2019 Day 12 -Emergency haiku

Spring turns to winter.
I  stand between the seasons,
My summer words lost.


Notes: Today has been a very bad, no good day. If ever the emergency haiku was needed,  it’seems now



2019 Day 11 – Valley

The valley’s in my blood still,
Under my skin
Like the blue scars of coal-mapped miners.
Despite the best efforts of Oxford and the BBC
My voice still holds a trace
Of Sunday morning chapel
And Max Boyce.
I come from hills green with rain
And yet
It’s the bright days I remember most,
Skin sun-touched as I climbed to the Lion Stone.
The houses seemed so small from there.
I wandered where I liked.
So did the sheep,
Lambing in the doorways of back gardens
And stealing food from bins.
The only road led out
And in the end I took it.
I went back once – back home, I almost said.
I’d grown; the valley hadn’t.
It didn’t fit me any more.


Notes: The prompt-‘ We’d like to challenge you to write a poem of origin. Where are you from? Not just geographically, but emotionally, physically, spiritually?’ The Lion Stone is a local name for the remains of Bodringallt Colliery overlooking Ystrad.  When a miner is injured, coal dust in the wound creates blue scars – which is called ‘being mapped.’

2019 Day 10 – Raining Cats and Dogs

We talk about the weather to avoid
Conversation. “It’s raining cats and dogs,” we say.
A neutral topic stops us fighting. Weather
Is safe enough, won’t get us too annoyed.
We watch the weather vane lest we should spend the day
Fighting like cats and dogs. The summer rain
Brings common cause to grouch and gripe together.
Like cats, like dogs, we have no words to fight our pain.


Notes: The prompt was ”Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that starts from a regional phrase, particularly one to describe a weather phenomenon. ‘ I’d already written a sunshower poem for a previous NaPoWriMo (https://flutterbynapowrimo.wordpress.com/2012/04/04/casamento-da-raposa/ ) so I opted for the more homely ‘raining cats and dogs). The form is a san san.

2019 Day 9 – Things I May Forget

Things I may forget:
Your name,
Your face,
The colour of your eyes,
Which button ripped off from your shirt
In our hasty undressing.

But not
Your laugh,
Your scent,
The angle of your shoulder,
The warmth of your hands on the small of my back
Gently pressing.


Notes: The prompt ‘Today, I’d like to challenge you to write your own Sei Shonagon-style list of “things.”’. This was going to be a longer poem, but life got in the way.

2019 Day 8 – CTD

She went to see the doctor
About a little pain.
He felt her pulse and sighed, “I fear
You’re circling the drain.”

She looked perplexed. “What’s this you say?
I’d like you to explain.
What sort of diagnosis
Is ‘circling the drain’?

“Do you mean my time is nearly done?
Just tell it to me plain.”
“In my professional opinion
You’re circling the drain.”

“Well, so are you, so are we all,
And we’ll try to guess in vain
Which one will reach the plughole first
When we’re circling the drain.

“I’ve had a proper go of it
And I really can’t complain.
I’ll laugh and watch the world spin round
While I’m circling the drain.”


Notes: the prompt was “Today, I’d like to challenge you to think about the argot of a particular job or profession, and see how you can incorporate it into a metaphor that governs or drives your poem.”.  I decided it was time for a little frivolity today, on a not-very-frivolous topic.

2019 Day 7 (again)

On raindrops
The first gift.

The second gift
Raindrops on

Flying dizzy
Also a gift.

The last gift
Quiet darkness,


Notes: another take on today’s prompt, this time using a chain of hay(na)ku and reversed hay(na)ku.

2019 Day 7 – Gift

I would give
A gift with no strings
To myself
If I knew
How to untangle the bonds
Of ‘I ought’, ‘I should’.


Notes: Today’s prompt was “Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of gifts and joy. What would you give yourself, if you could have anything? What would you give someone else?” The form I’ve used is Shadorma, a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively.

2019 Day 6 – If You Came Home

If you came home with lost and dazzled eyes,
With fairy gold that daylight fades to dust
And bleeding feet from dancing until dawn,

If you came home with lips that taste of lies,
With skin that smells of sandalwood and lust,
With tangled hair, your garments bramble-torn –

After a hundred years or one long night,
Because you chose to or because you must,
Your errant soul would find me waiting here.
If you came home, my dream, my heart, my light,
My dear.


Notes: The prompt was “Today, write a poem that emphasizes the power of “if,” of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world.” The form I’ve used is not quite but nearly a curtal sonnet!

2019 Day 5 – For Vonda

You told me of another land.
You wove your words so I could almost see
A world of mist and grass and sand.

A thousand years ago, it seems,
You told me of another land,
Of ruined cities, snake-born dreams.

I travelled with you, open-eyed,
A thousand years ago, it seems.
I’m not ashamed to say I cried.

A yellow book clutched in my hand,
I travelled with you, open-eyed.
You told me of another land,
A world of Mist, and Grass, and Sand.


Notes: Not on prompt  – as I wrote a villanelle yesterday I thought I’d experiment a little today, and I wanted to write something for Vonda McIntyre, whose death on 1 April I learned of today.