national poetry month

Inscrutable

 

can you stain your face

white?

hide your lips behind

a dark rose?

can you wear

black hair

like a habit

even if you’re not a nun

(maybe adopt her severity)

can you paint your eyes

in liquid lines

and hide

or is the truth

never quite disguised

can you garb yourself

in widows weeds

or a uniform

from outer space

… a spider’s lace

what is hidden

what’s revealed

beauty is

a kabuki iceberg

so

many

secrets

concealed

 

Today’s GloPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem with a secret – in other words, a poem with a word or idea or line that it isn’t expressing directly. The poem should function as a sort of riddle… not sure I completely managed this. I think I took it a bit too literally. But in keeping with my goth theme so far, it seemed appropriate. 

The Season of The Witch

 

The Witch had lots of money

and a sly sense of humour

I’m not sure if she liked me

or what I did for her

 

Her coven met after noon

flocking round her cauldron

breathing the oracle fumes

ignoring Cassie’s warnings

 

The way she would produce those jewels

diamonds, emeralds, rubies

taken greedily as our own

but there was payment, truly

 

Hard to fathom a Witch’s depths

under all the scheming

does a spider spins its web

just to practice weaving

 

I turned when he impaled her

delight she took so well

and watched the cruel betrayal

when he stole her spells

 

Her teeth so small and pearly white

she clutched my arm and cackled

perhaps those moments of delight

are all that really mattered

 

Today’s GloPoWriMo prompt was to write an elegy – a poem that mourns or honors someone dead or something gone by. And to center the elegy on an unusual fact about the person or thing being mourned.

Gothlist

This photo was only taken ~20 years later. So beware kids – this recipe can have long-lasting effects.

 

Recipe for a goth teenager c. 1994

 

Hair dye

Booze – beer or cask wine

Long black skirt – essential if female, optional if male

Fishnets

Ribbons – purple, royal blue, crimson, green or silver

Acid

Nitrous Oxide

Tattoo/s

Piercing/s

Band T-shirts

Studded wrist bands, belts and collars

Industrial music: see Wax Trax! Records

Fairy wings

Glitter

Black eyeliner: pencil and liquid. Lots

Lipstick

Peroxide

Directions hair colour

Silver jewellery

Ability to travel to/from Newtown and/or Glebe Market

Cigarettes: standard, menthol or clove

Speed

Weed

Es

MDA

Butane

Canvas shoulder bag with band names

Doc boots

Stripy socks

Underwear as outerwear

Safety pins

A corset or something resembling a corset

Lace

Hair spray

Leather jacket: essential if male, optional if female

Mild-severe melancholy/ teen angst

The Cure, Bauhaus, Siouxie, Nick Cave, etc.

The Crow: movie, soundtrack, poster

Night clubs

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Deep insecurity coupled with awareness of own superiority

Interest in vampires / the occult

Optional extras: pet rat, dreadlocks, boy/girlfriend who wears black, playing in a band, friends who are also goths, interest in the fetish scene, an attitude

We had a lot of fun, really.

 

Today’s NaPoWriMo post was to write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe. Mum & Dad – please don’t read this one.

Hello WordPress

Author selfie

I’ve been on a slight hiatus this past week or so. With Spring arriving, it feels like time to pause and check in with myself. I’ve had a bit of success with my writing. But I’ve also made a few rookie mistakes and started grappling with that learning curve. Basically, I found that I really wanted to submit my work to a bunch of literary journals because I’m used to the Shoot! Cut! Print! mentality of working in media and I find it really hard not to have a “finished” product for my work. I’m trying to wean myself off this feeling as I think it means I sometimes send stuff off a bit half-baked in my desire to be done. That said, completion is no bad thing. DONE IS BETTER THAN PERFECT is a bigtime mantra of mine.

I wanted to talk a bit about WordPress as well. For those who don’t know – WordPress is the blogging platform I use here for Clairevetica. Around Christmas time, I took Facebook off my phone which has meant that now, instead of noodling around on the ‘book, I tend to read a bunch of blogs instead, which is nice. Although I do find the WordPress phone app does some odd stuff with its feeds. So, if I followed you but it seems like I never ‘like’ your stuff – it might be because I never see it? My feed seems to be full of the same 10 or 20 blogs even though I follow a few hundred. Oh well.

In writing news, I’m doing two things in the next few weeks. One – I’m starting an online writing course, which will be interesting and hopefully valuable. Two – I am planning to participate in GloPoWriMo again – the Global Poetry Writing Month that last April kind of kicked me into a new dimension of creativity. If all goes according to plan, both these things should help consolidate and advance my writing. Or it could all fall in a screaming heap because how tf do I have time for both these things?!

Anyway, I have at least one more story that’s being published but not until end of April so I’ll wait and tell you about that when it’s live. And I’m planning to keep submitting stuff but it takes ages – not just the actual submissions but reading the journals and trying to work out if my stuff will fit (usually, I think yes? But it’s hard to know for sure).  And then you get into this weird rabbit-hole of all the short story and poetry competitions – most of which you need to pay to enter. So it becomes a situation of do I put my money where my mouth (or pen) is? And, although the rewards could be huge (comp winners often find agents and book deals come knocking), it’s also stressful and a bit distasteful. Like – what an indication of privilege to be able to enter stuff and pay… and the other entrants will surely just be other rich first worlders so where’s the diversity in that? But, if I CAN afford to enter a few things and I really believe in my work… argh… you see the dilemma. Maybe once I’ve done this course and got some genuine feedback on if my stuff is “ready” I will be able to judge better whether it’s worth entering competitions. Anyway, hence the attempt at another author selfie. I don’t know about the sunglasses. A bit too closed off, no?*

PS: Do you guys want to read some flash fiction writing prompt stuff on here? I’m not sure if it’s really worth publishing but trying to ‘keep the hand moving’ and, as stated above, I feel the need to cut, shoot print.

 

*Sometimes my inner voice goes a bit Karl Lagerfeld

Ende

Photo: Lyn Doble

 

Am Sonntig isch min Geburtstag

Mami hasht du die unter dem Wasser Kuchen machen?

Min Oma und Opa khommen

Sie sind hier die ganze Woche

 

Wenn du weiter khom vom die Balet Schule

Khanst du der Kuchen machen, bittte?

Und weis muss in die unter dem Wasser

Mehr Fisch und Tiere haben – das isht alles

 

Wait I forgot something mummy

 

Am Sonntag bekomme mich geschenk!

 

It’s your last day of being four

And the final day of daily poems

I’m not a not-poet anymore

And you’re a proper schoolboy

 

I’ll be making you a special cake

We’ll enjoy it with Nana and Pop

Underwater theme once it’s baked

Couldn’t love you more my darling

 

And don’t worry, there will be presents.

 

Today’s National/Global Poetry Writing Month prompt/challenge: Because Napowrimo spent the month looking at poets in English translation, today I’d like you to try your hand at a translation of your own.

I was a bit sad not to write my “own” poem for the final day so I decided to ask my son to compose one in Schweizerdeutsch, for which I’ve provided a loose translation  🙂  

Thanks to everyone who’s read my poems throughout April (whether it was one, several or all 30!). I’ve so enjoyed this month of poetry and I’m pretty chuffed I managed to achieved this, but I’m also somewhat relieved to have finished so I can take a small break to do other things! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a cake to bake… 

Diving board

Photo: Markus Spiske

Photo: Markus Spiske

 

I remember jumping off the high diving board

Even climbing up there was kinda scary

The ladder smooth, shinysilver and solid yet somehow light and insubstantial like it was only a few degrees stronger than aluminium foil

Each step stippled with cheesegrater-style divots (not sharp)

The texture of the board: fine sandpaper, grainy, grippy, damp

The colour of the board: light blue

You knew what it looked like from below too – the simple framework of parallel lines, scalloped with rows of water drops

Climbing back down was not an option

Or rather, it was

But how clumsy you’d feel – an inversion of the natural order

Chest flooding with relief for one glorious moment before the tincture of stupid disappointment taints you, everyone can see it

But I was remembering jumping off!

Standing up there, the insubstantial board underneath you, nothing either side

An almost out-of-body sense of how small you looked. How small you actually were

I guess I was around nine or ten?

It’s quiet up there, although you can hear everything

The blue hum and splash of the municipal swim centre

Coaches below blow whistles over the lanes and call out “now six laps freestyle”

Above, on the high board, is your own little world

You’re a soloist; centre-stage

but no one’s watching, not really

OK – maybe that kid over there. No, he’s looked away.

You glance back to your brother, waiting his turn, shivering at the top of the ladder. “Go On!”

Warm flumes of chlorine fumes wafting around

A mysterious coldish breeze on your wet legs

So you jump and faaaallllll

The feeling of your body hurtling down through the air

It would pull your arms out unless you held them really firm by your sides or above your head

Airborne for only a few moments

Not especially graceful

Smacking into the water, feet first

Spa-effect of blue and white bubbles as you plunge down

No way would you hit the bottom

That diving pool was really deep

10 metres?

(The bottom of the pool angled steeply down from the lanes section

You could swim down and follow the slope – the water becoming deeper blue

I remember one time two guys in scuba gear sat on the bottom corner of the diving pool for a game of underwater chess

A stunt I guess. It was long before Youtube. But I digress…)

I did it, I jumped off that high board. And so did my brother James.

And now I see those same kids as us jumping of the high board at our local pool

They’re Swiss kids but it’s the same

One day my sons will want to do it too

They’ll know that fear-churned-with-excitement

And find out how it feels to climb the ladder and screw up your courage and walk out there and it seems so much higher than when you look up from pool level, oh-oh

How it feels to fall through the air and crack through that smooth palette of blue water

No way would they hit the bottom

And the sense of achievement: not maybe as amazing as you’d think, but you’ve done it

Perhaps one of them will ask me if I want jump too, or if I ever did? And I’ll say sure…

I remember

 

Today’s National/Global Poetry Writing Month prompt/challenge was to write a poem based on things you remember. Try to focus on specific details, and don’t worry about whether the memories are of important events, or are connected to each other. 

Drooping feathers

feather

Stumbling at the final hurdle

Counting up all the burdens

Blessings float, unworthy of note

The youthful optimism of snails

Crushed underfoot by serious travails

Humour drowned, an anxious frown

Collections of words that fell like feathers

Perfect, clever, intricate, together

Raw skin, plucked painfully from within

No more quicksilver wins

headline: Tawdry End Breaks Promise Of Good Begin

 

Today’s National/Global Poetry Writing Month prompt/challenge was to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning. Not sure I got this one right. I’ve got too much on my plate at the moment and the poetry is suffering  😦

The long road to a short word

Soviet era abstinence poster (1954). Pic via https://pointsadhsblog.wordpress.com/2011/11/14/just-say-nyet/

 

 

Could we maybe try this another time, I’m very busy right now

I would love to but I’ve double-booked and I did say yes to them first

I’m afraid I don’t think I can really manage to do it sorry

Isn’t there someone else who could help you? This comes at an awkward time

Sorry but we made other plans already, we’ll be at the next one

Maybe if I’d had a bit more notice but there’s nothing I can do

Superb idea but I don’t have that kind of cash lying around

How about if we postpone until we’ve both got more headspace OK?

Why would you assume I can just drop everything to help you out?

A thousand apologies I forgot and now something’s come up

Well, I’m not really qualified and what if something were to go wrong…

Trying to be healthy, taking a little break, grabbing some me-time

It’s not you it’s me but maybe we can work things out and try friendship?

There are more important things I’d frankly rather be doing, thank-you

You didn’t fucking ask me properly and now you dump this on me

Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t come, I’m not feeling great

Can’t, won’t, don’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, broken, awful, why me, fuckit

No

 

Today’s National/Global Poetry Writing Month prompt/challenge was to write a poem with very long lines. This prompt was inspired the work of the Irish poet Ciaran Carson, who has stated that his lines are (partly) based on the seventeen syllables of the haiku, and that he strives to achieve the clarity of the haiku in each line. Because I’m a sucker for punishment, I’ve gone for 17 lines of 17 syllables each (plus the final one – what a relief!)

Stars and Stripes

nyc

 

The place where it all happens

Oh America, Oh

Or until it does, it doesn’t matter

Oh America, Oh

Home of the internet, land of the free*

Oh America, Oh 

(*offer, first month only)

Where a double-amputee becomes a mermaid and is “sexy”

Oh America, Oh

Where breasts are revered, but not for nursing

Oh America, Oh

And maternity leave leaves mothers cursing

D’oh America, d’oh

Your corporate culture spoiled two of our jobs

Oh America, Oh

Yet we still pander to the US mob

Oh America, Oh

(if I publish this after 6, I’ll get more hits!)

Good morning America, Oh

I grimace at your fears re: Trump

No America, please no

Coz Down Under we had our onion eater – first for once!

Oh Australia, Oh

Of course there’s so much good stuff too

Oh America, Oh

Hamburgers, ice cream – but not just food

Go America, go

A place I’ve been, can’t claim to know

Oh America, Oh

But New York was just how I hoped

Oh America, Oh

Manhattan fire escapes like a Friends set

Oh America, Oh

So many sights I’ll not forget

Oh America, Oh

Houses like Sweet Valley High, upstate NY

Oh America, Oh

And the way the girls said “a dime”

Oh America, Oh

A friend at Coachella saw Gunners live

Oh America, Oh

Of course I’ve also watched The Wire

Woah America, woah

So I’ve seen how it is on the dark side a’right?

Oh America, Oh

And the backdrop of American cities

Oh America, Oh

Buried in my mind, like false memories

Oh America, Oh

Awards for everything under the sky

Oh America, Oh

If you do something great, seems you’d really fly

Oh America, Oh

Then again, it also seems easier to die

Oh America, Oh

When the Twin Towers define our lives

Woe America, woe

And all those Wall Street crises

Oh America, Oh

Are the ambitions of America a lie?

Oh America, Oh

Where self-help’s a religion

Oh America, Oh

And Meg Ryan the patron saint of rom-com

Oh America, Oh, Ohh Ohhhh Ohh!

Selling us that love affair

Oh America, Oh

Sell, sell, sell everywhere

Oh America, Oh

The arrogance of all that arable land

Sow America, sow

Does something to you, I understand

Oh America, Oh

I’ve seen it in Australia, and Russia too

Хорошо, America, Хорошо

Seems no matter what y’all do

Oh America, Oh

Oh America, there’s no getting around you

 

 

Today’s National/Global Poetry Writing Month prompt/challenge was to write a poem that incorporates a call and response.

 

Tiger

tiger

 

I used to like the lion

King of the Jungle, he!

But then I saw – really saw – the tiger

So utterly wild is she

It was in her eyes and how she ranged –

restless but unfree.

So now I like the tiger best

she’s the one for me

 

 

I wrote a poem for today’s prompt but I’m not happy with it. Maybe I’m not happy at all today, for various reasons. ROAR! Might still publish the on-prompt one but, for now, you get this. Thanks to Jade M Wong’s lion poem for reminding me I had this one to write.