Everyday Poetry

Day 21: " In her poem, “ Names and Nicknames ,” Monika Kumar reminisces over various nicknames she has been given, the actual name her mother gave her, and the way both names and nicknames indicate a claim and an intimacy at once. In your poem for today, we challenge you to write your own poem in which you muse on your name and nicknames you’ve been given." Strangely I had a conversation about nicknames 2 days ago with my granddaughter. She was telling me about the nicknames her friends have been given,  but she doesn't have one.  Just like her I never had a nickname as a child, and it was always rather a disappointment.  Secret names Our given names come from our parents,  But the name most treasured comes from friends,  Our secret name, our special name,  Shared only by those in the know.  At school, we pondered long and hard,  Tried out suggestions for size,  Rolled them around our mouths until they fit,  Or didn't.   Throug...

Day 20: " try writing your own poem that uses an animal that shows up in myths and legends as a metaphor for some aspect of a contemporary person’s life. Include one spoken phrase." This poem is for anyone who has transformed a tired way of life as a result of a determined decision.  But for one person in particular.   Phoenix She rises, dusts off the ashes of her last incarnation, Surprised by her unfamiliar framed reflection,  Stretches wings s hining with the golden glow  Of new feathers hesistantly tried on for size. The dull weight of old aches transformed Into newfound crackling energy, Possibility draws her forward, Her old self left far behind.  You always were a drama queen.  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 19: " In her poem, “ Florilegium ,” Canadian poet Sylvia Legris gathers together many five-lined stanzas that describe flowers but also play with the sounds of their names, their medical (or poisonous) qualities, and historical aspects of herbalism. Today, pick a flower or two (or a whole bouquet, if you like) from this online edition of Kate Greenaway’s  Language of Flowers . Now, write your own poem in which you muse on your selections’ names and meanings." I've picked my favourite (the daffodil),  my daughter's (the rose), and my  mum's (the freesia).  Like us, they wouldn't make a coherent bouquet, but singly they are all rather special. Legris doesn't name the flowers in her verses and I've followed suit, hoping their identity is obvious from the description.  As an additional clue each verse begins with the first two letters of each flower.  Dancing in the breeze, faces demurely lowered, Pure unadulterated joy in a swathe of sunlit gold,  A s...

Day 18: "Take inspiration from  dramatic narrative poems such as  Alfred Noyes’s “ The Highwayman .” The action is dramatic, there’s lots of emotions, and the imagery is striking.  We invite you to try your hand at writing something that could be a section or piece of such a poem. " This is way out of my comfort zone! Dramatic narrative poems have a whole structure of their own. The Highwayman has 15 syllable lines and a rhyme scheme of aabccb. Well, you gotta love a challenge, and whilst there's no pirates, bank robbers or mermaids, there's plenty of emotion and drama. The girl she is a hurricane, a force both fierce and wild, You'd think she was a changeling, not the common human child, She'll be completely charming for an hour, become enraged the next, You'd never think it possible,                                                       ...

Day 17: " write a poem in which you respond to a favorite poem by another poet." The difficult part is choosing which of my favourites to respond to! In the end I settled on a poem I enjoyed yesterday:  Elizabeth Boquet's The Blues , which in turn is after Wendy Cope's Some More Light Verse ", both excellent poems. My poem is more by way of self encouragement than a reflection of achievement.   You can do it! You have to try. You have to walk. You put it off. It's only talk. You say you will. You know you won't. You pretend you want to, but you don't. You sit for hours. You get quite stiff. You sigh and dream. You live in 'if'. You have to move. No pain no gain. But standing hurts. You sit again. You know there's nothing left to do, But grit your teeth and push on through. You try one day. You walk for ten. The next day twelve. You try again. You try so hard. You don't give up. You reach twenty, and speed up. You still hurt. You still ...

Day 16: " Try writing a poem in which you describe something that cannot speak, and what it has taught or told you." This prompt brought to mind the image I turn to whenever I'm stressed out: in a dentist chair, having a medical procedure, whatever. It immediately floods me with calm and i will be forever grateful to my ex-husband for suggesting it to me as a useful technique,  as I lay there on that Portuguese beach so many decades ago.    In a weird coincidence, after I'd written this I discovered that I wrote about this same thing exactly two years ago in a response to a Napowrimo prompt, which shows this specific memory is still strong even if my short term memory is failing!  Refuge I carry with me a blessing. A memory Of sand-worn, sun-bleached azure slats Will summon the peace of a drowsy moment Basking in slightly-too-hot, but longed-for sunshine, The smell of sardines over an open flame, The laughter of children on the breeze. Conjured, it can drown any pres...

Day 15: "  K. Siva Reddy’s poem, “ A Love Song Between Two Generations ,” weaves together repetitions, questions, and unexpected similes with plain language. The overall effect is both intimate and emotional, producing a long-form meditation on what love is, what it means, and how it acts.  Today, we’d like you to write your own poem that muses on love, but isn’t a traditional love poem in the sense of expressing love between romantic partners." My poem deals with love we have for our animal companions, who are just as much a part of our family as our human relatives.  Portal She's telling me of her golden retriever  Chewie, Named after Chewbacca, and twice as furry. An old man now, he stalks stiffly across the screen,  Noses her hand, huge eyed. She tells of vets visits, Of accidents in the night, of lumps and tests, and worry. She hugs him tight, once for herself and once for me,  Our own issues on hold while we share unspoken memories,  Sorrow and a...

Day 14: " Poetry is an ancient art, and one that revisits themes that existed thousands of years ago – love, nature, jealousy. But that doesn’t mean that poets live in a sort of pre-history unaffected by technological advances. Emily Dickinson wrote about  trains , and I’m rather charmed by  this 1981 poem  about the “incredible hair” of actors on television. In a more recent example, Becca Klaver’s “ Manifesto of the Lyric Selfie ” draws inspiration from the contemporary drive to document everything in digital photographs. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that similarly bridges (whether smoothly or not) the seeming divide between poetry and technological advances." Well, my poem just had to be about gaming! My grandsons and (to a lesser extent) my granddaughter are hooked on Roblox games, and disappear up to their rooms straight after lunch whenever I'm visiting on a Sunday.  Hopefully it's not just an excuse to get away from boring old Granny!  Generati...

Day 13: " read Walter de la Mare’s poem “ A Song of Enchantment ” then, John Berryman’s poem “ Footing Our Cabin’s Lawn, Before the Wood .” Both poems work very differently, yet leave you with a sense of the near-fantastical possibilities of the landscapes they describe. Try  your hand today at writing a poem about a remembered, cherished landscape. It could be your grandmother’s backyard, your schoolyard basketball court, or a tiny strip of woods near the railroad tracks. At some point in the poem, include language or phrasing that would be unusual in normal, spoken speech – like a rhyme, or syntax that feels old-fashioned or high-toned." My memory is of one afternoon on the working farm we used to visit in the holidays, owned by Ma and Pop, our proxy grandparents. We would have been visiting them from birth until we were pre-teens, and were not allowed to wander far afield, our play restricted to the farm and its gardens. I've used a regular rhyme scheme like Walter de ...

Day 12: "   Amarjit Chandan  has a pretty wild biography, but his poetry is often focused on place and memory – with his hometown of Nakodar appearing repeatedly. His poem “ Uncle Mohan Singh ” recounts, with a sort of dreaminess, a memory of the titular uncle playing the accompaniment to a silent film. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem that recounts a memory of a beloved relative, and something they did that echoes through your thoughts today." Sundays are always a rush,  to get things done before I go over to see my son and grandkids. Today is even more important as it's the youngest's 9th birthday.  I'm reminded of the childhood Sundays we spent round my aunt's, and the generosity she always showed her nieces.  She had a tragic start in life, losing her husband and miscarrying their child, but I  remember her always being as cheerful as her name would imply. She introduced me to my first husband, and without her I'd not have had m...

Day 11: " Erasure poetry — also known as blackout poetry — is written by taking an existing text and erasing or blacking out individual words. Here’s a  great explainer with examples , and you’ll find another  here . Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own erasure/blackout poem." I turned to today's page in the book Everyday Nature by Andy Beer, and found it featured the Willow Warbler. I was sceptical about this technique at first,  but it discovered it can yield some surprisingly evocative results.  Erasure Song      birdsong                 a rapid descending trill                                            soft as summer rain                                 tune in get to know        ...

Day 10: " In his poem, “ Goodbye ,” Geoffrey Brock describes grief in three short stanzas, the second of which is entirely made up of a rhetorical dialogue. Today, write your own meditation on grief. Try using Brock’s form as the “container” for your poem: a few short stanzas, with a middle section in which a question is repeated with different answers given." Grief is a hard theme to write about, but it comes in many forms. Like Brock, I've chosen to write about a long ago broken heart.  The Depth of a Crevasse  Sufficient time has passed. You'd never know from my face That deep inside there hides A messy raw patch, still bleeding.  (Did you ever really love me?  I told you not to fall in love with me.  How could I know the risk was so big? Who knows the depth of a crevasse?) They told me time heals. It's almost true. The years have shrunk the grief To a small messy patch, which bleeds Only when I think to poke it.   © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All...

Day 9: " Marianne Moore  was a well-known modernist poet, with a curious taste in  hats . Though she wrote on many themes, I’ve always had some affection for her many poems about – or in the voice of – animals, such as “ The Fish ,” “ Dock Rats ,” “ The Pangolin ,” and “ No Swan so Fine .” Today, try writing your own poem in the voice of an animal or plant, or a poem that describes a specific animal or plant with references to historical events or scientific facts." I've decided to write about the grey squirrel who visits our garden, tempted by the easy pickings available. Little does he know what strong emotions he arouses in us.  Squirrel The crafty beast, d iminuitive, nervous, That c urls his tail round the pole as he grips Upside down, with perfect, tiny paws,  Does not know, or care, that he should not be here But should be living out his life on another continent. He does not know how the Victorian upper class Carried his forebears across the ocean to adorn th...

Day 8: " In his poem, “ Poet, No Thanks ,” Jean D’Amérique repeats the phrase “I wasn’t a poet” multiple times, while describing other things that he instead claims to have been. In your poem for today, use a simple phrase repeatedly, and then make statements that invert or contradict that phrase." I'm not a Poet I'm not a poet.  I'm a woman whose world unwraps itself Piece by beautiful piece, Revealing its true nature shyly Like the heart of a onion. I'm not a poet. I'm a wife with love as deep as the ocean Riding waves of joy and frustration Bobbing along on the tide of commonplace Warming myself on your shore.  I'm not a poet.  I'm a mother and grandmother as fierce as a tiger, Soft as dough rising in a cream ceramic bowl, Constant as the sun appearing in the morning,  Proud as a peacock, true as time.  I'm not a poet.   I'm a sister whose thoughts fly over the miles Shrinking the distance till we stand side by side, Two branches split f...

Day 7: " In her poem, “ Front Yard Rhyme ,” Cecily Parks evokes the sing-songy beats that accompany girls’  clapping games , and  jump-rope and skipping  rhymes. Today, we challenge you to write your own poem that emulates these songs – something to snap, clap, and jump around to." My granddaughter loves to make up clapping rhymes with complicated hand gestures to reflect each line.  With this in mind and a need to grab my walking stick and see the bluebells carpeting the woods at the end of our lane before they disappear,  I've crafted this poem to encourage me to get over my fear of the struggle to get there.  I'm hoping the rhythm will scoop me up and carry me along before I can think too much about it..  Into the Blue Bluebell wood, life is good, walk there now, how? Take a stick, grab it quick, out the door, now. Past the hedge, stone wall edge, up the hill, till You stand in awe, blue woodland floor, breath held still. One bell flutters Nothing m...

Day 6: " take inspiration from Yentl van Stokkum’s poem, “ It’s the Warmest Summer on Record Babe ,” which blends casual, almost blasé phrasing with surreal events like getting advice from a bumblebee. In your poem today, try writing with a breezy, conversational tone, while including at least one thing that could only happen in a dream." I've chosen to write about a dream I had a few weeks ago.  It didn't happen exactly like this,  but that is what poetic licence is all about.   Epiphany   You know, last night was one one those nights You don't expect.  You go to bed as usual,  All the ritual stuff of brushing your teeth For the regulation two minutes, the last minute wee, The diary pause to capture important moments from the day, The reading of the latest novel to ease your brain into sleep,  The last, last minute wee.   So far, so usual. But sometime between midnight and the inevitable 3am wake up, I had an epiphany.   ...

Day 5: " write a poem in which you talk about hating something – particularly something utterly innocuous. Be over the top! Be a bit silly and overdramatic." Quite a challenge for me, as I feel hate is too strong an emotion,  and one I really don't identify with.  But as we're encouraged to be overdramatic I've exaggerated one of the things that wind me up. Climbing Everest I love you,  I really do. But hate the everest of paper Piled on, beside, around your chair, An untidy, unstable heap About to collapse to the floor At the slightest touch.  I seethe inside each time it catches my eye, Determined not to be the one to put it right, Silently holding it against you as it grows day by day. Oblivious, you s it instead on the settee, And start another pile. © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 4: " In his poem, “ Spring Thunder ,” Mark van Doren brings us a short, haunting evocation of weather and the change in seasons. Today, we’d like to challenge you to craft your own short poem that involves a weather phenomenon and some aspect of the season. Try using rhyme and keeping your lines of roughly even length." Since we put the clocks forward for British Summer Time I really feel a lifting of my spirits, matched by a different quality of light and the mating activity of birds.  This little poem isn't about a weather phenomenon as such, but simply reflects the change of light and activity as the clocks go forward.  It's a bit simplistic - definitely in need of a later edit!  Spring Time You can’t help but notice The change in the light,  Mornings cling to darkness But we've pushed back night. Since clocks advanced We enjoy the dawn chorus Light is enhanced, Air seems more porous. The garden comes alive Busy birds nest and sing, The whole world revives ...

Day 3: " In his poem, “ Treasure Hunt ,” Prabodh Parikh brings us a refreshingly different view of what being a poet is like – that is, if you grew up on the cultural notion of poets being wan and ethereal, or ill and doomed. Parikh’s boisterous pirate of a poet might be an “unreliable” character, but seems like he’d be the life of any party, and quite satisfied with his existence.  Today, we challenge you to write a poem in which a profession or vocation is described differently than it typically is considered to be. Perhaps your poem will feature a very relaxed brain surgeon, or a farmer that hates vegetables. Or maybe you have a poetical alter-ego of your own, who flies a non-wan, treasure-hunting flag with pride." I rather like writing poems about what is like to write poetry, and relish the challenge of an extended metaphor (or two!) so the choice was quite straightforward today.   The Gardener She gardens quietly, Choosing her blooms with care, Discarding those late...

Day 2: " In her poem, “ Pittsylvania County ,” Ellen Bryant Voigt recounts watching her father and brother play catch with sensory detail and a strangely foreboding sense of inevitability. The speaker watches the scene filled with a pervading sense that she wants something more or different from life than what the moment seems to presage.  Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem in which you recount a childhood memory. Try to incorporate a sense of how that experience indicated to you, even then, something about the person you’d grow up to be." I'm drawn to write about my children rather than myself.  It was so clear from a very early age they would grow up to be very different from each other.   Chalk and Cheese As a baby she'd want company, To be beside, to be talked to, to be held. As she grew her circle grew with her, The daughters of her mother's  friends, Schoolfriends, neighbours, Those she charmed on bus rides. Later there were the front...