Everyday Poetry

We watched the aerial battles of two kites and the buzzards last week when the fields opposite our house were cut for hay.  The elegance of all the birds was a wonderful sight to see, but the beauty and tactical manoeuvrings of the kites won our hearts, and temporary possession of the field.   Lords of Flight The dips and folds of the corduroy slopes Draw in two kites, swooping and swirling,  Circling with the wind-ruffling breeze,  Effortlessly readjusting flightpaths To shadow prey amongst the drying hay.  As they dip and fold into the valley Bronze undercarriages flash red against clear blue skies,  Over the yellow ochre of close-cropped grass; Spitfires against Heinkels, they heckle three buzzards Until the fields are theirs alone.  Where do they come from; from how far away? How do they know tractors have exposed their prey? All we know is the dip and fold of russet and white,  The elegant presence of these lords of flight.  © Copyr...

I've started going on a daily walk - just down the lane to the woods and back again.  On my latest trip the spiders had been busy.  Hedge Hammocks Unseen, the busy weavers String their traps from branch to branch;  Their hammocks hang horizontal,  Luring trusting insects in To rest their weary wings In dipping beds of gossamer.   They slip in deep,  To roll up fast, in wakeless sleep.  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

I'm reading a history of poetry that my son bought me for Christmas, and this morning I reached the war poets.  I was struck by the shape of one in particular: in Flanders Fields. It is a rondeau, and I decided I'd try to write one.  The rules of a rondeau are: 3 stanzas, with the rhyme scheme AABBA AABc AABBAc. The opening words of the first line form the refrain at 'c'.  In retrospect I should have chosen easier rhymes! On Crawley Hill the valley spreads Beyond the gardens' floral beds, Across the fields of shivering grass, To where the sheep create new paths, Following where their leader treads. The birds that soar high overhead For us pure beauty, cause great dread: Prey hides until all dangers pass, On Crawley Hill. The green wood's paths stretch out ahead, Hidden leafy ways a precious thread Our own short lives will long outlast. I watch it all, through window glass, On Crawley Hill.  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

I watched some of the opening match in the FIFA World Cup last night.  This morning, the last time I'll eat breakfast looking at the lake outside our cabin, the wind reminded me of the roar of the crowd.   Mexican Wave Watching the wind Chase a Mexican wave Along the whippy trees Round the lake, Listening to its roar As it rushes from behind,  Building through the woods With nowhere to go But to bluster on  Along the bank, Roaring its approval At its great escape. Wrapping myself tight  As the temperature drops Before the next shower, The companiable warmth  Of my breakfast coffee mug  Bids me to stay here, watching,  For just a little longer. © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

I arrived at the campsite shop 45 minutes early so decided to wait by the (mercifully empty) children's playground.  It's surrounded by trees and I was delighted to be serenaded by a wren while I waited.  Such a loud and melodic song for a tiny bird.  Bravado It's not your size that matters It's the lust in your song, Your need to make it clear who you are,  And if they didn't grasp it the first time To repeat it over and over until they say: Listen to the bravado of that wren!  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

I came across this poem prompt posted by @rogerrobinsononline: Write a poem with one repeated line appearing five times.  Each time the line returns, the surrounding context must alter its meaning through irony, tenderness or revelation. What a clever idea.  I really love this time of year, When days stretch out, spilling into evenings, Flowers unfurl shy hearts to probing bees, Smiles banish the blues, welcome in the green. I really love this time of year With its promise of heat building day by day, Its lush sunlit valleys busy making hay, While birds flit from feeders to nest, and back again. Oh yes, I really love this time of year The daily battle against rampaging weeds, The constant on-and-off of 'just in case' layers,  The sudden sodden surprise of a shower. I really love this time of year When plans for celebrating an anniversary Narrow down from a multitude of possibilities To the perfect expression of all we have made together. I really love this time of year As...

I've been taking a rest after the madness that is April and Napowrimo. I was beginning to think I'd exhausted my ability to think in poetical terms,  and then I came across Pat Schneider's excellent poem The Patience of Ordinary Things.  It's one that struck a chord the first time I came across it - such a simple but unique way of looking at everyday objects - and I love it more each time I revisit.  Here is my rather dark homage to Schneider's poem - I feel I should apologise as it's almost a betrayal of its generous sentiment.  The Betrayal of Everyday Things It is a sign of ageing, is it not? How blister packs proliferate after each doctor's visit, How they make themselves at home on the breakfast table, How chairs suck you into their embrace, How the floor is no longer a space to play on, But a thing to be kept at leg's length, How the soles of shoes are chosen for their grip. I've been thinking about the betrayal Of everyday things.  How toes Ha...

Day 30: " In his poem, “ Angels ,” Russell Edson speaks of spiritual warrior-messenger-guardians as if they were a type of endangered animal. Today, try writing your own poem that discusses a real or mythical being with the same sort of musing yet dispassionate tone." I've just had a conversation with my daughter about the demons that haunt you during intentional weight loss. We've both spent years trying to rid ourselves of negative self- talk,  but they still creep in when you least expect it.   It's a bit of a negative way to end this year's NaPoWriMo but it does provide a bookend on the same theme as it started - dieting!  Diet Demons They lurk in patient exile Biding their time to weedle in At the first signs of self doubt. Sneers peer over your shoulder As you step on the scales, Whispering fear in your ear. Each cinch of your belt Innocently questions the buckle:   Will the prong reach its usual hole? Greet your reflection with a smile And they will ...

Day 29: " In “ After Turning the Clocks Back ,” Jennifer Moxley links present with past, using a few well-placed details to invoke both a sense of the daily “now” and a nostalgic sense of the speaker’s long-ago life. In your poem today, similarly compare your everyday present life with your past self, using specific details to conjure aspects of your past and present in the reader’s mind." Only one more day to go! This is a great prompt, despite feeling daunted by Moxley's masterful poem. What to write about? I've vowed to stop banging on about mobility issues, so perhaps I'll revisit the differences between my two marriages, twenty years in.  Twenty Years In Hot coffee and unhurried time  Spent talking through our lives Are your gifts to me those mornings You're not off to chase the glory Of the biggest catch.  I remember a time Of early nights and early mornings A refuge from all-night, bare-all sessions, Where we picked over what was going wrong, Tried to p...

Day 28: " Victoria Chang’s poem, “ The Lovers ,” is short and somewhat shocking, bringing us quickly from a near-hallucinatory descriptive statement to a strange sort of question, before ending on the very direct statement of a “truth.” Six lines, three sentences, and to top it off, a title that I think works for the poem but is only obliquely related to its text. Today, try writing a poem that follows the same beats: three sentences, six lines: statement, question, conclusion." I went to see a consultant about my arthritic knee yesterday and was basically told to come back after I'd had the hip replacement I'm waiting for. I was expecting this but was holding onto the possibility of having a steroid injection to relieve the pain until then,  but was told it was out of the question before I even asked.   Disappointment  Air is knocked from lungs Poised ready to request relief.  Is there nothing to do but wait, See how things turn out? Hope lies discarded; A chif...

Day 27: " Start by reading Robert Fillman’s poem, “ There should always be two .” Now, write your own poem in which all the verses contain the same number of lines (whether couplets, triplets, quatrains, etc.) and in which you give the reader instructions of some kind." I feel like it's time to return to writing about my family, specifically my three grandchildren. I've rewritten the final stanza several times, sometimes losing the sense of an instruction, sometimes with it featuring more prominently,  but I'm relatively happy with its final form.  Three's a Crowd There's the one grabbing me as I walk in the door, Proudly showing me their latest creation,  Roping me in to cooking crumble for lunch.  There's the one shouting a greeting from the other room, Too busy accumulating crystals or brain rot To see me face to face until called to eat.  There's the one sleeping upstairs, snoozing off a late night,  Who emerges at the table sleepy eyed and gro...

Day 26: " The Latin phrase  ars poetica  means “the art of poetry.” It’s been a tradition going all the way back to  Horace  for poets to write poems that lay out – whether explicitly or obliquely – some statement about why the poet writes, or what they think poetry is. Here’s  a very recent example , and another that I had to  study in school . Today, we challenge you to write your own  ars poetica , giving the reader some insight into what keeps you writing poetry, or what you think poetry should do." I've written quite a few on this theme already,  but there's always room for one more. This one developed into a kind of spoken word rap after the first two lines found their own rhythm and rhyme.  Ars Poetica It' s a  testing of the water  too deep for conversation, A wider way of sharing a solitary observation; It's a different way of talking, a means of communication, A revisiting of meaning, a more detailed clarification; It's a ...

Day 25: " write your own poem in which you use at least three metaphors for a single thing, include an exclamation, ruminate on the definition of a word, and come back in the closing line to the image or idea with which you opened the poem." Crikey! That's a long list of things to include...  I've just had a WhatsApp exchange with my daughter, in which we used lots of photos, emoji and gifs to basically say we love each other, through thick and thin.  Queen Our love is elastic, stretching across the gap Between where you stand t aking hesitant selfies To where I'm looking for the light in your sunshaded eyes .  You caveat each exchange with a head-in-hands monkey,  Laughing emoji, apologetic humility, As if you aren't a queen, s tanding there i n your jeans and t shirt!   Cast off your definition of ideal beauty, Know it is a shackle, a tool designed to make us fail; We have no need to apologise for the space we inhabit. My penguin gushes tears as it claps ...

Day 24: " write a poem that takes place at night, and describes something magical or strange that happens but that no one is awake (or around) to notice." Today I am tempted to write a bit of light fantastical nonsense, a flight of fancy. It feels like it could be the beginning of a longer piece.  Night shades At night the shadows flit, Silently occupying the spaces  Filled during daylight hours With human noise and busyness.  The shades float, balletic, soundless,  Testing the shape of each room,  Reclaiming their space like black dye in water, Ready to dissipate at the sound of a footfall,  The first glimmer of dawn.   © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Day 23: " today’s (optional) prompt takes its inspiration from Kiki Petrosino’s loose villanelle, “ Nursery. ” Try your hand today at your own take on a  villanelle , and have the poem end on a question." Now,  I  rather like a villanelle,  but it is very tricky.   For those of you who are asking yourself WHAT??? the villanelle is a French verse form consisting of five three-line stanzas and a final quatrain, with the first and third lines of the first stanza repeating alternately in the following stanzas. These two refrain lines form the final couplet in the quatrain. In addition, there is a regular rhyme scheme of aba.  First things first The clothes rotate in the washing machine,  There's dirt on the floor, dishes in the sink, I know everything needs to get clean.  It's in the worst state it ever has been Creeping up slowly, it's now at the brink,  So clothes rotate in the washing machine. I'm preoccupied, have turned my back on rout...

Day 22: " write your own poem in which the speaker is in dialogue with him or herself.  Jaswinder Bolina’s poem “ Mood Ring ” imagines the speaker as both himself and an interior being (who happens to take the form of a small donkey). It’s quite silly . . . and not silly at the same time. A sort of “serious fun.” " I don't have a donkey inside me - small or otherwise - but I've written a few times of having an inner dialogue between conflicting sides of myself. Perhaps it might help to think of having something separate trying to help me break out of my set ways? Wise Monkey Monkey waited for his chance Impatient for some fun.  You're really boring nowadays,  Old age has near begun.  Life used to be quite crazy You'd be flitting here and there,  But now you seem forever Rooted in that chair.  Get up, get out, just shake yourself, You've lost the zest of youth.  Offended, I protested,  But saw he spoke some truth.  Get going or you'll lose the...

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,                                                       ...