NaPoWriMo - Day 21

Butterfly

By the flutter of your wing

Utterly camouflaged in a cabbage.

To sweep you away to a

Time almost passaged.

Entirely your precious: natural

Rounds, less indifferent.

Filled with delight

Like the fruit ever

Yearning for the taster.

NaPoWriMo - Day 20

Tool

There he was.

The tool who wasn’t

The tool he said he was.

He rattled a cage.

The tool that sounded.

The tool that founded and played.

Who was the tool?

The tool who wasn’t?

The tool who wasn’t but was?

He was a tool.

By all accounts.

The tool that probably stayed.

NaPoWriMo - Day 19

Festival

We tip-toe in at 1am

The site is calm

A storm begins.

Excitement grows

And temptations stew.

Let’s love and live

The weekend through.



Bags filled with powder

Fill the tent

And sequins, booze and

Cigs. To lament

A younger me who

Lived without fear.

Not the me now

The one that’s her

And worrying about

The hangover

Or the journey home.



Breakfast smells waft

Through the door

Where I am lying

On the floor.

The race has started;

The games begin.

I eat, dress, covert

Then let love in.

NaPoWriMo - Day 18 Green Berg

There’s a Thun in my side; It’s green, riddled, Great.

It punctures like a Berg to an unsinkable vessel.

Unsinkable, you say?

Yet, it punctured, flooded, fell.

Flooded in the past now only left to dwell.



There’s a Berg in my way, but it’s getting smaller.

The Thun comes unloose, like it was never even there.

Political, you say?

Like the turning of the tides.

The tides of March more like. A battle of the sides.



The Thun has torn a hole, and we’re watching it deflate.

The Berg has caused a whisper of diminishment and hate.

A floatation device, you say.

Yet, there’s not enough for everyone.

A floatation device for those who can pay, who have won.



Greta is the small who brings hope to a planet.

Small is the gesture but enormous is the result.

Hope is the Thun that sticks it to us.

Berg is the hope when the small, but Greta’s won.
Closure is unthinkable for a world that remains unsinkable

NaPoWriMo - Day 17 - Red Carpet

 
I walk a fine line through my house.

There’s a path well-trodden through a central line.

A tube of matted fabric, sunk, in the middle.

Round the edges, the pronounced red boundaries lie.



A beacon of hope

For lesser people

Surrounds the sides with their sorely scarred drifts.

A bittersweet rift which bats back the doubt

That my houses runs on rules we flout;

That my house walks a line that misfits.



The red carpet reminds me of, a life less ordinary.
It’s a beacon of hope that shines, shinned, shone

NaPoWriMo - Day 16 - Satisfactorily Normal

 The day folded like so many others

Into an origami bird, migrating.

I watched bemused as the inky night fell.

A hum filled the air: a dopamine hit.

The sound pierced my ears: a sertraline bit.

I watched and waited: deflated and belated.



Across the sky, a colourful sound approached.

In the wind, a pastel image occurred.

Through the meadow a dark, dank mist rising.

In my home, I sit, quiet, pale, and I stare.

Adventures stilted by, what? Emptiness.

Life? Life has amounted to confusion.

Life? Life has drifted, softly to nothing.
Life, satisfactorily normal, devoid of flare.

NaPoWriMo - Day 14 - Dark Matters

Spinning in and out of focus

Thoughts swirl like dancers

Whizzing around my head.

A coil of unpleasantries

Line up to take their turn

On the serotonin uptake theme-ride.

‘Wee!’ they seem to mock

My subconscious mind working overtime.

Thoughts too awful to comprehend. 

            In the dark nothingness, matters shimmer.

In the shimmery darkness, nothing matters.
Dark Matters

NaPoWriMo - Day 13

Destruction: the emerald green of life fell away.

A city of nature tumbled and fell.

A hierarchy supported by the minions all

But lost.



Hearts, courage and knowledge made the cut.

A venture journeyed by the few to protect the many.

Power and beauty underwritten from the conscious of the masses.

And lost.



There was still time.

A golden path lay ahead: the road to wisdom

For the stronger.

In the meantime,
Heads were hunted.

NaPoWriMo - Day 12 - A Piece of Cake

Scoffing at those struggling.

This is a piece of cake.

Feasting on their unease.

It’s a cup of tea.

Guzzling down their guilt

Tea and cake and cake and tea.



Pantomimes played in empty kitchens.

Fantastical feasts in vacant rooms.

Fallacies phased through unoccupied spaces.

Performances portrayed by insignificant whoms.



It’s a piece of cake.

It’s a cup of tea.

It’s a place to rest.

To sit and chat with thee.

NaPoWriMo - Shakespeare Day 15

Bottom

You silly ass, you dumb ass brute.

You clumsy cad, you inept mute.

The woods alive, you run amuck

And spellbound by the merry Puck.

Unique in spirit and in cast.

Your love while true, it will not last.

A weaver same in all but name

Has woven their spell; begun their game.

To the woods you rehearse your lines.

While fairies play along in time.

Your friends deserted you now gone.

Leaving you to Titania’s song.

While true love blossoms and doth grow

And attentive fairies wait your woes.

When Oberon at last does see

His Queen Titania attending on thee.

The spell once real has now been broken

Your doting Tatiana was now awoken.

Her eyes are filled with dread and loathing

It’s not you she’ll be betrothing.

The players right new lines and you

The leading part, play oh so true

And pure of heart. Though this may pass,

Bottom, you’re always a silly ass.

NaPoWriMo - Day 11

Joker


You’re found in the vault at the pub.

A place where folk laugh, never snub.

Fallen off waggon, again.

Every day as a friend.

You say it with pride looking smug.



A self-professed philosopher of sorts:

Your gazing stare, your friendly retorts.

This is no charm offensive,

No need get defensive.

Your laugh sure as ever will purport.



Infamous hat perched atop of your brow

You doth with a gentlemanly bow.

King on karaoke night

You’re dapperly nocturn in white.

Looking gracious your singing brings slough.



Lyrics ambling carefully towards

A life weathered hard but not warred.

You prop up the bar

Drinking ale by the jar

All the happier that you’re still not barred

NaPoWriMo - Day 10 Hay(Na)Ku

Write
Your name
Write it Again

Wait
Your turn
Wait and learn

Watch
Your mouth
Mouth your name

Turn
Again and
Watch your mouth

Learn
To write
Wait your turn

NaPoWriMo - Day 9

Supernatural

Lilith fills the room with absence.

A silent propagator of

Haunting brilliance.

Her unorthodox maternity:

Her wilful deviance.

Quotidian thrills encountering

Deathly pleasure: harsh.

In buildings abounding with nothing

But meagre, scarce and sparse.

A clotted decaying vibrance

Of the office block

Alive with a melancholy

decadence

against the ticking of a clock.

The walls a creep with violence

And a rush of rotting love

A forest tree falls over

Or has it?

NaWriPoMo - Day 7

Small Mercies


I should be grateful, I suppose.

In light of your statement.

You deliver with such magnanimity; you regale without charm.

I hale you.



Small are the wins for me.

I should be glad, thankful

Are the undertones of your speech.

Merciless and droll.



Blessed by your compassion.

I return to my role.

A keen phrase on my lips.
Small mercies.

NaWriPoMo - Day 5

Grey


In a grey-lit room we smiled.

A pleasant Sunday morning gloom

That filled the room with earthy candescence.

It lit our hearts with a delicate fume

Of croissants warm and buttered and beige.



Grey is the colour of comfort.

It's the colour of Oneness: wholeness.

Grey has no polar opposite.

Grey matters little. It doesn't matter at all.

It's our grey matter bringing our logical and soulfulness

together: as one.  



Grey is the colour of activity and rest.

It keeps at bay the sex pest.

Indicating health and disease.

Foretelling hope and displease.

Bye-standing misery to employ

Manipulation and destroy.

Grey is the delight at the end of the day.



And what we get when contrasts fade

Is grey. Inviting us to relax and say

I love you to your friend.

An unassuming colour that will show

We care, we help, we share, we know.

For if you love with all your heart

Let grey be the colour that shades your art!

NaWriPoMo - Day 8

Supermoon 

A pink corona causal – alone without a tether

About the supermoon migrant, pacific as a feather.

Rosy-tinted spectacle sitting alone in the night sky

As mysterious in nature as it is unto the eye.



A diamond pink in colour – the Pink Star: Steinmetz

Adorned with supernatural secrecies; caught in silken nets.

Rosy-cheeked children pick flowers: Hydrangea Paniculata.

A diamond pink in name, a water vessel with no water.



A magnetic magenta moon beams a hopeful melody

Amusing lust and lovers, passion founded glee.

Rosy-humbled radiance, a reflection of the sun.

Another tides a turning; a change is due to come.



The super moon is watchful. In April it does grow

Illuminating land below it with a strengthening sharp glow.

Below the Moss Phlox bloom with delicate hues of pink

A harbinger of a season bringing hope and joy succinct.

NaWriPoMo - Day 6

The Garden of Earthly Delights

The Garden of Earthly Delights

Spins the head wildly, eyes shut tight

As narcissistic characters spell out the plight

Of a world succumb not to day but night.



Birds foretell of impending doom

The fall will come not a moment too soon.

The tree of life breathes fire that heals

With a hue of red: beauty it threatens to steal.  



Oozing with forbidden desires and lust

Yearning is met with forebodings, cussed.

Vogelen; oversized; riders; perch

Primed to purloin virtue and honesty: kirsche.



A diabolical bird defecates tuefel treachery.

The greed of man nothing is exempt from the hierarchy.

The fall is arrived dyed with gluttony and greed

As a missive to man and a reminder to heed.   

NaPoWritMo - Day 4

Lost


I dream I am a piece of text.

Voyaging a composition, a little perplexed.

I trudge through cautiously - bitter coffee arrives.

It’s wrong.

I call for succour. It doesn’t come.

I wait in a dark room, alone. By myself.

A luminous screen illuminates: the darkness beyond.



Moments later, hang-gliding over clouds of commas,

I’m whizzing, hurling, and flying over fields of natural life.

The air is comforting, peaceful, tranquil.

I float with grace and prestige, rife.

As I float and see,

The prize, a semi colon.

A warm blast of air puffs me along out of sight.



Caught in a current of balmy sky.

I’m sent soaring,

Propelling me, higher. I fly

Gently towards the soft pallid ground.

I settle down, unsure. What just happened?

Buzzing with apprehension and delight.

I almost wallow for a second when it’s over.

Dark, dank bitterness encompasses tight.

NaPoWriMo - Day 3

Mosquito Bite


The mosquito bite:

A raised vault that sat proudly on my toe

And marked the close

Of a summer filled with love.



Friction on the skin

Drew blood to a heart

That stung when it burst

And opened as a butterfly.



Ankles torn.

The cat's claw.

That lacerated and healed so fast,



You gave me your heart.

Like the mosquito, his bite,

Intoxicating, hazy, conspicuous.



I brought both back

To place with my stash

Of endorsements.

A story, a memory, a beacon of hope.

NaPoWriMo - Day 2

Japan


Cherry Blossom cherishes in kimonos pink and gold.

The lightness in the air, a touch: nature’s riches left untold.

Torre Gates bright red and ripe with branding stamped in history.

Acers richly red and green, their leaves a wonderous mystery.

Pastel painted pictures portray perfect pastoral panoramas

While Harajuku hedonism hails higher haute-couture dramas.



A Wabi Sabi wonderland with wasabi willed aromas.

Temples shine with honour under artisan pagodas.

Light-footed deer tread near to here, in whispering rural palaces.

Snow-peaked mountain majesties leaking green sulphuric gasses.

Udon pots and sushi trains transport to fabulous food heavens

While 24-hour karaoke clubs trumpet all-you-can-drink in dungeons.



Geishas gowned in flawless robes shuffle binded feet in clogs. 

Their brightly coloured garbs revealed through traditions shroud in fogs.

Tea bespoke to oriental lands: ceremonies with elegant precision.

The beauty and the method involved to galvanise decision.

A smile, a laugh, a hope and peace sign indicates a race

Of happy people full of life that respect their home: their place.



Jaded Macha Tea ritual.

And temples very spiritual.

Pale breezy transience.

Another blessed pleasance.

Now smiling politeness,

Just encumbering tightness.

All eccentric fashions.

Pure and lovable passions.

Also, beauty and fear.
Now, you’ll find it all here.

NaPoWriMO - Day 1

This is a Piece of Cake


Scoffing at those struggling.

This is a piece of cake.

Feasting on their unease.

It’s a cup of tea.

Guzzling down their guilt

Tea and cake and cake and tea.



Pantomimes played in empty kitchens.

Fantastical feasts in vacant rooms.

Fallacies phased through unoccupied spaces.

Performances portrayed by insignificant whoms.



It’s a piece of cake.

It’s a cup of tea.

It’s a place to rest.

To sit and chat with thee.

Clutch Bag

Clutch Bag

The clasp clasps

The clutch clutches

Grasped, in spite of herself,

She moves forward. The drive, rusty,

Clutched, bagged, clasped, grasped.

The vessel, fertile?

Fertility, vesselised? 

The altercation altercates

The sport sporting

Withering, in spite of the ultimate prize.

A white leather shoe with a matching bag.

She runs a mile and clutch!

No touch down.

No clutch bag.



The clock ticks

The game, nearly over

Hydration, elasticity: dwindling.

Time bares her no ill will.

They run a mile and clutch.

The touch down.

The clutched bag. 

Empty Nest

Empty Nest

The feathered nest is full and warm.

A heartfelt place when all is torn.

The sun beats down, swallows fawn.

A mellow pot to stir brains and brawn.



The birds have flown.

The nest is blown

To pieces:

The nieces
Of another weary family feud.