poem

Hairy McClairey

This summer I could grow my hair

Shaggy pits, fuzzy pins and spider-legs down there

Show the kids what a real woman looks like

But the idea fills me with fright

Because of so many cultural tunes

And tho I wish myself immune,

There’s all this baggage in body follicles

Where smooth implies wherewithal

To deal with life: as woman and mother dear

While hairy says I’M NOT COPING, I fear

It shouldn’t be such a big deal

Yet, to me, the struggle is real

And I wish I was braver, to ditch the shaver…

Shallow, vain or just being ‘normal’?

Ugh! Even writing all this feels awful.

 

I’m doing National/Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo) – write one poem, per day throughout April. Today’s prompt/challenge was to write a poem that includes a line you’re afraid to write. I’m not sure there’s one line here but the subject matter is something I’ve often wanted to write about but have felt uncomfortable with, so I guess I’m facing that fear! Not my best poem but perhaps a good challenge nonetheless.  

Gardenia four ways

Gardenia

 

‘Gardenia,’ she sighed

With such pleasurable relish

That we bought the perfume she described.

I still wear it 10 years on

 

Gardenia in the cool shade of morning

On my grandmother’s high verandah

Planes shimmering by in the hot blue sky

that lovely scent, mingling with the frangipani below

 

I spy the handsome dark-green leaves and white flowers

In unromantic IKEA

That smell reminds me of my nana

Me too – of mine

 

We got home and she’d sent a letter

Describing a spider in the garden to her great-grandson

Exactly the sort of story he loves

And the fragrance of gardenia on our tiny terrasse

 

I’m doing National/Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo) – write one poem, per day throughout April. Today’s prompt/challenge was to write a flower poem.

Ballet

Once again I’ve started dancing

She says ballet’s good for the soul

The muscles slowly remember

 

But there’s no time to remember

spirits past, future or present while dancing

Full concentration! Maximum participation! Ignore the soul!

 

But perhaps my soul

does remember

Even while body and mind focus on dancing

 

Surely the soul must always remember dancing?

 

I’m giving National/Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo) a go – write one poem, per day throughout April. Today’s prompt/challenge was to write a tritina. A tritina involves three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear in the final line. This was a good challenge!  🙂

Food for flight

image

Snails and worms abound today
Spring rain has brought them out to play
If I were a bird I’d find
The seasonal menu just divine

I’m giving National/Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo) a go – write one poem, per day throughout April. Today’s prompt/challenge was to write about food.

Alison

20160405_090202
She has died
A spot of life and suburban lustre
In the periphery of my childhood

Nailpolish, cigarettes, lipstick, candles
Her small orange Meteor
That sat like a full stop at the end of our street

Her Esoteric book shop. Crystals and tapestry
Jewel colours and sunbursts. Was there macramé too?
It was the 80s

Millie the friendly white Labrador
The hot tub
A plush golden-brown corner lounge

Her bedroom, slightly exotic and the smell
of perfume, makeup, incense, cigarettes (she quit eventually, I think)
And champagne

Sharing a glass of wine with mum
At the end of the day
Now I know how lovely that is
To have a friend
Just down the road
Who’ll chat with you as the kids entertain themselves

Kindness
“She always said she could tell it was me at the door because of the way I knocked with the door knocker which made me feel strangely special”
says James

She once showed us the Godlight
shining through clouds above the ocean – not religious, but holy
I always call it that when I see it now

The holiday houses where we were welcome
Never too neat. Sand underfoot
Just perfect. Goodbye x

Kleidung

Frühling in Zürich

 

Ich habe meine Kleidung vertauscht

Es hat mir etwas traurig gemacht

So viele Kleidung, so viele Jahren alt

Und auch neu

Denn ist es Frühling

Ich bin krank mit ihnen

Sind sie krank mit mir?

 

I’m giving National/Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo) a go – write one poem, per day throughout April. Today’s prompt didn’t work for me so I thought I’d try writing a poem in German because, fuck it.

Join the club
Emily Dickinson. Credit: Amherst College Library
Emily Dickinson. Credit: Amherst College Library
Frank O'Hara 1965 by Mario Schifano
Frank O’Hara 1965 by Mario Schifano

 

I’m thinking about

putting up posters saying

Write More Poetry!

 

And getting T-shirts printed

with pictures of Emily Dickinson and Frank O’Hara

Hers would be white, of course.

 

I’m giving National/Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo) a go – write one poem, per day throughout April. Today’s prompt/challenge was to write a fan letter to a celebrity, alive or dead.

London innit?

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London

Like an ex you suddenly find yourself still attracted to

Such a bad idea to get involved. We made a clean break but

old habits die hard.

London

The frenetic pace of the megalopolis

Seductive adrenaline rush of desire

gives way to the sweaty comedown of failure

Again.

London

Your beautiful grotty streets

Millions of tiny dwellings chock full of humanity

in all its vibrant, glorious horror.

London

The verve of creativity bursting at the seams… I could… I should…

tap into it, I could be amazing

But you don’t want me

The pain of utter imperviousness cuts deeper, somehow, than it should… I could…

Have been a contender? Maybe never.

London

You try to hit the ground running

Keep up with the crowds, meet up with like-minded souls. A mad rush

The things you lose by the wayside

can never be recovered

Until next time, my indifferent lover,

London.

About A River

Tower Bridge over the Thames

 

The Thames

Just is

As inevitable as umbrellas in London

 

Weighted down by warships

Pinned back

by buildings and monuments

 

To the past

And glittering present

Tidal but flowing ever onwards

 

Sectioned by bridges

The powerful, and delicate

All swept by greenbrown tides

 

I tried to make you mine

The Pool of London

Familiar but unknowable

 

Not like the sky over Newtown…

But I was rushing

And you were indifferent – so strong

 

And yet irresistible

Not pretty water

Like Sydney Harbour or the Zurichsee, but…

 

Compelling, unfathomable, there

Turner’s Thames too

Shimmering on the periphery

 

OK maybe a few drops

Seeped into my soul

Absorbed from a thousand cups of English tea.

 

 

 

Ten Years

Wedding photo

You build a life with someone

Half thinking you might go back…

And try again

With someone else? Or alone?

 

You live a life somewhere

With a semi-subconscious idea

You might return

To spend the time anew: the same years, but in another town

 

You create two lives with someone

And still quite often ponder

A different existence

If they weren’t around… as though you had the choice

 

But there’s no do-overs

There’s no need for turning back

There’s only me

and you. Us. Here. With them. The love of my life. x