2020 Week Three Poetry: For Tomorrow

Here we are at week three already, although it does seem about three months since all of this started. However, the last seven days have been a bit of an up and down affair, with this one of the notable highlights. Poetry’s an odd thing: what might make one person run away screaming will make another appreciate your work unprompted. These five verses  got more likes combined than I’ve managed in several months.

It just goes to prove, you never know. I pushed out of comfort zones. It’s structure that’s unfamiliar yet led me in the right direction every ‘verse.’ It’s nomenclature that feels difficult and yet sits comfortably with the progression. I’m not yet in the realms of smart, clever poets I look at and think ‘God I wish I’d written that‘ but it is honest, concrete progress. That’s all I can really ask for.

Everything right now moves me forward.


For Tomorrow

 

between exhales, pain distributes; adagio’s neat cursive sweep records another day within, despite intentions soundly built, belief collapsed, unhinged.

rhythmic stress, reality’s strained counterpoint: accepting downbeat concrete cadence only marks temporary transitions – release; extensions.

unchaste, canvas torn, counted almost out, rebound; suckered pinch, naught remains: woman down, distract, reconstitute idea, reborn.

constant inhale, cycle toned, repercussions symbolism, adrift no more: aloft, hope for tomorrow brandished; rewarding whole.

inhale optimism’s warm, upward trajectory; second stage preparation bolsters future, definition scored: sharp synonymy dismissing doubt.


2020 Week Two Poetry: Springs Eternal

This has been a REALLY good week, not gonna lie, even if the pace of content is still not at a level I’d like. Things have been completed, undoubted progress. I’ve applied for a course, submitted two lots of poetry, and finally got the episodic fiction running again. Then I discovered the header image on that static page needed a change, so tomorrow we’ll pull everything up to date.

In poetic terms, this is another decent effort, in the model of what’s become the ‘five day stanza’ method. Next week it is time to open things up a bit: not as structured, a little more free-flowing. I don’t wanna keep sounding like a Dr Who episode every time a new verse is produced, after all. The only way to gain maximum potential out of this exercise is to push my creative boundaries.

Suffice it to say, this is just didactic enough.


Springs Eternal

Understand, one possibility
all that’s required, turn
darkness outward, reconstruct
positivity, second chance
third time, no harm.

Embrace, each outcome’s
myriad possibilities, place
optimism foremost; hope
springs, eternal font,
creative disposition.

Ignore naysayers, melt
snowflakes, dismiss
anger-fuelled petulance;
no-one asked for this,
cry babies, reject.

Finally, dust settles:
survey wastelands, start
greenest recovery plants
expectation; reclamation
shoots, then scores.

All these species
collective utopia,
rescue together, great
scientific progression:
save planet for peace.


Things to Make and Do

Promising myself I’d try video for the first time this year as a delivery medium for poetry was, on reflection, a bit of an ask. Production techniques aren’t frightening, however: I learnt how to storyboard at college, made films and have edited across various media. The programmes may have changed a bit in thirty years but honestly, most of the effort comes in ideas and content, not in the bits that pull processes together.

Having the idea is where it all starts and end, and we have one now.

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An old poem could have been recycled, something that’s already been written, but to be honest I wanted summat new and to start from scratch. That poem’s now in the final stages of polish, storyboarding has begun and assuming that by Sunday everything falls into some kind of workable order, next week is all about filming and faffing. I think there’ll be some ‘live’ work too…

Then, like it or not, I just have to put in the hours

I know how this works, what I’m looking for and where it needs to go. I get how Fair Use works. Let’s see if we can put the two together and make something interesting.

I’ll see you here next week for an update.

Free Your Mind

Weekly poetry is BACK and frankly, I could not be happier 😀

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Creativity is an odd thing: you can decide to set time aside to write, or draw, or indeed do anything else but unless your brain decides to also turn up and take part? All the planning it the world is largely pointless. What works best for me, undoubtedly, is having certain tasks running as a permanent background hum. After a couple of years working out the kinks, this is now the most productive means of being… well, productive.

If I want fiction to work, fiction needs to run in the backgrounds (hence why FINALLY EX/WHI is back this week) and the same goes for poetry. These daily mental exercises, literary gymnastics in my head, make it easier and simpler to push other things front and centre. So, whilst the front of house poetry this month’s all about HOPE, round the back it’s all much darker and… frankly a bit angry.

There is the potential for an awful lot of ranting in the next few weeks if I’m not careful, so all these OMFG YOU’RE ALL IDIOTS first drafts need to be tempered down a bit. There’s also later on the potential to revisit some old works, the back catalogue is finally beginning to attain both breadth and depth. I’ve discovered today a local Open Mic night, so it might be worth an exploratory expedition to see how that works.

Reading in front of an audience is an extremely enjoyable fringe benefit of the poems, after all, and that gives me the opportunity to refine technique and content. How something sounds is probably more important than the words themselves, and I can read one word as another when performance happens, means by which more depth can be inserted than simply exists when written…

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These are exciting times ahead.

2020 Week One Poetry: That Kills Us

I stopped writing weekly poetry for Social media when it became apparent that work could be used elsewhere… to maybe make me some extra cash, or win a contest. After a year where neither of those things have come to pass, it is time to go back to what was working best for me in terms of creativity. This is the equivalent of drawing every day. It is means by which my craft improves.

These words are the best ones.

That means 52 poems, including holidays: Monday to Friday (or in this case, three days for the start of the year.) Where months start mid-week, I’ll write less (Week Five will also only be three days long) giving time for a bit more rest. The proviso here is everything is written ‘live’: no weeks of polish. If it’s a verse a day for five days the original selection will be skeleton-built the week before and amended on the fly.

That means next week’s five verses are ready to roll starting tomorrow but might totally alter when I post them. We will see. 

For now, this is a solid start.


That Kills Us

Repetitive, blamed infamy
always somebody else
pointing finger, insinuate
your problem, halved
segment, rotten whole.

Slope, madness descends
cackling uncontrollably;
finger given, on the way
past circles held, restricting,
other people’s selfishness.

That kills us, possibility
this time, perhaps, is better;
sad inevitable, lies:
hope only held eternal
if goodness sets her springs.


All Time High

Life, right now at least, is all about narrative. The NaNo project (more on this in the next post) is progressing better than anything I’ve produced of this ilk for several years. The reason’s simple: I want to do it. All of this is fulfilling ambitions that have laid dormant for as long as I can remember, fuelled only by the scheduled short story forays and that episodic fiction that will be finished for next year.

It’s becoming apparent in other avenues of existence that attainment is very much entwined with belief. Knowing you are good enough is not what is required if your bigger problem’s all about stamina. Being able to identify what needs work is possibly one of the hardest things that I’ve ever had to do. It also means that, like it or not, I can’t devote time to other forms of expression.

Don’t tell anybody, but I am really missing writing poetry.

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There’s a number of deadlines in December that are already being considered, a collection being re-written and numerous single poems in states of construction. It’s not like poems don’t exist in my head either: doing a month’s worth of micropoetry with imagery was enormous fun, so much so that there’ll be a Christmas selection starting December 1st… because, well, why not?

What November is giving me, believe it or not, is a chance to breathe. Only working to a 50K word notional deadline is considerably less stressful than anything else produced this year. It’s allowing opportunities to find the joy in other things too, which hopefully will leach through to other areas of my written work. Blogging is undoubtedly becoming easier, and I’ve even dusted off my gaming blog for a few posts already.

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I’ll do some work next week on getting dates and deadlines up on the wall: it’s not something I’ve done yet in this new space and that needs to change. For now, however, I think it’s time to take a cuppa to bed and decompress with some Solitaire on my tablet. Gaming remains hugely important to me, in all its forms, not just as relaxation, but in this case it most certainly is.

We’ll be back here again tomorrow to start again.

Run To the Hills

Those of you who have followed me for some time will know that whenever a Time to Talk Day comes up, I’m all over the concept. That’s going to be particularly apposite this coming February, when the next event is scheduled: by then I hope to have begun my training as a Champion. The first meeting to begin that journey happened last Saturday, in my county’s main town. Needless to say, it’s changed quite a bit since I was there last.

I almost didn’t make it there at all.

Driving was fine, parking no problem. At the venue, there was an unexpected attack of nerves: walking into the meeting room, where one other person was already, made me feel unwell… and then I was in the bathroom, managing a potential panic attack. The reason for this, of course, was easily rationalised. Unfamiliar surroundings, people I didn’t know. I should have visited the venue earlier in the week to calm my fears.

Having come all that way, in the rain and wind… it would be foolish to just turn around and go home again. So, I walked back into the room… and now I’m so very glad I did. This is the first step of a journey that should have been started a long time ago: finally there’s confidence to stand with a group of people whose commitment and care is abundantly apparent. I can’t wait for formal training to start in January.

It also gives me an opportunity to consider what it is I’ll do for Time to Talk day 2020. I’ll want to do it online, of course, because that’s the place where I feel I can do the most good in terms of supporting people whilst assisting the process of obtaining the help and advice they’re looking for. I feel both poetry and imagery have a part to play in this… so I wonder, what can I do to pull myself out of comfort zones in the process?

There are some ideas in my planner. Watch this space for more details.