I feel like a bit of a fraud because I basically tend not to write, apart from NaPoWriMo in April.
Was browsing the internet and came across a miuldering site with a 30 day poetry challenge and, despite being 18th of the month, decided to go for it! Strange how sci fi the net can make us feel, with stuff floating around forever and feeling fresh, even if the originator forgot it ages ago.
Ah well, will give it a go.
Okay so the final (awwww!) challenge is to write a poem from the bottom to the top. New one for me.
I would like to say thank you again to those who have bothered to follow my progress, have dipped in once or twice or stumbled across one of my poems by accident. These poems are something akin to workshop poems, because of the prompt and time restraints, so a wee bit different to what I would choose to write.
Nevertheless I have really enjoyed the challenge this year and I have surprised myself with some of my responses. It has certainly sometimes been tricky – wouldn’t be a challenge if it was easy!
For all of you who have completed this challenge as well, or just managed a few poems, I say – Yay!!! Go us!!! Congratulations to everyone and I hope you keep your writing going, I am genuinely going to try.
Today I thought that, in the spirit of the thing, I should begin with the end. To try and order things a bit I decided (albeit randomly) to stick with a two-word line length. Go figure!
Penultimate (yes, it is a great word) day! What will I do with myself in May???
Ooh does that count as my poem? Nice try but suppose I should show willing. Especially as this gets me up to date – yippee!
Now I’ve just seen that it’s Poetry in Your Pocket Day tomorrow – I shall have to take a couple into work and bother people with them randomly.
Okay, so finally got there. I have just read The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton, following all the hype. Found it hard to get into at first but then it grew on me, though it was not the kind of novel I would tend to choose, so I thought it would be interesting to have a go at a review of it for this prompt.
A parallel life plays out
each piece placed
as fate dictates.
Loves, lies and death
prowl the shadows,
whisper hedonistic hymns
to the faithful.
Angry cries at night,
icy mists, denial.
One damned soul
broken, hope gone
the sirens’ song.
Trying to catch up with myself before the end of the challenge. Although I love water and bridges I found myself stumped again, so thought it could be time for an acrostic!
Barely there, a charcoal smudge
Reflected dimly on the sluggish surface.
In times of spate it seems to swell,
Digging deep against the savage flow;
Gradually reappearing, as floods recede.
Eddies now ripple meekly round stone abutments,
Solid and soaring.
Was inspired by the clerihew prompt, so wrote one for Sir Terry Wogan, which (as I found out on catchup) he read at the end of his Sunday show on BBC Radio 2. That’s two poems read out on national radio during the challenge – wowser!!
Anyway, back to the mental block. Finally got past it but once again it’s quite a depressing and odd read. Here’s hoping for a more cheery end to the challenge.
Apparently it was three clubs,
though I can’t remember a third.
We got thrown out of the first,
because of my dancing
and that lairy guy.
Left me with a bruise on my thigh.
The second was totally dead,
I do remember that,
so we did tequila shots,
proper outdid that hen night
that kept looking over.
I’ve got a cut over my left eye.
The third, well, was there a third?
Can’t have been much cop
if I can’t remember, can it?
My clothes are in a right state
and I’ve lost my shoes.
Think I need to be sick.
Still stuck on day twenty three, but vowing to catch up before the end.
I love vegetarian cookery, so thought I would use that passion for this one.
release their magic.
softened in oil.
sliced thinly –
added to pan.
absorb the flavours.
season to taste.
to add texture.
finish with coriander.
I still have to get my head round day twenty three, hopefully catch up tomorrow night, so I’m just moving on for now. Think I will try and keep this one fairly short if I can, too! Not sure where this one came from.
I like the peace and quiet,
that’s the long and short of it.
A special sort of silence,
proper thinking time.
And you have to know your stuff,
it’s not pot luck.
You have to pick just the right spot,
knot, line, weight, depth, bait.
Some things you can’t learn, you just feel:
where to place the float, when to strike,
the play of the line on the reel.
That’s what sorts the wheat from the chaff,
the weekender from the angler.