journey  To the church of concrete and glass.  Vows repeated in an unremembered, dreamlike haze, We swam radiant through a deluge of confetti. Lega

I've reached the poetry section of the workbook, which starts with an exercise in writing about a household object.  I've written poems about mugs,  chairs,  even cutlery in the past,  so this time I chose our date night candles.  On Friday nights four white church candles Flicker at our table's end, tops fluted  Into blousy frills, sunken centres hollowed As hissing flame meets melting wax.  Impossible to resist their invitation  To mould warmed wax into flamboyant ruffs, The thick tower edges yield sensually, Under gently probing fingers. ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

I've surprised myself by signing up for an Open University MA in Creative Writing - exciting and terrifying in equal measure. I've already started the suggested pre-reading which is a workbook, with practical exercises dotted through it,  so you can expect some poems prompted by these over the coming months!  This one was to write about a specific event, using personal and cultural memories. Right up my street!  Get it On, Jeepster, Metal Guru, Telegram Sam, With his brown eyes and long dark curly hair, Tight satin trousers, crazy top hat, glitter and guitar, He'd stare at me dreamily from pocket money posters from Athena, Pages torn from Jackie, pasted onto my psychedelic bedroom walls. By night I would  Ride a White Swan with my 20th Century Boy . By day I was class swot, flanked by Marion, Rosemary, Catherine,  As far from the popular girls as it was possible to get; I kept to what I was good at, what was safe.  So the invitation came as an electric surprise, a hint of

Another friend has passed away, and will be dearly missed. Yesterday our book group honoured her memory by attending her funeral,  and spending time back at her house amongst her family and friends.  I always find it odd that we find out more about a person's life after they've died than is ever shared while we think we know them.  Our quiet friend, of firm opinions softly spoken, Will never again welcome us into her home,  To discuss her choice of book, relish her homemade cakes, To admire her eclectic collection of postcards on the loo wall, To envy her stream-fed pond, her rambling cottage garden.  Instead, her family warmly welcomes us in, The house humming with tales from those who knew her well,  Who somehow know us: our names, reputations, book choices, Our faces smiling out from frames set among family photos; All of us sharing stories of her love of nature, books, travels, All of us honouring this steadfast, self-effacing woman, Between us cherishing this chronicle of

I came across an interesting concept the other day: glimmers.  It was in a magazine,  encouraging you to be more present in the moment, to linger and watch your surroundings. "If something catches your eye,  pause and notice - there will be a small glimmer waiting to be harvested." I love the idea of glimmers - glimpses of something wonderful,  small moments of joy,  inklings of something bigger. In psychology,  glimmers are moments of positivity which soothe our nervous system,  making us feel safe.   Normally I'd expect to find most of my glimmers in nature,  but today I found one somewhere else.   One gold-edged cloud in an overcast sky, The beginnings of a smile on a tear-stained face,  A forgotten sweet at the bottom of a handbag,  The sweet smell of a loaf, almost ready,  The first green shoots breaking through soil,  A cream-spotted feather on a woodland path, A wave-smoothed heart on a pebble beach, One folded sheet of paper,  posted in a black tin box.  ©  Copyri