Napo wrimo day 29

You sat,
In the corners of my mind.

Waiting,
Until time had moved.

Watching,
For when I least expected.

And then,
You came when I didn't want.

NaPo WriMo: Day 28

Near the end now, only a few days left. Here's today's poem which is taken from a short story I'm actually trying to write at the same time. 

The Cracks

Today I saw the cracks appear

The small wrinkles of the earth

They started small like maggots

Then grew longer into worms

Today I saw the cracks appear

Like lace around my feet

They sliced into the earth’s skin

Then split open like a pear

Today I saw the cracks appear

As though traced with marker pen

I stepped over them one by one

Then erased them with my feet

NaPo WriMo: Day 27

Boxes half full you carried half my things down the stairs

Whilst I stayed in the sweaty heat and tried to finish packing

Flattened cardboard around me with no celetape left

And with each lift of the box we spoke of times

That could be and forgot of the reasons why I was leaving

And loading up the van I stood in circles of

Items that didn’t look like mine anymore

Shirts sticking to our back and the taste of salt in my mouth

We ran out of words to say but only because there was too much

The engine purred on the large van as we pulled

Away without a thought of what we were leaving behind

Accept the keys that we needed to find a home for

And the new place that we didn’t quite have

The road was long and icy but luckily

No traffic blocked our roots

And as the radio hummed it’s low song

I thought of you and only you,

Nothing about the things left behind of the things I was driving to.

NaPo WriMo: Day 26

This one is about a time when I got stuck in the middle of an extreme storm in New Zealand. We foolishly parked beneath a tree below a mountain and the thunder rocketed off the edge of the mountain and felt like it was consuming our van.

The Storm

1.

Bruised sky above

Our little yellow van

Your breath soothes me to sleep

2.

The sky’s angry roar

As it echo’s around the mountain

Heart hard in my chest

3.

Motion Picture

Lighting up my view

Flashing on then off

NaPo WriMo: Day 25

That Day

Two eyes, Closed, On white face,

Not just white but pale

Rich pale

As though all soul that could bring colour has left

Two lips, Parted, As if in thirst

Or midway between saying the last word

One body, Alone, In a single bed

Soiled sheets and clothes

No last wishes or commands

Us, left beside, to misguide the truth

From his unknowing wife

NaPo WriMo: Day 24

To be Loved

NaPo WriMo: Day 23

Here's one for Day 23 which I wrote based on a little easter holiday trip to Shrewsbury. It's a first draft but isn't that the whole point of NaPo WriMo?


Summer Rain 

And when the rain came we were left with
Half finished words and undiscussed ideas
And we continued on our small talk
Until the rain became too much.

Then moving our things inside
We found we had no more words
Yet too many things left unsaid
And no way to say them


But into that evening
All I could think of was how
To express the things I never said
Only, you followed.

You always follow.

NaPo WriMo: Day 22

Today I decided to try the three worded poem. I would give it a title but I think it would be just as long as the poem.



Tonight
          Only you.

NaPo WriMo: Day 21

Nice summery one today. Sorry. It had to be done. I just couldn't resist writing about the sunshine - it's wrapped around me everywhere I go at the moment!

Forgetting You

We sat for hours at the end of the park

Watching BBQ’s cook and avoiding the smoke

Making words in the middle of our picnic blanket

And pouring sparkling wine from fake posh bottles

We sat for hours in the burning heat

You no sunscreen to wear, arms turning purple

Opening large bottles of cider

And watching kids attack trees around us

We sat for hours in our scrabble game

Comparing the themes of words in each round

Noticing when we were feeling negative,

Or tired, or rude

We sat for hours and I forgot

About everything else I needed to do

Like going to an art class

Or tidying my house

Or meeting you

And we sat for hours in the sun

Talking about nothing and everything

Eating ice lollies as they melted down our arms

And forgetting about anything else.

Forgetting about you.

Napo wrimo day 20

Another Sunday

What of? ...
No house
No job
No bed?
What of?
No place to lay my head?
What of?...
No friends
No money
No hopes
What of?
Not facing things when I cannot cope?
At least I have you.
Right?
At least I have you.

NaPo WriMo: Day 19

Bit of a depressing one today. Happy day 19 :)

Yesterday

Yesterday,
You said,
That this was something that you needed.

Today,
You say,
That this is something that you never even wanted.

Napo wrimo day 18

Hot sticky sweat purching on my face
As I hear the words you say down the phone
Your afraid about ...
Your angry about...
You think its my fault that ...
The black hole next to my eardrum makes these noises
Yet all I can think of is sweat
And the stinging heat in the room
And the sunshine outside

NaPo WriMo: Day 17

I used to think that

Time was never ending

And that even as my body aged

My heart never would.  Then

As time passed and I grew tired

Of everything I had seen even

The thought of you could not

Keep me from ageing.

NaPo WriMo: Day 16

This one is based on travel stories I've been trying to put into some sort of poem or story for years but can never quite seem to take it away from the diary element. This one is called:

Forever Red

So we wondered through red dust me alone

you ahead, I staggered slow enough to

live my own view but just fast enough to

keep up, because no one wanted to

get lost out there.

We climbed over red rock whilst

we were told that no one was

allowed to climb these, that

it was against their religion, that

they mourned differently.

We staggered through clouds of red sand

and I kept some in a bottle, plastic against

grain, in the hope to one day show you

what it was like but through the journey

it turned brown.

And we drove through valleys of red,

camping under stars, me barely speaking

except to one Spanish girl, my hair cut

and weight lost, in a world so alien yet

so loving, thinking of never returning.

Only to live in the red forever.

NaPo WriMo: Day 15

So I've tried to be a bit more experimental with this one. I've tried to create a poem in the form of a list similiar to the one that the character in the poem would be signing. It's based on various experiences at work.

So they came and they took:

Your tumble dryer

Your TV

Your TV stand

Your car

Your Settee

Your washing machine (even though it was on hire purchase)

And your children’s toys, that you thought were classed as essential but apparently not.

So they came and the let the lock smith in and they took your items because:

They were allowed

They’d been told

Because you’d signed

What else were you supposed to do. 

I'm not too sure if lists work in poem but it might be something worth playing around with again. 

NaPo WriMo: Day 14

A sonnet for day 14. And I promise you, this is probably the worst poem I have ever written. Genuinely. I wanted to try something new, a poetry form I'd never mastered before. I hardly ever use rhyme and now I know why. This poem is called....

Because I can't Rhyme

We sat for hours in blankets of songs

Too scared to move closer; tips of arms touch

Conversation led to where we belong

You talked of comics of what you knew much

We sat for hours on top of your bed

Everyone assumed we did otherwise

I can’t remember specific words said

But we talked until it was past sunrise

Too scared to touch I knelt by your book shelves

And feigned interest in your collectables

Wrapped in knitted blankets we hid ourselves

Until at last our words became muddles

And now all I have is a memory

A remaint of what I want us to be

I've ruined a perfectly good idea I had for a poem boo hoo! But at least I got to try writing a sonnet.

NaPo WriMo: Day 13

For today's poem I've taken inspiration from the NaPo WriMo prompt yet again to write a poem in 5 minutes. I timed myself to make sure I didn't go over and I haven't editing to keep in the true spirit of the five minute poem. The idea was to write about something fast also so I've written about someone I once knew who was super fast at life. It doesn't have a title yet as I couldn't fit that into the five minute challenge!

Your limbs are like extensions

Unconnected,

Barely glued to your body

You bang your head on anything

Luckily it’s glued on tighter

The speed you move

Can’t keep up with the speed of your brain

And when you think

I can’t keep up

A conversation with you is like a race

Where I

Pass certain words

But only catch them as a blur whizzing past me

And I wonder how you rest at night.

The times we travelled I felt exhausted

Too many thoughts to contain in one day

Exhilarating but tiresome

And you never seemed to notice

How even your own body

Was too slow to keep up

And I wonder if one day

You’ll find someone just as fast

Who won’t feel like they’re running a race

When they walk next to you.

NaPo WriMo: Day 12

Taking hints from the NaPo WriMo website I have decided to write this one about something I'm nostaligic about. It's about a photo I have which I've treasured for years of a holiday I took with my dad and mum years ago, I'm purched on my dads knee wearing my favourite dress. Suprisingly, this one's called Nostalgia.

Nostalgia

Amidst concrete archways and man built parks

We wrap our arms together

Me on your legs

You too large to let me balance

And we rest a while whilst we wait for mum to catch up

Her flagging behind with brother

We found our secret spot to wait

I look proud in my favourite dress

Blue with pineapples

Not even my favourite colour but I love it any way

And whilst we wait

We talk of nothing

Or have 6 year old banter

I beg to go on the carousel

And you, role you eyes but please to be with us

If only for once.  

NaPo WriMo: Day 11

If I Was a Bird

If I was a bird

I would hide in your garden

Perch on a branch and

Watch you lay my seeds

If I was a bird

I would nest in your bushes

The twigs be my blankets

And the rain be my roof

If I was a bird

The worms would be my neighbours

The insects my sofas

And your hands my sun

If I was a bird

I would visit your window

Wait till you were asleep

And sing into your dream

If I was a bird

I would wake you in the mornings

Find your wonky tile

And hop above your head

If I was a bird

I would live in your garden

Let you give me name

And put me in your cage

If I was a bird

I would hide in your garden

I’d keep my wings unmoving

And never fly away.  

NaPoWriMo: Day 10

I decided to write a lighthearted poem for the 10th as it was my boyfriends birthday on the 10th April and I didn't want any negativity on that day :) I wanted to write a birthday poem but all of my thoughts began 'happy birthday to you'. Instead, here is a poem about my friends kitten which I looked after last weekend. He has thumbs!


Kitten Kisses

Kitten paws
                 creeping on my face
Eyes close
               soft pads on my cheek
Tiny mews
               sneaking in the dark

NaPo WriMo: Day 9

Welcome to day 9 of National Poetry Writing Month. Today I have tried to write about childhood. One of my first memories is sitting in the unfinished kitchen of my childhood home watching builders finish the room around me. The floor; cold naked concrete and no glass in the windows. I sat eating smarties out of a cup, because out of a cup it felt special, more grown up. So that is why this poem is called Smarties. The rhythm and stanzas are off but it's only a first draft as I've had no time to edit.

Smarties 

Your toes on the floor

Legs curled under

Beneath you naked concrete

Cold behind the knees

You leave them in the cup

Red yellow and blue

Eat only the pink

The ones that look like dreams

You watch builders through frames

Painting the kitchen wall

Filling in the holes

That your parents left behind

They say that when it’s finished

It will be an archway

A grey solid halo

At one end of the house

You curl in your dress

Legs bare against the floor

Cup of smarties in one hand

Red yellow and blue

Napo wrimo day 8

I imagine your
Face the same, his older,
Same receding hair

NaPo WriMo Day 7

Day 7. This started as a poem about growing up and is now just a poem about anger. Ha Ha! I've had an angry day today so this must have been where it came from. 

Knots

My tongue, thick like bark
rots in my mouth, as I
hold back the words I want to use.

I'm barely there, as I
breathe in your toxic
poison by breathing backwards.

And I,
chew my lips, as I
hold in my truth
to satisfy what I think you want.  

This is the way,
we tie ourselves in knots.

Also been having a look at some more light hearted poems here:
http://therumpus.net/2011/04/national-poetry-month-day-7-jack-gilbert-by-p-scott-cunningham/#more-76922

Napo wrimo day 6

Ok. It's time for a haiku day. Had an awful day at the office and needed something light to take my mind off it.

So here it is.

A Haiku

A closed box resting
At the corners of my mind
Winking in the night

NaPo WriMo: Day 5

Day 5 and I'm a little stuck. I've had a very long day today and a busy but exciting trip to London so my creative brain hasn't been screwed on as well as it should be (excuses excuses). So the conclusion is, I've written a poem, if you can call it that. It's got no rhythm which is what I've struggled with most today, but it's about a town I grew up near, Southend, and the things I remember about it. My most nostalgic memory is standing on the seafront between the Sealife Center and the Crazy Golf watching children eat sandwiches on the wall next to the sand. So here's a very rough, very scraty first draft of a general idea I have. Happy Poetry Writing Month!

We never heard the sea

I remember,

The taste of the salt,
At the back of my throat
The wind that would break
At the drum of my ear.

I remember,

The knots that would dance
And twist in my hair,
The gaps in my clothes
Where the wind would hide

I remember,

The walks on the seafront,
After a band,
The noise of the cars clashing
With the arcade machines

Though we never could hear the sea.

I remember,

The litter strewn sand,
The muddy tide,
The concrete walls
And the arching steps

I remember,

The crazy gold course,
And the Sealife centre,
The places we never went.
And the places we did.

I remember,

The big wheel,
And the smaller pier,
Rossi’s ice cream,
And the sticky toffee apples.

Though we never could hear the sea.

I remember,

The kids on the wall,
The grainy sandwiches,
The seagulls caw,
And the rotting wood.

I remember,

The unmoving boats,
Stuck in the mud,
The forgotten kisses
Still yet to be had.

I remember,

The smell of the donuts,
The climbing frames,
The two penny machines,
And the teddies to be won.

Though we never could hear the sea.

I think you can tell it needs a few drafts but it's harder to write about places you know!

NaPo WriMo: Day Four

Day Four of National Poetry Writing Month and I decided to look around for photographic inspiration rather than writing radom  thought which is what I usually do. I came accross this photo via Photo JoJo who I follow on twitter and tried to write a poem about it. The words probably don't make sense by themselves, but here's a pretty video anyhow. I like how the video looks like little feet at the end.

This is the blurb that goes with the video:

This animation represents the entire data set (1,871 slices) of the male cadaver from the Visible Human Project. The animation was played fullscreen on a computer, which was moved around by an assistant while being photographed in a dark environment. The resulting images are long-exposure "light paintings" of the entire cadaver. Variations in the movement of the computer during each exposure created differences in the shape of the body throughout the series.

Source Data for Photography/Portfolio from Croix Gagnon on Vimeo.

 Dancing

Your Body
Moves like mine.
And Undercovers,
Under these sheets we hide;
We see we all have different movements.

Yours, gently seeps and bleeds into itself.
Mine, Seperates and expands, and then returns sullen.
We stop.

But we see,
We both look the same,
in the end.

NaPo WriMo day 3

Here's a little one for day three. It sounds a little kinkier than intended.

Sunday Morning

Your toes, touch the tips of mine,
As we lay side by side.

Sticky summer heat, creeps down my skin,
As I let it rest against yours.

And,

Sometimes, only sometimes
Your lips fit perfectly into mine.

NaPoWriMo: Day 2

A belated day 2!

Her body,

Like Butterfly,

Breaks at fingertip.

Strength melting in the sun.

She thinks about things that seven year olds think;

The rings in the pond.

The pink of the duck house.

The droplets on the leaves.

And at ten, when she wakes,

The birds watch through the windows,

Whispering her to get up,

Their seeds moulding to the table.

Inside,

Her bones twist like grape vines,

She uncurls. She greets them,

Unwraps her spine.

She wakes to imagine she’s seven,

And there are no coffee marks on the table tops,

No dust on the skirting boards

No pans that need cleaning left next to the sink.

But underneath I know,

Her body,

Like butterfly,

Will break at fingertip.

Happy April! Fools!

Hello April. Goodbye March. My favourite things in March have included, Sunday Morning Story, last minute visits to Canterbury, and watching Daniel Carpenter perform at Write Out Loud in Sale. 

Also may I add to that list buying nearly a whole bookshelf of books and writing more poetry than normal. Hooray! If only I had more time to read them. Here's a few thoughts gathered on March.

Bad Language  took place this month at The Castle Hotel as normal, all except for the fact that it was moved forwards one week to the 23rd March rather then the last Wednesday of the month. As usual me, Dan, and Joe ran the night and the entertainment was provided by a long list of quality open micers. The theme, rather unintentionally seemed to vere towards poo, as quite a few writers seemed to feature a horrible poo story one way or another in their piece. The night's very special guest was Gerry Potter, a brilliant performance poet who has had two books published, PLANET YOUNG and PLANET MIDDLE AGE both available from http://www.flapjackpress.co.uk/. It was good to see a few new faces down for the night including Matt Tuckey and Nija Dala. We'll be specially reserving a few places each month for brand newcomers from now on just to stir things up a bit! Stir Stir Stir... 

Another exciting thing which has taken place this month was Frankenstein by the National Theatre Live which I was lucky enough to see on the second try. I watched it broadcast live at The Cornerhouse in Manchester and although the experience lacked the atmosphere you would get from a live theatre show I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Highlights were the stage lights which were built of hundreds of different types of lightbulbs hanging above the stage and flickering in various motions. It looked like afterthoughts of fireworks cracking as you anticipated something exciting about to happen. Also a steamtrain that drove right through the middle of the stage on a track! Lowlights were a few wobbling camera technical faults and a small amount of wooden actors (not literally) but I won't name names.

Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller swapped roles of the Creature and Victor each night which I imagine is an extremely challenging thing for an actor to do; working on two roles in depth and rotating when the nights you play them, though at the same time refreshing to take a break from such an intense role as the Creature. What I find more fascinating is the two different approaches the actors took to playing the Creature. One stated that he copied his 4 year old son learning new things and brought this childlike element to the role. The other stated that he watched stroke victims in recovery; a fully grown mind trying to remember what it's like to function normally. Two very different approaches but they both worked, so I hear. I only got to see one of the nights so I can't make an accurate comparison. I love the sound of the bell in this trailer. It's the same bell that opened the play as the Creature was born.  


This month I forced myself to read Running Dog by Don Delillo. I say forced, not because I didn't enjoy it but because it's quite hard to keep your patience whilst trying to figure out what's happening in the plot. Despite there being too many character and plotlines, the style of writing kept me gripped so I found I didn't need to follow every detail to enjoy the book. What let the book down was the failure to establish which character storyline each chapter or paragraph opened with (as it changed that quickly) due the lack of name use and individual characteristics which could help to identify this. I love, however, the fast paced dialogue and how two characters can have completely different conversations in the same moment. 

I'm now reading Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (notice the unintentional running theme!) As a new runner I hope to find something in this book to keep me inspired to run. What amazes me about the book is it proves what I have always thought about good writers; that to be a good writer, you can write any subject and still build a story from it. It's about the angle you take on the story and the language used, rather than exceptional plot. 

Exciting things happening in April:

NapoWrimo - A bit like NaNo WriMo (National Novel Writing Month) but with poetry. The aim is to write a poem every day for the full month of April and potentially publish it somewhere on the internet so people can see who's taking part. Bad Language will be taking part and I will be attempting to post a poem a day on here.

Flash Mob Writing Competition -  As part of this years Chorlton Arts Festival Flash Mob will be running a writing competition for stories of 500 words or under. There will also be a snazzy prize giving ceremony and live event OOoooooOOO! So get writing and booking. More details on the website.

Bad Language - Yes. As per usual Bad Language will be hosting a live literature event at The Castle Hotel in Manchester and this time it will be in it's usual spot of the last Wednesday of April. The very special headline act will be Rod Tame who is a performance artist, actor and host of Write Out Loud Sale and Rhyme and Dine at Manchester’s Earth Cafe. 

I leave you with a photo of the inside of a castle ruins to see if it scares you. It reminds me of how a headache feels. Happy April!

NaPo WriMo: Day One - Ghosts

Day One of NaPo WriMo. I've finished a second draft of a poem I started at the weekend after a visit to the quaint city of Canterbury. It's based on the Sunday morning when we woke up a little groggy, stopped at the shops for essential picnic items and sat by the river inside the castle walls for the one hour of sun that shone that day. It's called Ghosts, as a reminder of the seasons passed.

Ghosts

We sit,

On cranberry blankets,

And watch ghosts of snowflakes fall from the sky.

We sit,

On Moist grass with dampened legs

And watch ducks clean themselves in dirty water.

We sit and we watch

Kids larping over the river

Children with ice cream around their faces

Couples cuddled into every corner of each other.

We sit and we watch

Others watching us,

Wrapping our legs together,

Remembering how only a few months ago we did this to stay warm,

And now we do this because it is warm.

We sit,

And we watch,

Ghosts of snowflakes fall from the sky,

And think of the ghosts ahead.