Ath's Poem a day for April: 2011

Saturday, 7 May 2011

Tuesday, 3 May 2011

Narrative Poems

Sunday, 1 May 2011

When I decided to take part in National Poetry Wriing Month I don't think I realised just how much work would be involved. I also had no idea whether I would finish or what type of poems I would come up with.

If you are coming here for the first time then I hope you enjoy the poems that you find here. Feel free to leave comments on them. Tell me which ones you liked.

If you have been here before then I would like to thank you for reading my poems. Knowing people were reading them was one of the things that kept me going on days it felt harder to write.

Although there is no order to read them (apart from 22 - 25) you might want to start here with the very first one http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-1.html

Saturday, 30 April 2011

Day 30 - Day Light

Dark
Blank
Still
Sleep

Misty
Fuzzy
Waking
Blurry

Cold light creeps
Slow formed shapes
Bring to mind
World outside

Covers rumpled
Light fills the room
Thoughts fill the brain
Body moves up

Filthy glasses cleaned
Lends the world focus
Take a look outside
Watch the world emerge

Sunbeams want to make friends
With all the things they find
To hand out shape and hue
To all the things around

In the spangled morning light
Stands a row of chimney pots
that are planted now with bulbs
to bring flowers to the air

And the tiny windmill windows
send the light back from the sunshine
As the streams and rivers circle
Round the town as it awakens

Sunlight floods the streets and houses red
Bloodens walls and clears the shadows off
As the folk rise from their slumbers deep
And the plants drink in their chance to grow

In brilliant lighting the city is poised
The stillness is merely a lull before all
The people emerge from their brightened homes
Blink just a second to steady their eyes

Set off on the journey that's threading their day
The sunlight has caused all that's hid to appear
A tightrope supports them above a great height
And daylight is sparkling on everything near

As people put one foot in front of the other
With brightly lit minds their attention is focused
For the deeds of the day that they wish to perform
The world to the sun ever eastward is turning

The spinning that won't stop for any rhyme or reason
Keeps the light that's creeping in on a regular beat
That shows the city full to all it's coloured splendour
In the midst of which the people live their own lives

The birds in flight throw shadow shapes across the pavement ground
Which follow one another's form in patterns of delight
They're their to catch the moment of the fleeting light of day
To dance the air fantastic in displays of swooping wings

You observe the world around you as it swiftly changes hue
To begin another day that's full of radiance and light
As the corners of the shadows slowly move across the square
They give clues to let you know this planet earth will always spin

Awimbawé the people say as they awake to start the day
The sun will shine onto the ground and fill the spaces all around
And all the sounds and all the sights stand contrasted by birds in flights
The golden reds the purple blues and all that city's varied hues

Day 29 - Art Crime

Outside the city stood a giant statue made from gold
Though some art thieves carried it away to be resold.
They knew an art collector whose few morals were quite loose,
and in his private garden the gold statue came to roost.

He had a dozen other pieces that he called his own,
so he was rather choosy who he let into his home.
He did not want to lose his Turner, Rothko or Van Gogh,
but he would jump at any chance he had to show them off.

There was a new art student whom he wanted to impress,
but unbeknownst to him she was a lady of the press.
To find the choicest stories she was often undercover,
disguised as trainee dentist or punk rocker or grandmother.

And here she was engaged in finding out who stole fine art
she knew the golden statue was still in the city heart.
She had enrolled a month before, an art course filling fast.
Then let her classmates think she'd had a tangled troubled past.

She mentioned crime she mentioned jail she mentioned marriage failed,
and let these rumours float about, in art circles they sailed.
She found herself invited to all sorts of art filled shows
and soon she talked with dealers mixed up in god only knows.

So when she got the invite she accepted it at once.
He was the one she felt could form the most nefarious plans.
She set her secret cam'ra in the buckle of her purse
and set out in the morning for better or for worse.

His house when she arrived was of a most amazing size,
and of the grandeur stored inside she scarce believed her eyes.
She saw amazing pieces that she knew from news reports
and took a dozen pictures used for evidence in courts.

His downfall was predictable he spent the years in jail,
and she went on to own his house. But that's another tale.

Thursday, 28 April 2011

Day 28 - Theatre Birds

Two bottles sat upon a stage.
Mementos of a bygone age,
when through these walls a multitude would swarm.

The gaps in walls where pictures hung,
lone microphones which people sung,
and once bold actors talked their varied parts.

The paint which overhangs the wall
speaks of the hubbub in this hall
as songs were sung and plays were aptly spoken

They shut it down after a fire,
took the insurance to retire,
and owners moved their home to Southern France.

Two birds have nested in the roof
and side by side they sit and look,
sole audience to theatre's final scenes

This hall of interrupted dreams
Has gone the way of , so it seems,
post offices, pay phones and libraries.

The birds don't mind though
they're quite pleased.
That they have found
a nest of peace.

Wednesday, 27 April 2011

Day 27 - The Night Flower Folk

This poem has been removed by me as work has begun on an illustrated version with a view to publish. If you want to know more please contact me at athosfolk@hotmail.com

Athos Athanasiou

Tuesday, 26 April 2011

Day 26 - The City

A sea of green floods through the rooftops
while rows of empty windowed eyes are set high in factory walls
The glass skin of once new shopping malls is cracked

The city is abandoned
The movement that you see across the street is probably just a fox
All else is stilness

And your mind creates the ghosts of those who lived here
just to have something to hold onto
to give meaning by filling the once grand buildings with nonexistant forms

But everyone who comes here sees them
darting in and around the corners of their eyes
carrying suitcases across the street only to dissapear on the other side

A family here sat in the park
A tour group there taking photos
Mass hysteria its called by those who come to see

Some say the ghosts are why the city was left
but others that the ghosts came after to fill in the gaps
Either way they're just in your mind

Monday, 25 April 2011

Day 25 - Desert Train , Part 4

Part 1 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-22-desert-train-part-1.html
Part 2 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-23-desert-train-part-2.html
Part 3 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-24-desert-train-part-three.html

"You're right" she said "I'm something else entirely,
"I've come to see what I could learn from you,
"for years I studied aliens in abstract,
"Though you're not one, you're from this earth so blue.
"But quick, we need to get your friend to safety
"she's shrinking fast and turning redder hue".

And so they picked her up and started running,
"I'm glad you've now told me the truth" it said.
"My name is Paul, I'll help you find your answers,
"as you help me." And down those halls they sped.
They came at last to D-Wing's gate and entered
a giant room with vats of liquid red.

"The free one on the left, let's place her gently"
And as they put her in she looked around.
Arrayed in vats the creatures' bodies floated.
In various states of growth they could be found.
"Her brain we must preserve intact" Paul stated,
"her body will grow back again quite sound."

"This room is where we're formed and made and mended,
"and where we're punished if we've misbehaved.
"Our bodies are a joke, our minds are human,
"and into this great farce we've been enslaved.
"I was a Paris barman ere they took me,
"and in the tank this is my wife we've saved."

"The tourists keep the project nicely funded,
"our voice decoders round them are controlled.
"For ten long years we've walked as gene-spliced monsters.
"While In A-wing our bodies are stored cold
"And all of it's the work of one mad scientist.
"The landing was a lie the world was sold."

"I can help you all back to your bodies."
"I know the science. Rush outside with me."
And when she found the tourists she addressed them
told them the story whole, eloquently.
Then leading them they stormed the bio-centre
and Paul, his wife, the others, they set free.

The end

Sunday, 24 April 2011

Day 24 - Desert Train, Part 3

Part 1 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-22-desert-train-part-1.html
Part 2 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-23-desert-train-part-2.html

Outside the station groups were being herded
while yellow sweaters went about their way.
And oh! The tall green beings stood majestic,
and shimmered in the bright clear light of day.
She spotted one a small way off the others,
and walked to it while thinking what to say.

"Oh Guide" it said "my friend is ill and needs you".
This statement fairly caught her by surprise.
she followed it to friend around the corner.
"Please take her to the Nest. Please be her eyes."
The friend had shrunk and started turning orange.
Now there was much she had to analyse.

"I've just got in, remind me where the Nest is."
"Why its the tallest building here around."
"Of course" she said and saw it in the distance,
and started leading them across the ground.
The aliens it seemed had meagre vision,
relied on sweatered humans to be found.

She took a breath, "so tell me of your birthplace."
The being bought its bulb shaped head in line.
"We come from here. You ought to know that really."
She tried to think of what to say in time
"Oh no, I meant where you yourself had come from."
"Ah!.. Yes. I formed in chamber forty nine."

And while these many facts her mind was churning,
arrived they at the entrance to the Nest.
Here at a desk a purple sweatered man sat.
Green being said. "My friend has come to rest".
"Go through to D-wing. Yellow what's your number?"
and at her pause the man was not impressed.

"Err, forty nine" she said and stopped her breathing.
"Ah, Billy... You are new... Go on inside"
So entering now their secret inner sanctum,
and walking vaulted halls three side by side,
green being turned to her and softly stated,
"I don't think that you really are a Guide."

to be concluded ...

Part 4 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-25-desert-train-part-4.html

Saturday, 23 April 2011

Day 23 - Desert Train, Part 2

Part 1 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-22-desert-train-part-1.html

Flo learnt her trade way back in Arecibo
acclaimed exobiologist of note.
she'd studied language, rocks, cells, stars and planets
and many lauded papers had she wrote.
But in the past she'd only worked on theory,
till now all aliens had remained remote.

When Flo had read about the famous landing,
she felt a flutter in her heart so true.
She could not pass up such a chance to witness
that which her life so far had pointed to.
A certain contact had returned a favour
and now she was a florist known as Sue.

There were so many questions left unanswered.
From which star in the galaxy they came?
How could they photosynthesise sans moisture?
How many genders? Were they all the same?
She heard a rumour that they procreated
with one inside the other's hollow frame.

She had no plan yet how to make enquiry.
Perhaps she won't find anything, she feared.
For now the train was hurtling through the city
and to the vaulted station it had neared.
She sat in awe of all the splendid buildings,
but then on train she spotted something weird.

A lot of people wore the same gold sweater
and didn't seem to be quite so impressed.
Were they connected with the tall green beings?
She had a mind to put this to the test.
So as the tourists left she boldly stopped one,
and asked him why they matched in how they dressed?

He raised an eyebrow at this blatant question
and asked if she could wait a minute more.
Once they had gone he gripped her arm quite tightly,
and so she punched him hard upon the jaw.
Out cold he fell and under seats she pushed him.
Then leaving train his yellow top she wore.

to be continued...

Part 3 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-24-desert-train-part-three.html

Friday, 22 April 2011

Day 22 - Desert Train, Part 1

A silver train stood gleaming in the desert,
crammed full of faces waiting eagerly.
They'd paid a fortune for their precious tickets
which would the greatest wonder let them see.
The engines roared and train lurched into motion,
while tourists cheered as loudly as can be.

What was the sight that they were off to visit?
A place so far from many people's eye.
A city never built by hands of humans.
The city where the aliens go by.
They landed ten years back and asked to stay please,
politely, somewhere most completely dry.

Their upright frame was as a tube and hollow,
thin legs of sorts from their round base had sprung
In place of arms they had antennaed feelers.
Their bulb shaped head served as external lung.
The chlorophyll inside their cells shone greenly.
And belted tools translated while they sung.

The governments said they would have to think first.
Weigh up the pros and cons of such a deed.
They seemed a peaceful bunch with much to offer,
but were they hiding something foul indeed?
By then public opinion was united,
and to these creatures staying they agreed.

And what a choice for they built such a city,
right in the midst of the Saharan Plane.
With towers tall and vaulted made from sandstone,
and architectural features none the twain.
And here they lived in peaceful coexistence,
with some occasional tourists from the Train.

As part of the agreement of the city,
no scientists or linguists were allowed.
They didn't want to be somebody's study.
They were an ancient species strong and proud.
So she had lied to get a priceless ticket,
and sat now on that train amidst the crowd.

to be continued...

Part 2 is here http://athspoemaday.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-23-desert-train-part-2.html

Thursday, 21 April 2011

Day 21 - Thinking

The sun's last rays were breaking through
the trees transformed to dapples.
The sky above had turned deep blue,
against which hung green apples.

Upon a bench under one tree
a man sat calmly waiting
and on events most recent he
was sat pontificating.

It started just a week ago,
his wife had sat him down
and told him things he did not know.
At which point she left town.

Then when he went to work that day
his boss of twenty year
said he had something hard to say
and now his desk was clear.

The strangest thing that happened was
his dog died as it slept.
And this was very strange because
no dog he'd ever kept.

And come to think of it that way,
when had he actually wed?
He must have had a wedding day
where vows and things were said.

But none of these came to his mind.
Plus what work had he done
while toiling on the daily grind?
No thought appeared not one.

An apple landed at that pass
and woke him from his thinking.
"That fruit it falls due to its mass"
his great mind started linking.

Wednesday, 20 April 2011

Day 20 - On the coast

By a disused bar
along the empty coast
of a country
whose name I won't tell you,
she lets go of my weatherworned hand
that she has been leading me by
for a hundred miles
to pull apart the wooden boards
shutting and shuttering the windows and doors.

I never thought
I'd be back here again,
where it all began.
Where the saxophones were played
until the darkness was swept away by dawn
and the bitterhearts of the drinkers were smoothed
by smokeroughed voices
on a stage just six inches high.

Now the ocean
beating out its rhythm
on the shore
in time to the falling chipboard panels
is the only sound that hits my ears.

The first sunlightshafts
in forty years
spill onto the floor.
I'd like to say it caught the dust unawares,
agitating it into excited patterns and forms
by sheer energylight.
But there was no dust
it had left long ago.

I enter after her,
blinking my eyes into darkseeing the
table and chairs piled against the once mirrored wall.
A shape on empty floor marks the oncebar,
another the piano ghost.
And now the sounds of longago
invade my ears and crowd out the now,
until the room once more is full of music and chatlaugh.

I close my eyes
and remain unable to open them again
lest when I do I'll see the pastlife reborn
as we watched our heroes on the stage.
But my real hero was sitting next to me.

She takes my hand and pulls me back to present
and I look into her steady eyes
a light to guide me to the shore
and I love her,
A yearvast love hooked in the single point of now,
like a mountain balanced on a
tree.

One tip
reaches back to this old hangout
were we once made lifeplans
of longsome years
that worked.

Tuesday, 19 April 2011

Day 19 - Let them dance

When thoughts are dancing, let them dance,

sit back, enjoy the show.

Don't hem them in or crowd them out,

or else they'll quickly flee.

Don't stay too long though in a trance

of watching notions flow,

or soon you'll find you're left without

a sense of urgency.

For we have merely but one chance

upon this world to know

just what it means to be about,

so take it eagerly.

And though there's times for quick advance,

there's benefit in slow,

and getting places roundabout

can give you more to see.

It sometimes helps to read things twice,

or thrice if you're alone,

for you could find new things in two,

and whole new tales in three.

Now swimming wild is rather nice,

to all let it be known.

All up and done is shades of blue

except for nearby tree.

And whither wonder you in ice,

in woods or desert stone,

just trust your feet to carry you

to where you wish to be.

But lastly don't take my advice,

go off and find your own,

and if you find it works for you,

then tell it back to me.

Monday, 18 April 2011

Day 18 - The incredible changing thing

A piece of grit is caught up in an eye
then falls upon a speckled stony ground.
Here, feeling grander friends it starts to grow,
inspired by these larger friends its found,
it yearns to be a pebble by and by.

But then it finds it does not grow the same,
unlike the pebbles it is partly eye,
which scans the world to understand its way,
it looks around and then looks at the sky,
Up there it sees a bird enter the frame.

Now turning to the eye it starts to dive
then grabs it in its mighty taloned grip,
and heading past the western ocean shore,
it opts to drop it on a passing ship,
but eye decides it wants to stay alive.

Eye finds out something quick within a blink,
that as a bird it doesn't have to fall,
instead can fly above the choppy sea,
and over land where it now sees it all.
but on its changing form it starts to think.

Above this island it sees all it needs,
and bird now heads towards a tree to nest.
It feels a warning in its stony feathers,
a storm is heading in from the north west,
but till it comes its thoughts are planting seeds.

What is it then if it can morph its form,
to any passing object it can find?
Today it's just Bird Eye Stone Piece of Grit,
Would this tomorrow all be left behind,
as it turns into Island Tree Nest Storm?

It can't quite get its brain to thus configure,
and so it spreads its wings and starts to sing,
about the time when it was merely grit.
And now what next? The world's a massive thing,
but then the universe is even bigger.

Sunday, 17 April 2011

Day 17 - Just Doctor

The dusty street, the open train, the much frequented highway,
a mountain trail, a ferry boat , an inner city byway.
These he had taken, by and large, to reach this destination,
but now he faced the daunting task of filling registration,
in which he has to prove his admin skills for new positions.

What should he put for marketing, or double-paged accounting?
He'd just got on with his own job, left others to the counting.
He'd done it well or so he thought, saved many a thread-hung life.
He had a calming presence and was steady with a knife.
They didn't seem to care 'bout this, they wanted core ambitions.

Around the world he'd travelled, lending care where it was needed.
In times of epidemic, his advice was often heeded.
But this no longer mattered within England so it seems,
where doctors had to deal with daily management of teams.
He wanted yet, to come back home, grown tired so of missions.

His mind balked at the prospect of a quarterly report,
and handling area boundary changes in the district court.
Why should a surgeon trained for years, do something else completely,
when those who've qualified in sums, or admin do it neatly?
There doesn't seem much logic in this hindrance to physicians.

He put his pen down, rubbed his eyes, and thought about the future.
How now could be the time to settle down and maybe tutor.
But he's a doctor dammit, and there's many sick to see,
and all he really wants to do is practise surgery.
I guess he'll have to do it with extraneous conditions.

Saturday, 16 April 2011

Day 16 - Looking back

The long summer was dragging on,
it was a novelty at first
but now that October was nearing,
the fallout from the sticky thirst,
was searing people's nerves.

Editors argued with writers and proofreaders,
about widespread movie cuts they sought to make.
The argument spilled out into the street,
as people looked on to take
a fleeting picture or two.
Others found the dance of the phoenix.

The beat of life should make you think.
Watching Bohemians argue in pubs,
waiting in line not to see what you sought,
worldly female voices can be heard.
While vigilantes roam in saris pink,
you cycle to the angel dance.

A white van full of hopes.
A Green wedding with folks, from long ago and new.
While jokers seek to banish want,
we seek to grow champagne
on England's southern slopes.

The domino movement.
Books on South America, North Africa ,
vampires and detectives,
can be found in London bars.
Walk home.
What's needed is a party.
A party moved by snow.
That'll do the trick.

Friday, 15 April 2011

Day 15 - Sea monsters

Let's take a pause to see where we are heading
before we fall headlong over the edge.
In your aft cabin you have nice soft bedding
while down below we've nothing but a ledge.
And we've heard tell of many fearsome creatures,
who'll eat a sailor whole with their sharp features.
So turn around to safety we beseach yas,
and we'll not breathe a word of this no more.
The crew are restless, though they're able seamen,
they hold great fear for what they have no ken
and long to see their loved ones once again.
So turn around to England we implore.
Now you may have this itch to boldly go,
but there are some things we're not meant to know.

Will you get back to work and stop your whine?
There's nothing out there that could poss'bly harm 'em.
And get the crew to stop wasting my time.
I've no idea what's happened to alarm 'em.
They knew their duties when they signed aboard.
Your arguments are really rather flawed.
These pointless questions I cannot afford.
Are these complaints designed to make me laugh?
If this were longboat you could well be right,
while heading off into the darkest night,
sea misted evil monsters can cause fright.
We serve tho, on a bloomin' hovercraft!
We only cross The Channel down to France.
And all you do is serve drinks while folk dance.

Thursday, 14 April 2011

Day 14 - Later this year

Underneath the curtained kitchen window,
which frames an autumn scene of painted browns,
rests a picture on the laden table,
of once a summer's day with party crowns.

By and by a cough breaks up the silence,
expecting a reply to fill the air.
Wanting paper lowered just a smidgeon,
acknowledge that another person's there.

Lack of movement drives the other spare now.
so grabbing paper border gives a pull.
Sullen are the eyes that do appear now,
demanding cordial talks should start in full.

"Hey", the first word of the day will echo
down Kitchen, hall and back to float above.
"Was reading that", the next words follow quickly
and then some more, "what do you want you my love?"

Words that bring fleet smiles to sulky eyes those.
Until the thought that bothers them returns.
"Mum ...", a pause, to wonder if to finish
the question that upon that mind still burns.

They talked of it before, how education,
may not be easy in these tricky times.
If she wanted she could go to Uni,
but it would mean for them a sacrifice.

Whether it was really what she wanted.
It was, it really was, more than they knew.
But then to be a burden on her parents,
was not something she felt that she could do.

There upon the table she decided
that was where she really ought to be.
She would stake her claim for seeking knowledge
But oh! Instead she let the question flee.

"Mum. I'm off to shops" was what she said then,
and felt her heart twist to itself betray.
"anything you need just let me know",
the pivot point which moves her path away.

Briefly seeing sands of life a shifting.
The pain is much more than can be withstood.
Heretofore she'd kept it bottled tightly.
Now turns around and says "I think I should..."

Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Day 13 - By the shed

In a garden of cloudspun light,
some dreams, like wings, lie broken.
They could have lifted her
on up to worlds unspoken

She picks them up no matter
and puts them back together.
Like many times in sun
and many in bad weather.

The bric nick nacks of daily life
morph in her hands of flurry.
Amid these grand contraptions,
the inventor starts to hurry.

She blows away the engine oil
she welds the parts together.
Attaches gears and counterweights,
fine balanced as a feather.

No ordinary road for her,
no desk job strong and steady.
She yearns for future greatness
unaware she's great already.

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Day 12 On the use of better animal metaphors for the human condition.

A lion for a day or a sheep for a year?
What a question to ask.

Are we lion?
Do we hunt prey by chasing it down
to sink our teeth into its neck?
Of our varied myriad acts,
and there can be odd ones,
no matter how hungry,
we never feel this urge.
We are not lion.

Are we sheep?
Do we blindly follow
down whichever way we're led?
Not always.
Too many of us pull back
and question
and complain
and disagree
to be sheep.
Yay.

So what are we?
Squirrel I say.
As we wander down the supermarket aisles.
our trolleys the cyber extensions of cheeks,
gathering instant fruit and nuts,
in our temple to the ancient ancestral forest
that still whispers in our brain.

Squirrels we are
as we gather and hoard
and stockpile in our treehomes
and save for rainy days.

Lions do not own.
They have teeth and claws
and that is all they need.
So stop thinking you are lion
or tiger
you are not self sufficient.
Or bear or stallion, sheesh.
Or Sheep
but who admits they're sheep?

Squirrels ye be
turning the whole earth
into a complex extension of gathering nuts in the forest
and storing them in a tree trunk.
While surpluses of food and minerals
grow in tree shaped silos,
you'd have thought today
50 years after dancing gracefully on the edge of space
our wonderful race
would have solved the simple problem
of making sure that
everyone had enough nuts.

And it is a simple problem
it really is.
It's not rocket science.
But until we do
let's not pretend we are far far better than the squirrels.
Just more complex
and bigger.
Except for art, art makes us a bit better.
And ok, science and an ability to question ourselves and reason with others.
Well ok we have all that but we don't have bushy tails.

Monday, 11 April 2011

Day 11 - Unopened news

The letter arrived two weeks late
and when it arrived it remained
upon the porch step for two more.
If only it'd not been delayed.

The letter was wrapped up in parchment
that felt like freshly spun corn.
In a hand well practiced and fine.
On paper the colour of dawn.

The news of the letter was plain.
Coming straight to the point to be heard.
Unlike this poem.

Oh all right.
It was about a bird.

Not a colourful bird.
No exotic, extravagant bird of paradise that thinks that all other birds want to be like it but can't.
Just a budgie.
The budgie belonged to their aunt.

The aunt was one whom others would call,
eccentric or just plain potty.
But she know how she wanted to live her life
and cared not if they thought her dotty.

She wanted to get rich quick one day.
So formed the perfect strategy
and made a fortune from rubber ducks,
then left it all to her budgie.

Her relatives weren't a greedy bunch
but felt they were due a small share.
They'd cooked and shopped and cleaned for her.
They thought they'd been treated unfair.

They went round in their anger.
And told her what they thought.
They vented all their fury,
and left her quite distraught.

"Well," she said, "if that's the way,
you really want to play it.
That letter that I sent to you
I'll null, void and unsay it!"

"What letter Auntie? When was this?
We've not received a missive.
True, we've recently moved house
so don't be so dismissive."

"Moved house, you say, well thanks a bunch!
You didn't let me know.
I sent that letter one month past!
Begone. Get out. Just Go!"

And what was in that letter sent?
Well written and not smudgy.
I think you've guessed what's coming next.
She'd left them folks her budgie.

Sunday, 10 April 2011

Day 10 - Forms of Poegotry

Poets have been here in the park.
Look at the mess they made.
Pens are strewn all over the grass,
paper is crumpled in shade.

If you ask me it should be banned.
You can't go out these times,
without being stopped by some bard,
who'll make you hear new lines.

The other day I was on a bus,
one sat by the heater.
Couldn't even hear myself think
with that scribbling in metre.

They walk around with goatee beards,
all of them, even women.
Berets, black sweaters and glasses,
they keep 'em on while swimming.

Down by the canal discarded
verbs and phrases are found.
Stanzas with some jagged edges,
and used up odes abound.

Their brains are wired differently,
another logic I s'pose.
They're from the planet Neptune
and not that good with prose.

Some of my best friends are poets,
I'm not against them all.
Just prefer them to write it at home.
I'm not a bigot at all.

Saturday, 9 April 2011

Friday, 8 April 2011

Day 8 - Limericks

Willets the Minister Junior,

made comments that couldn't be loonier.

Blaming male unemployment,

on female empowerment,

his colleagues now don't want him too near.

There was a young forward called Wayne

Who sometimes could be quite profane.

He was in the news,

though most people choose

not to bother with news so inane.

An entrepeneur known as Rich,

had an unscratchable itch.

To go and explore,

he'd always want more,

though sometimes he'd end in a ditch.

Thursday, 7 April 2011

Day 7 - Haikus

What is the season?
I look down from my orbit.
It is all of them.

Left out lawnmower.
Brightly glistening fizzling sun.
Touches red to cheek.

Headlong to summer.
The body gathers rhythm,
Wrested from darkness.

Trees sweep across hills.
Leaves hungry, gulp in sunlight.
Making selves anew.

Underground to work.
Glimpsed train in other tunnel.
Beckons mirrored world.

Mostly empty mall.
Fenced piano in the centre.
Signs warn of danger!

An ugly building,
different seasons angles viewed,
is almost charming.

Looking at a bird.
Pecking worms from out the ground.
People odd against.

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

Day 6 - breaking the 4th wall

A cigarette lies fuming on the table.
"Does he have to come along to everything?"
An empty glass is backed up in the corner.
"Well he's my mate and it won't hurt to bring."

The cigarette is held and briefly flares up.
"You're mate he may be but he always talks such tosh."
The empty glass is put back in the cupboard,
and no reply is made under that cosh.

The cigarette now finished is extinguished.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt just one more time."
The empty glass has still a bit of soap sud.
"Thanks, I'm sure it all will be just fine"

Elsewhere an orange carton stands in sunlight.
"I'm sorry darling got to get a move on."
Beside a buttered scone with marmalade.
"You're just the same you all think you're the smooth 'un."

And now the orange carton's in the chiller.
"I wish I'd worn a coat its cold today"
The buttered scone ...

"Hold on!"

Er ...

"Why am i a buttered scone?
Eh?
I'm a person not a thing,
with far more subtlety
than you can cram into a breakfast bite."

I'm sorry,
I was just trying to paint hazy caricatures
I wasn't being lazy,

"Well that's fine for the others but not for me,
careful when you draw us and word us in your poems,
for we may prove more real than you expect,
and want our own longings and lodgings,
your should treat us
with a little more respect"

You're ... you're rhyming! But ...

"Yes. You're not the only one,
who can have with words some fun,
I'm off to make my own way now,
thanks for writing anyhow."

"But before I go
and by the way.
I didn't fancy
that Orange Carton
anyway."

Tuesday, 5 April 2011

Day 5 - air and thorns and sparkle

A waft of leaves as they lie strewn about,
to gather musk upon the paths we walk.
In colder times we'll cover all the windows
to keep out cold and and give us cosy talk.

We'll eat a feast and leave some food for later
and lean back in our easy chairs reclined.
Eyes rest on patterned ceiling ranged above,
mouths grab at words that we pull from our mind.

And in those words grand plans begin to form,
but life, oh life, it happens in between,
betwixt the one big fish event and next,
those are the moments holding what we dream.

And sometimes you've no choice to join the struggle,
and others you feel ennui take you in.
The world's arranged with air and thorns and sparkle,
and all of it is yours to lose and win.

The half forgotten stare, the longed for wings,
the way meanders round itself to fizz.
The endless marching tide of things and stuff,
how wonderful the simplest of those is.

Monday, 4 April 2011

Day 4 - Future Noir

The phone rings twice then stops
and all is silent after.
The air'd been filled before
with free and easy laughter.

The looks across the room
held many nuanced feelings,
but mainly one of fear
about some guilty dealings.

A hand is slowly raised
and twitches curtains slightly.
The waiting car outside
should not be taken lightly.

"Is there another door?
'Nother route to run away?
What if we tried the stairs
leading from the window bay?"

And under moonlit skies,
racing down that metal stair,
three figures scarcely glimpsed
as they take leave from their lair.

Down to the street below.
Melting in behind the bins.
They pause to catch their breath
as they're hunted for their sins.

They take another breath
and then make off down the street.
Each clutching something wrapped,
which could lose them freedom sweet.

Their exit swiftly made,
bought them small but precious time.
They know that footsteps soon
will be falling close behind.

But if they could just make,
a red doorway two blocks down,
They would have safely reached
a safe haven just for now.

But there blocking their way
a lone figure draped in black.
A Watcher from the Corps
with a Scanner on their back.

But as they stand and watch,
huddled in the shopway door.
The Watcher gets a call
and heads off towards the mall.

The way suddenly clear,
they waste no time in thought.
They head on to their goal,
rebel hideout that they sought.

The door was opened swift
after a secret knocking.
Into the darkness walked,
behind they heard relocking.

And down a secret path
to a vast and spacious hall.
The heart of their revolt
held books from wall to wall!

Looking at the future,
in a world where books were banned,
it was librarians
who had chose to make a stand.

Sunday, 3 April 2011

Day 3 - Wheeze and Blast

What a jolly jape,
what a wheeze!
But a wheeze is a shortness of breath
when you're gasping for air.

What a merry time,
what a blast!
But a blast is a sudden expansion,
caused by release of energy
which can hurt a bit.

I was wheezing after the blast,
coughing up white ash and black soot and red blood,
which coincidentally
where the same colours as my stereo back home.
Which is where I wanted to be right now,
not stuck out in the street waiting for someone
to take my pulse
and take a statement
and take me in hand.

I didn't care who did it or why,
I didn't want to be sucked into their game,
to be turned into a headline grabber,
for something that has nothing to do with me.

I thought back to the time when I first was kissed,
wond'ring if I was first on your list.
Staring at your slender wrist.
I could not resist
your hip twist.

Grinning,
I was winning,
and the pain was thinning,
even though my head was spinning,
nothing could stop me from my next inning.

And I wasn't going to let the scoundrels do,
well,
whatever it was they were trying to do.

Are you Ok? they asked.
Yes, I said, or I soon will be.

Saturday, 2 April 2011

Day 2 - Tree Shade

Down
in the middle
of the glade,
stands a little
broken blade,
that was used to
cut the grass.

There
in the midst of
fragrant hues,
floats a mist of
twirling blues,
in the place that
they would pass.

They
were a mixed and
random bunch,
with a fixed and
hampered lunch,
looking for a
picnic spot.

She
had been drinking
from the stream,
and was thinking
of her dream,
which quite soon would
be forgot.

They
having found the
fragrant mist,
had unbound their
vagrant tryst,
and were sitting
munching brunch.

She
having heard the
noise they made,
had returned now
to the glade,
saw the four of
them at lunch.

Quick
knowing dangers
lurking there,
warns the strangers
eating fare,
to return the
way they came.

No,
laughing at this
wild girl spry,
with a madness
in her eye,
they'll just stay here
all the same.

But
knowing peril
from the mist
still is feral
in their midst
it will soon be
far too late.

Grabs
blanket laden
at their feet,
running maiden
beats retreat,
and is chased by
three irate.

Well,
better three might
live than none,
thinks the tree sprite
on the run,
as she starts to
climb her tree.

Then
blanket leaving
on a limb,
her form weaving
dissolves in,
to the tree that's
made her be.

Back
to the person
left behind,
but at curs-ed
spot they find,
vanished friend and
food all up.

Now
in the middle
of the glade,
by the little
broken blade,
rests a single
picnic cup.

Friday, 1 April 2011

Day 1 - Not a bookend

They wanted me to be a bookend,
to sit pretty at the end of the ledge.
While the other poems fizzled and danced,
I was sculpted to block them from the edge.

But I needed to fly and soar and spark,
in cartwheels of verse and wriggles of tone.
Yet they said my lot was to be stalwart,
and faithfully guard the abyss as stone.

But why should they have all the glory?
Mine is not the only story
of a life that dares to dream
for itself another stream.

Countless other gone before,
held themselves above a law,
handed down to serve the purpose
of another’s inner circus.

Just because my birth dictated
usefulness in practice stated,
doesn't mean my fate is sealed
as a bookend thus revealed.

No old friend upon a bench,
no stone comforter of odes.
Mine's the wind that takes a fancy,
mine's the wide and open roads.

Though they call me fool today,
and claim I turned my back on duty.
I go to seek a different path.
I go to find my other beauty.

And maybe one day I'll be back,
to tell such wonders at you.
Though now another you must find
to be the bookshelf statue.