Everyday Poetry

For those who are interested, here's a poem in iambic tetrameter!  Lost in Books At six I was an unformed child, A tabla rasa, teachers’ sponge, I read their books voraciously, From farmland tales, Janet and John, Until those sets were left behind. The library became my friend, The long and tiring walk no trial. Three beige card tickets were a gift, A key to worlds unknown to me, A way to mix with people who I’d never dare to meet for real; It hid my shyness, as a swat. My love of books led to a course In English Lit at Lancaster, And words became my raison d’etre. It took until my sixties ‘til - Imposter syndrome cast aside - I gathered poems in one place, My first in print collection. At last, my name appeared in print, Now other readers shared my world. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Not as Planned Growing up is never planned Your friends are those who live at hand Next door, round the corner, at street’s end, The same-aged child of your mother’s friend. As you get older, and change your schools You begin to play by different rules Choosing those who seem the same as you To realise later that isn’t true. You take on beliefs from Mum and Dad, Then throw them off as simply bad, The words of teachers, fresh and new, Soon re-define what makes you, you. Your life choices, forks in the road, The good and bad life will bestow, You accept much, and discard some, But all create what you become. You hear it said, ‘to get to there I would not have started quite from here’; It takes some time to understand, But growing up is never planned. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Here's the first of the childhood based poems I've written since coming on board.  I've never forgotten blond, blue eyed Neil.  Broken It had happened at last, the boy in my class who'd stolen my heart,  he'd   invited me along to his eleventh birthday party. I would finally be in the house I walked past playing it cool on my not-so-fast way to school. I had it all planned: as the kiss chase started, I’d run off slowly, half-hearted, as he increased his pace, I’d turn my face, he’d grab me and catch me, and snatch his first kiss, and we’d be in bliss together, forever, in a fantasy land. But alas on the day, it didn’t happen that way. The grass, once wet, hadn’t dried out quite yet, it was long and quite slippery, and before long had tripped me. The romance I’d longed for, for so very long with my ten-year-old heart was over and gone before it could start. Maybe it was fate, but the weight of the plaster cast kept us apart. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger...

I've found a couple more poems that I wrote a week or so ago and forgot to post on here.  This one is a 'found' poem - a strangely satisfying concept where you take written phrases found around you and link them together in a new way. Not surprisingly the phrases that jumped out at me from various magazines on the coffee table were on the theme of travel. Each stanza consists of individual phrases from each magazine, and as is the etiquette in these matters I have credited the sources to the right of its first phrase. Travel Broadens the Mind, a Found Poem  In a unique and friendly atmosphere                                                 Dil Raj takeaway menu Discover authentic flavour Served straight from the cooking range To enhance both dishes and y...

Today's exercise was to write a poem where the speaker is under the influence of a specific emotion, showing the emotion solely through the use of imagery. My granddaughter had a meltdown yesterday, so this was perhaps an obvious scene to try to capture, and in so doing, try to understand her a little bit more. Tsunami   The world shrinks to the size of her table, a drawing gone wrong and the world is ending, its betrayal leading her to the edge of a precipice alone, exposed, hiding the way back to normality.   She shrieks Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah! Tears rise like an incipient tsunami on the cusp of wreaking chaos; she rocks to hold the breach at bay.   They gather around her, asking their questions, but how can she know what the answers are; how can she tell if those arms which reach to hold her tight will soothe or suffocate?   All she knows is this enveloping black sickness, this stabbing need for her mother, far away in the weekday h...

An odd one - written in the form of a list, which comes across as a bit Donna Ashworth-y. Transformational Theory     It has to be the right moment, no point starting too soon.        ii.             Be ready for when you feel ready. Act on that impulse, no excuses.      iii.             Take it steady, there’s no rush, no race to the finish line.      iv.             Don’t worry of no-one notices you taking the first step -        v.             No-one needs cheerleaders. Or detractors.      vi.             Know why. The real reason.   The one you engrave on your heart. ...