Everyday Poetry

Day 30: ' write a poem that describes different times in which you’ve heard the same band or piece of music across your lifetime.' I've chosen to write about the music of Ian Dury and the Blockheads, as I was a big fan back in the 70s.   Reasons to be cheerful Bootlegs tapes were the best we could get Back in the dissaffected punk rock days Of penniless rebellion.  Played loud and proud To shock, offend, we relished each  double entendre As Dury hit us over and over with his rhythm stick.  Blink of an eye, and they're hidden Behind New Wave CDs at the back of an MFI rack, Safe from prying eyes and sticky fingers,  To save the embarrassment of innocent questions About sex and drugs, and rock and roll.  Yesterday, driving home to the 'Sounds of the Seventies' Whispering Bob is featuring the Blockheads, Revealing a poignancy long forgotten  As Dury croons about his Old Man,  Elegizes Sweet Gene Vincent.  © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All R...

Day 29: ' write a poem that takes its inspiration from the life of a musician, poet, or other artist.'   I've chosen to write about Maya Angelou, whose poems and sexy vocal growl I find really mesmerising. She truly was a phenomenon - known primarily as a poet, writer and activist, she was also an educator, actress, singer and dancer. During her lifetime she was awarded the National Medal of Arts by President Clinton, the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Obama, and over 50 honorary degrees.  All this despite a deprived background where she was the victim of child abuse.  Phenomenal Woman            "A wise woman wishes to be no- one's enemy; a wise woman refuses to be anyone's                   victim." Maya Angelou . Her voice rises  an unstoppable force from the depths of her subterranean growl to the soaring flight of the freed bird, teaching us all to walk with diamonds...

Day 28: " Music features heavily in human rituals and celebrations. We play music at parties; we play it in parades, and at weddings. In her poem,  OBIT [Music] , Victoria Chang describes the role that music played in her mother’s funeral. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that involves music at a ceremony or event of some kind." Falmouth Funeral Blues Don't ask me what hymns were chosen, What I sang, in my triple forked grief.   All I remember is the rawness of silent tears Shed at the hollow words I could not believe When they spoke of the better place; Her loss of the years she should have lived; T he new hole at the heart of our family. Those hymns with their empty promises  were endured. Comfort came f rom the love, and the sorrow, Reverberating round the packed church, Every pew full, with more standing round the edges, Bearing witness to the woman I knew only as Mum. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 27: " W.H. Auden’s “ Musée des Beaux Arts ” takes its inspiration from a very particular painting: Breughel’s “ Landscape with the Fall of Icarus .” Today we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem that describes a detail in a  painting, and that begins, like Auden’s poem, with a grand, declarative statement." I'm sitting in my conservatory looking not at a painting but at a mosaic of a dog made from broken crockery:  Cleo Mussi, A-Z Handbook, Pp is for Pat a Pet.  I've had it since my Aunty Gladys passed away and left me a little money, and it always brings a smile to my face.   The hand that feeds She knew what she was doing Gathering discarded plates and bowls,  Selecting their colour and pattern Smashing them into sharp shards,  Long and pointy like the dog's bared teeth As it nears the hand that feeds it treats.  Yes the dog is bug-eyed, his nails extend Wide from all four paws, but he's rendered In pale creams, soft browns and gre...

Day 26: 'try your hand at a sonnet' - great,  this is a form I rather enjoy trying to update.   I've been becoming aware over the last couple of years that more and more wrinkles are taking up residence on my face, a fact remarked upon by my 8 year old grandson recently!  Laughter lines My grandson described me, just last weekend, As warm and round, and with lots of wrinkles, A fond description not meant to offend As there's no denying all the crinkles.  For years I accepted each compliment About my skin: so smooth and so unlined; 'I guess I'm just lucky' I would consent, Or insist they were being far too kind. But age has caught up with me, now its grip Is showing plain in lines upon my face,  I feel so lucky, instead of hardship Laughter has given every one its place. I wear all my wrinkles with carefree pride,  My feelings about 'round' best kept inside!  © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 25: ' write a poem that recounts an experience of your own in hearing live music, and tells how it moves you.' I'm getting a bit tired of all the music based prompts,  but I will persevere. This one is about a live concert we went to in a field near Peel on the Isle of Man, as part of the TT centenary celebrations in 2007. Unbelievably the warm up act were The Stranglers! Madness, 2007 The first note on the saxophone And the crowd are jerking to the beat of ska, Arms pumping, feet rooted to the grass, Sweating under the rain soaked marquee, Grinning at the oh-so-familiar notes,  Singing along, drowning out the band.  Our hero, pork pie hat, loud-checked suit, Belts out "Morning miss; Can I help you son?" And the crowd responds, following the 4/4 beat, Thirty years disappearing in an instant, Middle-aged teenagers, lost in its rhythm, In love with the sound, in love with life. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Day 24: " In her poem,  Duet , Lisa Russ Spaar tells the story of two sisters making music together, based on two pre-existing songs by different artists. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that involves people making music together, and that references – with a lyric or line – a song or poem that is important to you." For a while now I've been wanting to write about bringing Jenny, my first baby, home from hospital. It seemed interesting to try using lyrics from songs from the Top 20 that week as a way of expressing how my mum and I were feeling.  Wonderful Christmastime No crib, no manger, just a bottom drawer, Hastily emptied when the shop phoned With an apology for the missing order. She sleeps, unaware of her humble bed, Tucked round tight in white, Her blanket crocheted by her nan, Who can't stop smiling As she sings along with Paul McCartney:         'Simply having a wonderful Christmas time ' My exhausted smile at the makeshift cot  S...

Day 23:  " Humans might be the only species to compose music, but we’re quite famously not the only ones to make it. Birdsong is all around us – even in cities, there are sparrows chirping, starlings making a racket. And it’s hardly surprising that birdsong has inspired poets. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem that focuses on birdsong." I've recently been recommended the Merlin app,  which is a great little aid to identifying any bird that is singing nearby.  On a walk through the woods the other day I realised why I've resisted for so long the urge to put a name to birdsong: it adds very little to my pleasure, and all the screen jabbing gets in the way of actually listening. Blackbird, blackcap, robin, wren All singing new boundaries into their place, Their songs sounding beautiful, even when Gearing up for a fight, defending their space. The Merlin app's given unhoped-for clarity My phone to the rescue, I now know for sure The bird that is...

Day 22:  write a poem about something you’ve done – whether it’s music lessons, or playing soccer, crocheting, or fishing, or learning how to change a tire – that gave you satisfaction, and perhaps still does. Years ago I tried to write a novel.  As I was only 20 or so years old it was full of radical righteousness,  the characters were caricatures - simply awful! So I was nervous about the part of my OU course which dealt with creative non-fiction. Whether it was due to the wisdom of mature years (unlikely) or the fact that it was grounded in real events, this was a revelation.  It turns out I love writing memoir almost as much as poetry!  Released from the need for tight control,  Of finding the right resonant word To balance and echo with its neighbours,  The words come rushing from the nib Filling the page from edge to edge,  Flowing fast in their rush To the foot of the page, Snapping it over,  In a helter skelter To the final line. © Co...

Not a NaPoWriMo poem this one, but one I'm drafting for my last OU assessment.  I'm putting together a sequence of poems covering periods in my life from childhood, through adolescence to young adulthood. There was a gap in the space where a poem should sit - about that time when adolescence becomes young womanhood - this is my first attempt at filling at. Seventeen Caught in the glow of Kodachrome, Captured forever in the back garden, This last summer before she leaves for good. She thrusts out her shrinking hips, Pouting a hungry smile, full of longing, Meant only for the photographer On his latest visit home. She’s turned each visit into a milestone, Willing the dial’s ever-shorter journey, Offering her emerging skeleton as a gift. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

Day 21: write a  poem in which something that normally unfolds in a set and well understood way  — like a baseball game or dance recital – goes haywire, but is described as if it is all very normal. I've chosen to write about the last few years of my first marriage in terms of a fencing match.   We moved hesitantly for years, Your feint, my parry, Circling, provoking, inviting; The distance between us carefully judged Too far apart for lasting damage. Until, too tired of deflection,  I laid down my ultimatum Ending our dance for good.  © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 20:  write a poem informed by musical phrasing or melody, that employs some form of soundplay (rhyme, meter, assonance, alliteration). One way to approach this is to think of a song you know and then basically write new lyrics that fit the original song’s rhythm/phrasing. I'm off to see my grandkids this morning,  and have no time to imitate Rilke, as suggested in the prompt. So this little ditty on my habit of scurryfungeing whenever I have visitors, will have to do!  Crazy, hazy, There's so much for me to do, I've been so lazy Left all the housework to stew, I'll dash round with a damp duster, The Dyson, and Grime Buster, It will look neat, almost complete If you don't look too closely,  Phew!  © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 19:  write a poem that tells a story of a tragedy in the style of a blues song or ballad. The tragedy can be  in the modern sense of an awful event, or the ancient dramatic sense of a play in which someone does something terrible, and the play’s action shows the consequences. The ballad form is written in quatrains, with a rhyme scheme of ABCB, and can often contain a refrain. I've possibly exaggerated the demise of Dursley,  but I've seen it happen to many small towns when a supermarket is built on the outskirts.   The Ballad of Parsonage Street They said it would be a boon for the town Revive fading fortunes, breathe new life, They said it would be the saving grace, For the old town centre where closures were rife. They said it would bring new people in, They'd come for the supermarket, stay on to shop, But when you can get it all in one place Why would you bother, why would you stop? The greengrocer went first, it couldn't compete With the prices, the qua...

Day 18: " this prompt plays around with song lyrics, but in a very specific context – singing while riding in a car. Take a look at Ellen Bass’s poem, “ You’re the Top .” Now, craft your own poem that recounts an experience of driving/riding and singing, incorporating a song lyric." I've written this in the style of a song lyric,  with the Beach Boys coming in at the chorus.   Wa Wa Oooh Travelling south down the Pacific Highway, August's blue skies, crash of rough waves,  Miles of good tarmac b etween us and LA. "Round, round, get around, I get around" We've driven from 'Frisco, we're on our way Finding neon-lit motels to stop every day, Money in our pockets, not much to pay. "Round, round, get around, I get around" Kids in the back, Nintendo in play,  You and me in front with little to say, Songs on the radio, of lovers far away. "Round, round, get around, I get around." © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 17: write a poem themed around friendship. A good theme to have on a day when I'm meeting up with my poetry group.  Over the years we've morphed from strangers to friends,  and we all look forward to spending time together, listening to each other share the poems we've found.  Treasure Firelight lighting their faces,  Sat in their favourite places On miss-matched, perfectly matched, Sofas, armchairs, the next one prepares To butt in, and then shares The treasure they've found Be it light or profound. One favours McGough, he'll always appear, He's written such gems in a prolific career, One Williams, or Oliver, one leans towards Heaney, An occasional Plath, thinks Hughes an old meany, One Lochead, or Berry, one Bilston, or Cope, Not too many Betjemans - an unspoken hope. Then after a while it comes to a stop And Jill thinks it's time to offer a cup, Protests she's 'no good at baking' But it won't stop them all taking A small slice of this,...

Day 16: " try writing a poem that imposes a particular song on a place. Describe the interaction between the place and the music using references to a plant and, if possible, incorporate a quotation – bonus points for using a piece of everyday, overheard language." This took me a while - I'm definitely finding it hard to do Napowrimo and my college work at the same time! I'm amazed it's possible to have too much poetry in your life - especially when you're the one that has to come up with it.  So,  although I've described the interaction of music and flowers, the rest of the challenge has been ignored!  The transformation from the dull cardboard box Found waiting on the mat when I returned home,  To the glass vase overflowing with its crowd of flowers - Pinks,  whites , reds, yellows, creams, greens - Is like the first few bars of a Beethoven symphony, Rumbling quietly, anticipation building with every note, Until the orchestra bursts its tethers, a nd sho...

Day 15:  Your challenge is to write a six-line poem that has these qualities: informed by repetition, simple language, and expressing  enthusiasm . It should have a sermon/prayer-like quality, and then end with a bang.  The world is full of violence The world is full of greed  There's people out for power There's people in great need.  The answer's very simple - no matter what your views Just stop. Just stop, watching the news!  © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 14:   "try writing a poem that describes a place, particularly in terms of the animals, plants or other natural phenomena there. Sink into the sound of your location, and use a conversational tone. Incorporate slant rhymes (near or off-rhymes, like “angle” and “flamenco”) into your poem. And for an extra challenge – don’t reference birds or birdsong! I enjoyed finding slant rhymes, but couldn't resist mentioning birds - they're such an important part of our soundscape!  Did you miss the valley's sounds while you were away?  I mean the subconscious sounds of every day:  The distant thrum of wheels on road, Humming through the woods above our house? The whoosh as the wind struggles free from our lilac tree As it rushes on its way towards next door's fence? The profusion of confused new lambs bleating,  Listening for their own ewe's reassuring greeting? The ghostly vibrations of gliders Coasting high above us in the wide bright sky? The whirr and whine of ...

Day 13: " Today, we challenge you to write a poem that uses Donald Justice’s invented form. His  six-line stanzas use lines of twelve syllables, and while they don’t use rhyme, they repeat end words. Specifically, the second and fourth line of each stanza repeat an end-word or syllable; the fifth and sixth lines also repeat their end-word or syllable." My grandkids are coming over today, so what better than a poem about that? I've only got time for two verses,  but I think it needs another one if I have enough energy after they've gone home. It's been a morning of tidying things away, Things that get played with when the grandkids come around: Brass bells, glass, shells, our precious bits and pieces, Things usually, casually, left lying around.    In their place I've put out the things they like to do      Lego, arts and crafts, old toys; there's plenty to do. We can walk in the woods, find where the bluebells bloom, Play endless treasure hunts, hide a...

I'm catching up on my OU course, so the Napowrimo prompts will have to wait another day!  Elm Park Each street was lined with elms Pushing up through the wooden squares Set into tarmacked pavements Until their trunks grew tall and fat, Their roots lifting, tilting the tarmac, Tipping roller skaters off course,  Tripping unwary pensioners On their unsteady way to the shops.  Every few years the council would arrive,  Set up their ladders, ropes, traffic cones, Pollard the elms into tidy balls,  To keep them inside their allocated space.  But as Dagenham spewed out more cars,  And soft green front gardens surrendered To dusty, grey-concreted parking spaces,  Dipped kerbs turned elms into obstructions,  Perches for sparrows, bent on spoiling glossy paintwork.  The beetles' arrival was then greeted as a bonus; As elms died back,  street by street, Few mourners grieved their loss. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 5 - 10: the poems written while away.  Quite a mixture of styles. Landing on Lundy Too choppy in these easterlies To land a boat,  the 'copter drops  Taking our stomachs, To rise again, Bumping us down in a wind-blasted field.  Wind-tossed, wind-blown along the way, A barrage of gutsy gusts bombards our ears, Lifting firm-planted walking sticks into the air. We battle to the refuge of our castle home Accompanied by the humming, The droning drumming, Of the wind's wild jazz beat. Early Morning Cliff Walk The sunlight on the sea Paints the cliffs into silhouette, The margin between black and gold Enough to dazzle, to blind. Skylark trills fill the blue; A marvellous chorus of pips,  Caws, cronks, and honks,  Fights the sussuration of the wind. Razorbills bob on the waves in a line, A feathered trawler net, gathering, Diving together, surfacing together, Feeding, trawling towards shore. Puffins fly past granite rocks On their way to grassy burrows,  A...

We've been away from home for 6 days,  on Lundy Island which has very limited phone reception and no WiFi,  so I'm a bit behind with posting my poems.  I have written one a day though,  so I'll put those written on lundy in one big post.   Tomorrow I'll be back doing the Napowrimo prompts, but for today,  I've allowed myself to write about that warm feeling you get when you come home.  When leaving the luxury of some hotel, Or bidding a ship a fond farewell, I'm reassured by the familiar smell, When I come home.  The dent that greets me in my chair, The creak on the penultimate stair, My mugs, my bed, my stuff everywhere, All tell me, welcome home.  Going away is fun, it's true, Especially when people take care of you, But it's been said before, it's nothing new, There's no place like home. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 4:   "Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem about living with a piece of art.  It’s the rare human structure – be it a bedroom, kitchen, dentist’s office, or classroom – that doesn’t have art on its walls, even if it’s only the photos on a calendar." Not a lot of people know this,  but a couple of years ago I treated myself to an afternoon photo shoot - boudoir style. It was great - hair and make up were professionally done before I went through to the studio and changed 'into something less comfortable'. Several flutes of prosecco and a lovely young woman photographer completely took away my shyness, and I had a blast.  What an ego boost! And now two of those (very tasteful) images sit in our walls, and on my profile pictures, reminding me that I'm a damn fine looking woman, in the right light.   Yes, look this way, lovely,  Now over here, perfect, reeeally good... Her camera an instrument of magic, Wielded lightly like wan...

Day 3: contd. I've been mulling this over since I pressed publish on the last one.    What me? A poet? Nah, you've got that wrong,  I mean look at me! Do I look ethereal? Highbrow? Away with the fairies? Mad, bad, or dangerous to know? But should you ask Do you jot down phrases at odd times of the day?  Do you play with words until they sound right in your head?  Do you get a kick out of the shape of your writing on a page? Well, you got me there. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 3: today's prompt features a poem by Frank O'Hara, a founding member of the New York School of poets who I've come across recently in my OU course.   His poem “ Why I Am Not a Painter ” is pretty characteristic, with dialogue and a playfully offhand tone. The  challenge is to write a poem  obliquely explaining why I am a poet and not some other kind of artist.  I see things differently sometimes,  The light and shape and connections emanating from an object, an event,  Feel the need to capture it, hold it safe in my failing, fading memory, Seek out the perfect form for each word, line, pause, repetition, To bridge the space between how I see what you may see As you stand next to me, reading these words. A photographer sees the light and shade, the drama in a moment, Picks the angle, depth of field, exposure; An artist chooses how much to include, what can be ignored, Which medium to best express the beauty of their image; A songwriter finds the essence ...

Day 2:  write a poem that directly addresses someone, and that includes a made-up word, an odd/unusual simile, a statement of “fact,” and something that seems out of place in time. My statement of "fact" is my admonishment to children that they need to toughen up - an attitude that is definitely out of place in this age of child-led, soft parenting.   You children, With skin so thin the pain inside Presses hard against its translucency Like fish under a frozen lake, Learn to shrug your shoulders, Deflecting perceived hurts From your heart, down, down, To where your feet Stand poised to trample them. Learn the lesson of centuries Of those who suffered just like you, Who grew a personal armour  To keep the pain outside. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

And so it begins! Napowrimo 2025 starts today with a corker of a prompt: to  take inspiration from  this  glossary of art terminology , and write a poem that uses a new-to-you word.  I've chosen the word 'calotype' which is a photographic process invented in 1841 and was the first time a stable negative image could be fixed and then contact printed. The glossary explains:  " The process involves exposing a sheet of sensitized paper in the camera then developing, fixing, and washing it.  Though calotypes are soft and hazy, with visible paper fibers, the invention revolutionized image-making by making it possible to produce multiple prints from one negative image." This seems like an appropriate metaphor for the process of fixing an idea into a poem!  (How I'm going to fit Napowrimo poems in with my upcoming trip to WiFi-less Lundy and OU assignments remains to be seen,  but I'm determined to give it a try!) Calotype An image floats hazy, undefined,...