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.
The new one’s teeth are new
Only seven have come through
His little cheeks so red today
I think another’s on its way
The big one’s choppers have no caries
But soon he’ll lose them all to fairies
I’ll be sad to see them go
He’s growing up so fast, you know
My fangs have recently been cleaned
The nurse was brutal and it seemed
far too painful – I was sore
So now I brush better than before
Himself’s pearlies gleam — no worries
Despite the years and years of durries.
Since it’s passed by DNA
I hope the boys’ genes went his way
There’s something so lovely about mouths
And the chunks of calcium in ours
might not look like Hollywood
Yet the smiles are very good
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 do a family portrait in poetry. I wanted to write about teeth anyway so it seemed to fit nicely.
I dreamt that instead
of surf camp
You came to Zurich
And stupidly I
panicked as
The house was a mess
It was you and her
my mermaids
A lovely surprise
You believed surf camp!
April fool!
We’re here to see you!
Of course you won’t read
this because
You are riding waves.
I’m giving National Poetry Month a go – write one poem, per day throughout April. Today’s prompt/challenge was to write a Lune – a Haiku-style three-line poem with a 5-3-5 syllable count. (I’ve done a few stanzas).
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.
How many Poängs
How many days’-worth of 1-day Acuvue. Decades… Centuries?
How many Normal, with wings
How many Nokia dumphones. Gathering dust in that drawer.
Throw them all away
The Thermomixes of today will one day rest alongside the juicers of yesteryear
The coffee machines. And all those mountains of coffee pods
Don’t feel superior: take-away coffee cups as well.
Our parents’ fondue sets (still in use in Switzerland!)
Our torn Slip’ n Slides
One million, two thousand and twenty-eight discarded games of Hungry, Hungry Hippos
Ab Circle pros, Thighmasters and exercise bikes
Posca pens, tin soldiers, rusty matchbox cars
They all nestle together in the earth somewhere
Leaching their toxins into the sad and dirty ground
Cabbage Patch Kids, unrescued by Tree Change
Enough bubble wrap to cover the Empire State Building. And The Gherkin, And the Eiffel Tower. And the Sydney Opera House. And the Taj Mahal. With leftovers.
All the milk bottles that carried products from cows whose babies we aren’t
Shower gel
Orangutan-displacing palm-oil laced peanut butter
Electric toothbrushes, battery-operated mascara, torches.
Cans of Diet Coke, Coke Light, Coke-we’re-not-Monsanto-we-just-make-fizzy-diabetes-in-a-can-please-keep-buying
Pedometers
I’m no Lorax
But who does speak for the trees?
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.
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
I lit a little fire
Planted a small seed
maybe one will warm my heart
the other hunger feed
I’m being rather quiet
It’s not a lot like me
Trying to protect the spark, the soil
I guess that we shall see…
It’s hard getting nothing back
Sometimes you have to wait
and perhaps I’m even learning
about blooms that happen late
Autumn’s fallen, a time to reap
But I’ve just sown my bed
So I’ll have to lie in it awhile
see what’s up ahead
It’s easy enough to begin
‘specially when you start small
And ending’s a fine thing
But to continue… right now: that’s all
I miss her funny fingernails
The way her hair sits over her ear
The angle of her head when she laughs that shows the gap in her teeth (you don’t really notice it other times)
Her slightly protuberant eyes
Slim fingers that look like they could bend all the way back
Soft brown freckles that dapple her entire face
Non-symmetrical stains on her teeth and a hint of lazy eye (both add to her prettiness)
The skin-tone mole to one side of her cleavage
The way the makeup collects in the corners of her eyes because she laughs until the tears come
Nose rings – when will we give them up? Circles and sparkles
The lines around her mouth that have deepened but her skin looks finer
The red patch of excema on her arm, half hidden by a sleeve
Smooth, thin hair in a shiny black ponytail with a sparse fringe
Curly, thick hair that needs an undercut to be manageable
Eyes of aquamarine, true blue, dark blue, liquid brown, chestnut, greeny hazel
The slight lisp, enhanced by a tongue piercing
Her little feet in wedge heels. So busy!
Sometimes I think her hair is blonde, other times quite brown
The thin-etch of her teenage tattoo
Steady gaze from behind sparkly spectacles (but they aren’t glitzy)
Her compact competence
Have I ever seen her without eye makeup? Otherwise her face is bare, but it looks right
The angle of her chin, somehow like a lizard (not ugly)
Strawberry blonde hair, cornsilk, straight
Eyebrows
The cluster of her earrings
Her chubby cheeks: that expression when she grins but looks a bit unsure
She wears eyeliner flicks always. Except if she’s really tired or has a cold
Her gums above her teeth
The pout and curve of her lips, no longer pierced but you can still see the divot
A sibilant emphasis when she says certain words
Those teeth
Her nostrils
Her voice. All their voices. The words they use. Their accents
I ache to be in the same room for an hour with even one of them
My beautiful friends
The cool damp air puffs through my window
I lie awake in my bedroom for the final time
5.18am. Hearing the soft rain outside and the flat fapping of the bunting I’ve used as a makeshift guard, reserving the space for the truck
It’s not enough room. Can I ask the neighbours to move their car? Whose van is that anyway?
The fridge is empty, things are packed.
Mustn’t forget adaptor plugs.
Where did I put those tickets? Oh yes.
I hope the wardrobe will fit.
Don’t let them take the recycling bucket.
5.45am. The heater starts to tick into life
It must be time to move
clairevetica 