#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 20: Neologism

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

With #20 we now begin a sequence of poems written in the early part of this year, that I have repurposed from a larger submission. This is a bit political, and involves you having to do the reading. Google is your friend.

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


Neologism

Heraclitus of Ephesus
would have had a moment:

mortal substance desecrated
far too many times to be
anything except intentional:

and you, asking where my home
has gone, it’s double-dipped
beneath your sacred river, son.

Every time the Things are gathered
someone else is redefining terms,

nobody seems to learn, instead
circumventing opposition
when all that’s needed is
a game plan, then the graft.

I understand your point in
current exercise, but nothing

changes until all you do
then all this does: get a clue,
how many times must I step

into the flood
then hope by doing so

those conventional in wisdom
gather again, return to all

their righteous, home.

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 19: I Read Poems

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

Poem #19 is a poem about poetry. It does get a bit meta from time to time.

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


I Read Poems

I am encouraged to read widely
interpret the marketplace
appreciate stylistic difference, yet
none of these poems move me
not one jot.

I am informed, a lifelong process
age of graft  and toil involved
long, tangled operation, yet
the same poems come back
every time.

I am not perceived as relevant
output far too prolific
go practice other forms, yet
this voice grows stronger
nothing like them.

I read poems, output words
inference mind’s devising
language in the soul, yet
it still prowls, caged tiger;
hungry for a fight.

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 18: What U See

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

Poem #18 will be the last of the net-related poetry for now. I have a mini project this week for my advocacy sideline which needs to be done and finished, and I don’t want to get distracted too much by the past as a result. Therefore, the next few days will be some critical successes without dwelling too much on the failures…

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


What U See

This earth, stir-fried, million voices silenced, cannot escape
sexist, racist, non-conforming, realigned each time’s flat circus
dutifully lost touch, great-grandma’s ink no longer social
media’s; content, happier instead the same, stacked cereal box.
Flat chest, nipples airbrushed away, looks beat beliefs until
one smart kid without a phone grasped growing up’s
nobody’s favourite game.

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 17: Marooned

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

Poem #17 appears to be yet ANOTHER Internet-referencing contest rejection poem. The more I sort through my work (and there has been a lot of that today) the more poems appear to emerge where I am experimenting with the concept. There’s a whole collection of these too, which I’m waiting to have rejected very soon … 😛

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


Marooned

Island’s life, speech pointless, regards contemptuously
each porcelain warrior, white; mass unfollowers, stand alone. 
Read blown beats, mass murmuration; heights attained, 
branch lined ignorance peels, as church bell chimes, 
beware those rocks ran, lest truth might run aground. 
Hubris, unbound, mirrors shouty fools, cavemen
tools traded, playground’s swimming pool; leaks, ignored.
We told you, fingers jammed in ears, 
repent or face, 
marooned:
fire’s answer, single digit raised: 
flock, you.

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 16: Notes on Modern Life, Redux

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

#16 and we have made it over halfway! This is yet another long-lost contest reject, and another of an increasing number of poems about the Internet that nobody seems to be interested in publishing, because that’s already covered in their own publishing remit by someone. Le sigh.

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


Notes on Modern Life, Redux

each typo’s lost on someone, faking history
upon their golden phone, hyperreality condoned
by one but crucially never them; grateful
lapdogs, pushing north, pulling profits
melting snow’s joke any more, ‘ere squire,

you wanna profit from those starving mouths?

aliens among us, gammon slabs, thrown to
wolves that never wont, back down, dark hounds
metaphor evolved to symptom, last words lost
within each groaning, angry ward -
yet here you crow, empty rewards

if this iRight, always be wrong: jog on.

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 15: Tesseract

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

#15: So many contests have been entered over the last five years. So many poems have left alone because I didn’t think it was good enough, as we never got placed. I am an idiot. Correction: I *was* an idiot. Today’s poem is a reminder to myself that not only is this enough, but it is a great deal more. Progress is not to be counted by other’s definition of success, but your belief in worth.

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


Tesseract

same without, now inside me; you are within black love to death 
all hurt absorbed, expiring light, excess repetition, blight
cut back, pared through, skin’s consequence long overdue, my
symphony’s behest

accept

never within, lost outside her; he is without cold life to give
 no fear observed, decrying peace, ingress impossible, marks
pierced, cubed, strung true, first life though accidental, grows 
within, unchecked

this tesseract

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 14: Stigma

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

#14: Almost halfway through National Poetry Month and NaPoWriMo: today’s Poem is, again, another rejection from a collection, as I move to repurpose a phenomenal amount of work. It was, on reflection, the weakest part of a strong selection. presumably, once I can make everything string, I might succeed…

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


Stigma

/ˈstɪɡmə/
.
noun
       .
a mark of disgrace 
associated with a 
particular circumstance,
quality, or person.
       .
.
Loud, stupid girl, that witch
who always ruins everything:
introverted, badly-dressed
sewn patches, gold brocade, white lace
the mental girl we love to hate
disgraceful adjectives are commonplace.

Five decades on, nothing has changed
women hold back, must never swear:
make noise, object to circumstance
offer alternatives to status quo;
abuse is now considered out of place
does not stop you yelling in my face.

That day you picked up, threw a chair at me
because I didn’t act as you saw fit:
yelling abuse through window’s steamy space
because I dared to challenge circumstance;
stigma is other’s badge to pin with pride
except we know the pain you hold, inside.

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 13: The Lost Fifth

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

For #Day13, I submitted five poems to Dreich, of which four made the cut and have subsequently been published this week. Here’s the one that didn’t, which has now been edited, and as a stand alone is considerably more awesome as a result

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


The Lost Fifth

That day I stopped
subscribing to a cult,
the penny dropped:
this is much more
performative, all well
and good until their point
is lost in need to feel
a part of something they will
never be about.

Then, the secret's out:
this is a better well
so good until the point
again is lost, then 
rearranged as exercise;
that day I stopped
assuming everything must fit
the literary identikit
as fix, never quite dropped.

This is much more
rearranged as exercise
fresh part of something

finally, a wish.

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 12: White Wing

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

#Day12 was written fast and dirty, in response to this Tweet. Sometimes, that’s how this works for me 😀

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


White Wing (for Jack Monroe)
(after Jimmy Hendrix)

Now they’re taking them to task
with the sharpest mind that knows each ask
kitchen hack recipes
creating good food, not magic
but truth, they always write about:
downing the white wings...
when fools do their best to hunt
ten thousand recipes will better, us -
idiots don’t see, bigger picture
anything white wants, what gammon stakes
not like us;

jog on white wings
yeah, yeah, yeah
we don’t want you here…

#NationalPoetryMonth DAY 11: Best Not

As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.

#Day11 is here a bit late, mostly because I’ve spent the day running about, feeling close to human again. COVID is still making itself felt, but it is far less stressful than was previously the case… so here is a poem about love, and how sometimes it is best left at distance.

Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀


Best Not

wholehearted, dense expression 
shifts with ease, I envy you 
within this sight, legs fail, 
chest cramps, forcing 
scrabble, inhaler’s crutch,
all this, again, too much

instead, interest remains
imagined soul domain
strength of character,
frame exudes, soft words
desire melts to opine
intelligence sublime

ageing body cannot feel
will not translate to action,
instead cognition shifts, reveals
far better reason 
love only from distance, 
in principle, instead

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