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.