Everyday Poetry

Normality Day 30: it's the last day of the NaPoWriMo challenge, because it actually takes place in April which has only 30 days. Instead of a farewell theme, this year the challenge is to write a poem about something that returns. Each day of the pandemic I tell myself this: After each crisis, personal, local or universal, Whichever form it takes - Health or relationship breakdowns, Floods, fire, even pandemics - Eventually things get back to normal. One day, maybe not soon, but not too far distant We'll get up in the morning And not have to remind ourselves That things have changed, of this week's rules. We'll go about our life in the old way: Meet up with family, with friends, Hug them without wanting to never let them go, Share a meal, a cup of coffee, a pint, Go shopping without queuing outside, And get cross when we have to wait, Keep appointments to have our hair cut, our teeth checked, Work out at the gym, swim in a public pool, Meet in gr...

Eyes Day 29: once again I'm going away from the NaPoWriMo prompt which is to write a paean to a pet.  Having already written a eulogy for each of my cats I'm taking inspiration instead from the daily prompt from the Isolation Gallery, a wonderful Facebook group where members share images and words on the theme of the day.  Today's theme is: eyes., and this just wrote itself! Two things on which I heavily rely My left, and to a lesser extent, right eye. Sketching, cooking, writing, reading, Painting, sewing, walking, weeding, All compromised by their constant weeping, Itching, soreness, incessant seeping. Oh the comfort of a moist heat mask! Ten minutes of peace which soon flash past Then massage, wipes, and two eye drops Fingers crossed the irritation stops. Blepheratis is such a curse But going blind would be so much worse. © Copyright 2020. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved  

Rooms Day 28: describe a bedroom from your past.  I've written a few poems about my childhood recently so I  decided to leap forward a few years and write about the room I was assigned for my first year at Lancaster University. 1975 And my six by fifteen foot room In the Halls of Residence In the northernmost tip of campus In that chosen, northern university Became my first slice of independence, A refuge from the strangeness outside. My room sat facing inwards Its scenic view the central oak tree; Its practical view the porter's lodge Affording me a few minutes warning, of visitors In search of tea and toast and conversation. In this long corridor of hidden strangers Each dark stained plywood door was quickly decorated, Emblazoned with self proclaiming individuality: Comic postcards, artwork, political posters - This is my name, this is who I am. Inside, the narrow single bed, desk and chair Could be moved, within limits To transform the padded windo...

 Armchair Review Day 27: ' write a poem in the form of a review, but not a review of a book or a movie or a restaurant. Instead, I challenge you to write a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed. For example, your mother-in-law, the moon, or the year 2020.' I've had enough of coronavirus poems so here's my review of the armchair I sit in during the day; in fact I'm sitting in it as I write!   I've come to know this able supporter well  Solid, dependable, always there for me.  Way past its prime, it nevertheless retains a welcoming air Allowing, indeed encouraging me To sit in its company for as long as I need, or longer.      Some may judge its bamboo construction outmoded Yet consider how trendily sustainable this material has become Its use trumpeted for everything from socks to toilet paper; I feel this chair has much more to give.  This morning as I shift and fidget trying out this word and that, Its ...

Picture postcard Day 26: an interesting idea today - answer a set of questions and base a poem on your answers.  The questions included weather, flora, childhood dreams,  view on the street, newspaper headlines, fears, letters etc.  This is where they led me. The sun is shining on our patch of the world Highlighting every leaf in our garden, Bleaching the grain on the deckboards, Gilding the stones in the wall. Childhood dreams of living in the country Came true for us a decade and a half ago Now wildflower weeds litter the street And graffiti hasn't made it out of town. We each have our urban hometown memories, Our reasons to relocate to this view, outside this window, We know how lucky we are. Far away from virus hotspots With garden and woods to keep us sane We can make the most of lockdown - Asymptomatic strangers our only fear. Friends and family write: we're ok, we're well, we're fine Putting our minds at rest. I send postcards to my urban ...

Be more cat Day 25: I didn't like this day's prompt so I went back to an earlier one I'd skipped - write a poem based on the translation of a foreign idiom. In French they say 'donner sa langue au chat" - literally 'give one's tongue to the cat' meaning 'give up'. This little piece of whimsy is the result. I've given my tongue to the cat Can she get you to see commonsense? I've tried to suggest this and that But I'm being ignored, and I'm tense. Let's see what she has to say Now it's no longer just meow and purr She listened to me nag you all day Will she argue with me or concur? "You know Chris" she says with a smile, "You always overthink everything, Try to chill out once in a while Be more cat, and more accepting." She's probably right,  I do try To fix others' problems, it's true, I swallow my words with a sigh I give up! Well, wouldn't you? © Copyright 20...

Strawberries Day 24: write a poem about a particular fruit. We're growing strawberries on a bigger scale for the first time this year - up to now I've grown half a dozen  plants in a patio pot and the birds have pinched most of them.  It's turned out to be quite a bit more work, what with weeding, netting and watering,  but we're looking forward to a good crop to reward all our effort. Springtime, and three rows of heritage strawberries Fill our planter with circles of jagged darkgreen leaves, Shading their clusters of tiny, hard, yellow bud-balls Waiting patiently for long summer days to turn them rosy. A few delicate white flowers dance, calling out for pollination But now their bed lies covered with a netting arch, To save them from birds with keener senses than ours, Who would pre-empt our harvest, given half a chance. This bed lies full of promise, full of memories of other times When as a child I would search through the mass of leaves To find the h...