Everyday Poetry

Faery This time of year driving can be hazardous - you turn a corner in the road and the sun is right in your eyes.  Yesterday I'd forgotten to put my sunglasses in the car, and I'm so glad I did. Have you seen the fairy roads? Half hidden, hinted pathways Between their special places, Free of mankind's intrusion For fear of a fairy curse. Through darkling trees A steep and narrow road Wound upwards, A shortcut to save me time In the chilly rush of winter. Winter sun, low, Blinding, dazzling, Burnished the road Into a golden fairy highway, Leading me on. Through twists and turns Past fallen trees, erratic mossy boulders The road ran on, and on, Beckoning me ever onwards As if in hypnotic state. I shook my head, shielded the glare, Came to my senses, slowly, Acknowledged their prior claim, And my intrusion.  Wished them well If they would let me go. At once I turned a corner, The sunglare disappearing, Tarmac slickly black once more. The...

So much more than a melon I've been playing with how one word can suggest another, either because of its sound or the image it conjures. Golden Galia Yellow, mellow, melon, Sweat sitting sweet on its skin. Each musky moist mouthful Clings cloyingly to my tongue, It's fresh flesh Tasting sensational. © Copyright 2020. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Yellow dream,  revisited There's a competition in the Writing magazine for poetry about a colour.  I've been wanting to write about purple for a while, as it seems to be cropping up a lot in my life at the moment,  but I'm not there yet.  So instead I've been revising a poem I wrote a while ago about a dream of yellow clothes.  Here's the revised version, which is a lot tighter than the first draft. I dreamt of a wardrobe, filled With bright new clothes in diverse shades of yellow Golds, lemons, mustards, Ochres, saffrons,  umbers, Richly patterned on luxurious cloth. Delight was muted by anxiety - Would they be too tight for comfort? Waking, intrigued I searched for what this dream could mean: I should prepare for success, New bursts of creativity New wealth. And yet, I worried they might not fit, Anxious I'm not ready for this new phase. It's time to be brave, Break free of doubt, Shake off the fear, Express myself. © Copyright 20...

Stillness I know I said I wouldn't write any more haiku,  but after being inundated by them while watching James May's tour of Japan,  the form has been playing in my mind.  Then this popped into my head this morning.  Although prompted by something specific,  I think it works whatever event the stillness follows. The stillness after Captures the perfect moment Before we move on. © Copyright 2020. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Richard Burton At our poetry group this afternoon Judy and I shared a joke about the lushness of Richard Burton's voice.  Here's a poem which captures the effect he has on us. Under Milkwood And Burton's voice Melts our insides like chocolate In the heat of his tongue. The cadence of each line a hypnosis, Drowning us in desire. Vowels arouse Sibilants caress Licking into our ears Like a lover aching to possess Every inch of skin. As the climax draws closer Each of us sighs, Willing him to shipwreck in our thighs. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Autumn Sometimes a poem just comes to me unbidden as I'm going about my day,  or as in this instance, as I'm driving along the country lanes. Autumn And the time of slow, careful driving Avoiding the dull-witted, frenzied wild panic Of flash-gaudy pheasants and their ghost-pale wives. Autumn And the time of gathering and bagging The bright drift of leaves from gilt-blazing trees A gift to balance the faint waning sun. Autumn And the time of hearty homemade soups Bursting with flavours grown over the summer Harvested, held ready for thick crusty bread. Autumn And the time of closely drawn curtains Shutting out the night-dark and draughty cold winds Hunkering down in the log-fire warmth inside. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Dancing Since I've had trouble with my feet and knees I've missed being able to dance,  especially in a wild "letting everything go" way. This poem celebrates the loss of self in that sort of dancing - I must be feeling nostalgic! Dancing, dancing, Bare feet pounding, Connecting to the earth, Tremors travelling Up through each body Down into the soil, Transferring energy Each to the other In a wildly joyful feedback loop. Dancing, dancing Limbs wildly waving, Responding to the group, Forwards and back, up and down, Sideways, in a ripple Inwards and out, Moving in harmony Each with the others Instinct taking over as thought disappears. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved