Everyday Poetry

Mugs Day 12: write a poem about a dull,  unexciting thing you own,  and why/ how you love it. I've chosen to write about mugs.  I've become a little bit stuck in my ways with three of my mugs.  If they weren't used for these particular purposes it wouldn't be the end of the world,  but it would alter the pleasure I'd get from drinking the coffee! A dozen or more mugs sit on my shelves Bringing colour to the kitchen, Three with a particular resonance. The Laura Ashley china, round and squat Birds on a wire, like a Leonard Cohen song, Each identifiable from their plumage Chatting to each other amicably, like us, When you bring me my strong,  black, morning coffee, Its edge thin against my lips. The large, thick, chunky, workaday breakfast mug Blue dragonflies dancing over its surface Delicately drawn,  geometrically stamped Its edge thick against my mouth For the second coffee of the day, always Indulgently milky. The William de ...

Origins: A journey from there to here Write a poem about your origins.  Emotional,  spiritual,  physical as well as geographical.  I've written quite a few poems about my life, but I hope I've found something new to say in this one. It's not perfect,  but it's true. An early move from crowded London I grew up an Essex girl My playground a disused war-time airfield (So many different types of grass) Bike rides to bluebell woods Fishing for tiddlers in the municipal park Overdue library books,  held onto far too long. Drawn to the different, as I grew, Declared myself Labour to a stuffy grammar school Donned outrageous clothes (Mum wouldn't walk down the street with me) Danced with working class, and (gasp!) black, boys My Dad wouldn't let me date. Escaped the family home in the only way I knew Marriage and motherhood young (too young) A whole life spent pushing against constraint. Didn't know what I wanted Just - something else. Took...

The heavens have opened Challenge: start with a regional phrase describing the weather and see where it takes you.  It's mizzling, it's drizzling It's raining cats and dogs, It's spitting, it's trying to rain It's nice weather for ducks. It's raining, it's pouring It's coming over dark It's teeming,  it's steaming It's time to build an ark. It's driving rain,  it's lashing down, It's coming down in sheets, It's almost raining sideways Throwing it down the streets. It's tipping down,  it's hammering down, The road's become a river, It's bucketing down,  it's pissing down, It's bloody awful weather. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Tick Lists Sei-Shonagon lived in the 10th century Japanese court,  and kept a journal structured as a series of lists of "things". Things that make one's heart beat faster,  awkward things,  things that have lost their power, and so on. Her book can be read in translation as The Pillow Book, and is rather wonderful. Today's challenge is to write a Sei-Shonagon style list of things.  I sketched out a few ideas,  and may well come back to them,  but this poem took shape in my head instead. After I'd finished it I realised it has come out as a sort of a list too, with pros and cons! Love that, it's so revealing about myself! All my life I've made lists, Bullet point lists of Things To Do, Sub bulleted - quicker to tick off once they're done. They give a shape to the task in hand Stop panic,  create order from chaos, Allow a sense of achievement. Lists have their place - Make shopping more effective, Help my failing memory - But once when ...

It is what it is Challenge 8: incorporate professional slang into your poem as a metaphor that governs or drives it.  Wonderful: the civil service is so full of jargon,  we find it impossible to write in Plain English!  I've had a lot of fun trying to cram in as many useless clichés as possible. Voluntary severance has been life-changing My work - life balance has been readdressed 110%. It's such a relief to no longer have to Get on board Run it past you Run it up a flagpole Keep all the balls in the air Cut to the chase. To be frank I'm no longer up to speed. Now cash poor,  time rich I think outside the box Do more with less. Pick low hanging fruit, Put them on a back burner, Bring them to the table. Experience life from cradle,  to the grave. Enjoy hand holding Free up my diary for blue skies reviews. However, some things never change Once a civil servant,  always a civil servant It's impossible to say it like it is. Hey ho, d...

The gift Write a poem of gifts and joy.  What would you give to yourself if you could have anything? What would you give someone else? As it happens I've been wrapping gifts for my grandson who is two next week,  and this seemed too good an idea not to use. I wrap tractor, oversized farm animals Carefully in crisp thick paper Strong enough to hide what lies inside, Easy enough for small inexpert hands to open. As he rips open this gift I'm bringing His open face will show me Impatience,  curiosity,  surprise,  happiness, The thought of hours of fun,  lost in his imagination. His joy,  a gift to me Far greater than anything  you could buy. A hug,  a smile,  a kiss,  A day whiled away with those I love: The best gifts I could ever have. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

If The challenge is to write a poem of the possible - not what has or will happen,  but what might happen if the circumstances were right.   Great,  I thought,  another flying pigs poem, a fantasy which will bring back some humour.  However once I wrote down the first line it quickly turned into a poem of longing and regret,  which rather surprised me,  as I hadn't realised I was thinking like this at all! If I could turn myself into a fish Would you want to catch me? If I could return to my forties, Would you try to match me? If I could shake off this inertia Would you find me more exciting? If I lost those extra pounds Would you find me more enticing? If you looked past my surface Would you see I'm just the same? If you listened to what I'm saying Could I set your world aflame? If I could stop myself worrying Would I see we're both content? Could I learn to accept the stillness Without feeling this torment? © Copyright ...