Everyday Poetry

A return to normality,  and another OU writing exercise. Using Martha Kapos' poem 'Finding my Bearings' as a template, create a poem using the following structure:- 1. 4 sentence fragments 2. A quote from somewhere 3. A question 4. 2 sentence fragments 5. A complete sentence 6. 3 sentence fragments I've been stressing a lot lately about my diabetes diagnosis, feeling guilty about letting it happen,  and mourning the end of spontaneous eating. This is what emerged (it's very typically me, and nothing like Martha Kapos!) Reality, Type 2 A refusal to believe it would come to this, A head buried neck-deep in the sand. A sick empty ache in the pit of the stomach, A need to know everything, all at once. "There is no cure for Type 2 diabetes" How could I let it come to this? Each mouthful now analysed, charted, Each choice questioned, justified. Welcome to Reality 2.0 No more affectionate sweet treats, No more ice-cream consolations, No more chocolate highs. © Co

The last day of our holiday is deliciously relaxed,  no more temples,  just cruising up the Nile,  with a soft warm breeze keeping us cool.  Here are some snapshots from the top deck.  egrets stare  on rafts of water hyacinth, stab and swallow stare again. bow waves herringbone the width of the river each following surface a mirror of bank and sky. the split between  sunseekers and shade dwellers shifts with the sun's progress east to west. traders in small boats call hello, hello throw table cloths onto top decks  to tourists high above. the slip, the drift of water past land, past palm trees, minarets,  towns of waving children, a series of camera clicks. © Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Although a relatively minor monarch,  reigning for a short number of years, Tutankhamun has perhaps achieved the greatest 'immortality' of all the Pharoahs- thousands of tourists flock to Cairo to visit his remains and photograph his tomb in the Valley of the Kings 6,000 years later.   This wasn't the immortality I sought when I ordered my tomb to be packed tight with golden goods and royal riches. I planned for their usefulness in the afterlife  where I would mingle humbly with the gods, my status as pharaoh understated, understood. My tomb was sealed, to prevent thieves from robbing me of my greatness; it stood six thousand years.  Then came the greatest thieves of all, plundering my tomb, stripping my riches; Demotion to the lowest rung amongst the gods. My fragile body now lies back in its tomb, exposed,  without its outer casings, no sarcophagus, no gold, no lapis, no turquoise, no coral. My trappings lie many miles away, inside glass cases, admired by mortals from eve

Today we visited the Temple of Horus at Edfu,  where I was reminded of the importance of paying proper respect to the deities.   Looking back, I should have been looking down, paying more attention to the ups and dips of the floor, instead of making polite way for incoming tourists.  I should have known I'd jinx my luck, by not wearing my scarab necklace, by pointing out how all the sculptures had well-defined knees. After all, this was a temple pharmacy, a sacred place where sculptures round the outer hall drew large the part the priests were asked to cure.  Down I went.  A grazed elbow,  a bruised knee,  a greater dent in dignity; nothing a brush down and a dollop of antiseptic cream couldn't put right.  But, at the next temple along the Nile I'll be sure to show proper respect to the deities flanking the entrance pylon, instead of seeking the perfect shot of their statues for instagram. © Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

All the pretty young instagrammers  pose and pout and flash their V signs taking selfies in the foreground, while no-one notices the sphinx's smile  held for decades too long for all the tourists' cameras, has slipped. © Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved