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.