Month: April 2023

Today we were asked to write a sea shanty. I adore a sea shanty. I love to sing along. I tried to pen a sea shanty, but I nothing was forthcoming, so I wrote this instead:

Gifts From the Sea

For three years Billy greeted me, shining 

his heart and saying, ‘how are you today?’

Every Thursday morning we met at six twenty.

It was never a struggle to get out of bed. 

We tilted our faces to the sky and spoke 

of the moon, the stars, sunlight, purple clouds. 

Sometimes we said hello to a rainbow.

In the beginning, it was all about his gifts 

from the sea. We called him Billy the Fish.

He was our Thursday morning treat. 

At our table we gave thanks to Billy.

One morning, I noticed Billy was different.

His light didn’t shine quite so brightly.

Each week, I focused my heart on his, 

but he got thinner and thinner.

A winter morning, a silver moon is hiding 

behind black branches, an owl is hooting.

‘I’m taking a break,’ Billy says. 

He drives away. 

I never see him again.

It was April when we read Billy’s tribute, 

Beloved Fishmonger from Gorleston …

It was always about Billy. 

And the gifts from his heart.

Today we were asked to write a sonnet. My first thought? What is that?!

See here if you’d like to know more https://www.napowrimo.net/day-nine-9/

Here is my offering. It may be a sonnet, it may not, but really, it is my words on a page and that is the only thing that matters to me.

Where Love Resides

Consider the pause between every breath.

How vast the distance between all the stars.

Between constant thoughts, see the tiny gaps

And ruptures in our heavy, saddened hearts.

And our tongues, though we never cease talking,

the words we utter have holes and fissures.

Consider two lovers entwined as one,

and the room between tangled arms and legs.  

Tenderness of kisses, softness of touch.

Cold empty space when they say their farewell.

And when we are alone and nights are long.

Where is love we long for and yearn to give?

We are fashioned from stardust, love and light.

And travel the path to eternity. 

I shied away from today’s challenge … and remembered someone I recently met.

Jacqueline

I met her in La Palma.

We walked to the top 

of the highest volcano 

there and stopped.

Still.

The air was cool on my face.

White pillows hung in the sky.

A crow cried.

‘It is breathtaking,’ she said.

And so was she with her bubblegum

mouth and lavender eyes. 

Today, it’s all about the list and how a list can inspire a poem.

Here is a list of instructions.

Instructions

Put down your screens and stand up. 

Go into the heart of the forest.

Lie face down on the ground.

Smell the rotting undergrowth,

the musk of creatures unseen.

Feel the fallen leaves warm 

your swollen belly.

Smile at the earthworms rising 

through the undergrowth to greet you.

Tell them how exhausted you are.

Now imagine their world.

How they wriggle and squirm,

passing the decomposing scrub

through their tubular form.

Think about them pulling 

dead leaves deep into tunnels,

breaking them down to feed

all that grows in the forest. 

Now you know how sacred 

the earthworm is, get up.

Go home and be grateful. 

Day 6 asked that we search for a poem in another language, absorb the ‘sound and shape of the words’ and use this as a basis for a poem. https://www.napowrimo.net/day-six-10/

Here is my offering:

How to Be 

In this world, always be you

I say to myself. 

Pause often 

to observe what arises.

Be aware, keeping a gentle

gaze upon someone’s smouldering eye.

Let arising thoughts float 

by like clouds in the sky.

Drink deeply to nourish 

your body-mind and soul.

You are infinite, everlasting 

and real, your true self.

Don’t say ‘I am scared’,

just breathe and Be.

Day five invites us to write a poem that ‘illuminates the juxtaposition between grief and joy, sorrow and reprieve.’ https://www.napowrimo.net/day-five-10/

My poem came from a memory.

Keep Dancing

There was a moment when my mother

was stuck in her chair with cancer 

creeping up her spine.

She said to me:

‘I’m not going to get any better.’

‘I’m learning to dance,’ I said. ‘The waltz.’

‘Show me,’ she said.

And I did. 

Opening my arms to an imaginary partner,

I stepped around the room.

One, two, three, one, two, three …

She said to me:

‘Let me show you how.’

There was a miraculous moment 

when my mother rose from her chair  

and pulled me to her breast.

‘Follow me,’ she said.

And I did.

We danced and danced, laughed and laughed.

Tears of joy streamed down my face. 

Today’s poem is a first for me. The task was to write a triolet which is an eight-line poem with certain rules around rhyme and syllables. Take a look here for the finer details: https://www.napowrimo.net/day-four-11/

I hope you enjoy reading my triolet.

Praise Song

Praising the light of early Spring

Above me a skylark rises

My body tingles. Hear it sing!

Praising the light of early Spring

My mind is empty. Full of zing! 

My joyous heart brings surprises 

Praising the light of early Spring

Above me a skylark rises

Today was a challenge but I have something to share.

See here if you are curious how this piece came about: https://www.napowrimo.net/day-three-9/

Beyond Happiness 

After you know what kindness really is, 

you may find ordinary things like a smile, 

a tear, or a touch, taste like honey.

What you let fall from your hand,

what you discounted and threw away

must stay, so you know how joyful

a moment can be within the vast, 

open landscape of kindness.

At first, you stumble along fearing 

you will never find the path, envying 

others who are already there.

After you discover the light of kindness

you must stay with the one who is fighting

themselves and see how this could be you,

how they too are someone who travelled 

with no plans and a complicated breath.

After you know kindness as the only thing,

you will know happiness as the shallowest thing.

You may go to sleep with happiness, dream 

of it until your subconscious snags on the gauze 

of all pain and wake, knowing the size of your wound.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense,

only kindness that unties your ankles,

sends you out into the night to find the path,

only kindest that lowers its head

from the solitariness that is you to say,

It is you I have been searching for,

and then accompanies you everywhere

like the friend you have never had. 

It’s the second day of National Poetry Writing Month and my offering this time didn’t take long to complete.

The prompt was a nudge towards the surreal which delighted me. It was suggested, like the Romanian-born poet Paul Celan once did, we write a series of surrealist questions and answers and from this, craft a poem.

I loved doing this, sitting in an area of our kitchen I call ‘poetry corner’, with a cuppa, relishing the Spring sunshine streaming in through the patio doors. My resulting poem surprised me.

Take a look here if you are interested in trying this exercise yourself: https://www.napowrimo.net/day-two-10/

Thank you for reading.

Pathway to Love

There is a mysterious cloth 

darned and patched with jute .

Fear in disguise.

Protecting me from the silent 

arrow aimed at my heart.

What if I chose to listen

to the echo from the Universe? 

To discard the armour.

Know the spear already piecing 

my soul is in truth a pointer.

A pathway to Love. 

This is my response to https://www.napowrimo.net/poets-start-your-engines/ and my first time taking part in National Poetry Writing Month, an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April. I feel inspired but acknowledge it’s a target I may not achieve. I can but try.

How to Write Poetry

I will keep on wondering 

about the broken things

that make me cry.  

About deep green 

oceans, swollen waves 

and pear drop tears.

I will keep on listening

to the yawning silence within 

where a steady, single flame 

burns with desire 

to be known, to belong

and to be heard. 

I will keep on letting go

of all that is out there, 

and focus on inner sensations 

pulsing, prickling, pumping,

informing me I am alive

and have something to say.

I will keep on watching clouds 

billowing, leaves fluttering, 

sunrises, the moon, setting suns.

Hope for fox cubs scampering,

damselflies resting, a badger

and recognise I too am nature.

I will keep on remembering

presence, moments of beauty,

here and now despite being 

burdened with a flickering mind.  

To write poetry is to find joy

and to discover why I am here.