Everyday Poetry

Today is the warm up for NaPoWriMo - the annual challenge to write a poem a day throughout April.  Their prompt was to be inspired by a work of art, for example a necklace found in Tutankhamen's tomb.  By itself it wasn't a strong enough prompt,  but together with the Isolation Gallery's prompt of the day - "Triangular" - and a YouTube video I once saw on how to make yourself look thinner in photographs, suddenly it all came together.  The Inadequacy of Triangles Ancient Egyptians drew themselves standing, sideways on,  Stick thin, arms raised at angles to their bodies,  Captured forever, flat against the walls of their tombs, Two dimensional,  no flesh on their bones To make them individuals.   Young girls stand three-quarters on to the camera,  Stick thin, they raise one hand to their head,  The other to their hip, two triangles to appear even thinner,  Their assumed blank smiles one dimensional; no originality To make them i...

I've been doing the "100 miles in March" WWF challenge,  raising £189 in the process. Today was my last few miles so I chose my favourite walk - round Uley Bury - even though it was very windy.  The wind comes rushing at a roar Across open moor, over ploughed fields, Snatching at loose hair, bare branches,  Testing its power on all in its path.  Children and dogs absorb its energy -  Racing around shrieking,  laughing,  barking,  Running,  tumbling,  twirling,  swirling - While older backs bow and bend Raising hoods to stop tangles,  Bracing against each buffeting gust.  © Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

We're venturing out into the garden more now the days are longer, preparing the raised beds for vegetable seeds, and finding time to sit by the ponds to admire the view.  From the dark depths of the large old pond Fish rise slowly to break the surface Like orange peel in a pan of marmalade, Rolling and jostling, fish food tempting them  Away from the delicacy of frogspawn. In the smaller, newer pond the fish lie low In clear water, grazing the bottom, Keeping close to the edge for safety,  Darting nervously across to the far side,  Invigorated by the airy splash of the waterfall. © Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

There have been so many changes while I've been doing my sponsored month of walks, both in the countryside I'm walking through and in myself.  This month of daily walks and creaking knees Has witnessed the slow greening of the trees, Birdsong has increased from the odd little natter To full blown arias, nonstop chatter.  Where once the hills made fire in my chest And I needed to stop and stand for a rest - Several times - now I power on to the top Before my body cries out for me to stop.  These changes can be seen in photos shared each day In the poems that have emerged along the way, But although I may boast my achievements the loudest Changes my sponsors will bring make me the proudest.  © Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

I've just signed up for Napowrimo 2021, and I'm looking forward to writing a new poem every day during April. Its a hard challenge but at the moment new poems seem to be coming to me nearly every day! Perhaps I should keep some in hand,  just in case.    Squirrel Scaling the winter-bare trunk, Braving the breach between each branch, Its grey fur tinged with ginger,  The creature halts its flight,  Decides to cross the road,  And leaps.  Tiny hands grip twiggy limbs Which dip and sway beneath its weight Then spring, and flick,  As on its way the squirrel goes In fitful stops and starts,  And then is gone.  © Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Despite the glowering skies My morning mood is whipped up by the wind, My strides faster, my smile broader;  I'm like the excited rooks,  Each beat of their wings Taking them further and faster,  Each sudden gust pushing them off course,  Throwing them through the sky.  © Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Two days ago the prompt was "return" and I half composed this poem on my way round a favourite local landmark: Uley Bury. I've written several poems about the place,  but there's always space for one more.  Of all the local walks I've found and loved The one to which my boots return the most Sits just above my home.   The taxing incline repays tenfold Each panting effort to crest the hill  To reach the level walk around the ancient fort Fenced off for cattle grazing. The sandy western track teases  Giving glimpses through bare branched trees Of Severn Estuary,  Welsh Black Mountains.  It's southern edge widens the horizon Towards the Cotswold hills: Dursley nestled under Stinchcombe Hill,  Uley folded into the foot of the Ewelme Valley.  Northwards along the rocky ramparts Raised high above the wooded valley slopes Towards the once gated entrance -  Where present day working parties Do battle with encroaching ash, and elm - My boots...

I've recently come across a new poetic form: the Triversen, which is composed of six three line stanzas,  each of which is a standalone sentence of between two and four beats. This is my first attempt.   Two heads are better than one, so they say - Zaphod Beeblebrox certainly thought so - Although I have a feeling mine would bicker.  In any case, I have no need of a second head Being perfectly able to hold in my single brain Two quite contrary opinions at the same time. Perhaps this is because I'm a Piscean, My thoughts swimming in opposite directions, Encouraging ambiguity in place of certainty.  This ability may have arisen in childhood, Developing strategies for avoiding confrontation, Keeping my head down, agreeing to keep the peace. So when I agree with you, and your opponent, Don't call me two-faced, or unopinionated, If anything I have opinions to spare.  I'm simply exercising my prerogative To see more than one side of the argument, Swimming with th...

I'm 5 days into a sponsored challenge to walk 100 miles in March. So far I've been walking locally and have come across all sorts of natural treasures. Today I met a detectorist, who was looking for a different sort of treasure.    I came across a man on hands and knees Digging deep with a trowel, In a field where once Romans came To worship at a temple.  We talked a while about this and that Where coins and more had been found By more professional excavators,  And all the while he kept on digging  Until he grasped his quarry -  a modern piece of metal. Disappointment for him reduced me to commonplace: Never mind, keep on, you never know. Walking on, looking back after a polite distance, I saw his swishing detector play across the field Searching for something shiny.  © Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

I wrote this one back in 2009 when I was still working. I had been lured to a very demanding post with the promise that it would lead to promotion,  but in the event that didn't happen. It seems a lifetime ago now.  I've resurrected it today to submit it for a challenge to write something about a competition.   It's funny How the finishing line I had in my sights For so long it became part of who I was,  Was at the last minute not even there -  Broken by another competitor's chest As she streaked ahead in the last few yards And I stopped in my tracks - stunned -  Without a direction to focus on.  The second prize seemed insufficient To chase away the sense of failure, disbelief, and gullibility.  How could I have endured such pain,  Such unrelenting pressure, to perform so long at my best Only to have the prize given to another? Now,  with the benefit of hindsight I see I had been running blindfold Without knowing if I was heading i...

Like everyone else,  I've been waiting patiently for some time, so when my invitation came last week I went straight online and booked my jabs!  The simple letter with its NHS logo,   Stamped with the instruction "Do not forward" Reveals inside a hidden promise, The best invitation ever: to come for vaccination.  This changes everything.   It's the first step towards a new normality, The possibility of full protection by the end of May.  At last the prospect of meeting up With friends, in groups,  Becomes possible, less scary. It proffers the lure of a summer holiday.  © Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved