2020 Day 11 – The Language of Dried Flowers

A book of verse, a blood-dark petal
Pressed between pages eight and nine,
A sentimental dream of romance
Interprets love in every line.

A dried bouquet of once white roses
Lies in the corner of the room,
Flung there in passionate abandon –
Forgotten now they’ve lost their bloom.

The autumn wind blows yellow blossom
And scarlet leaves to hide the stone
Which bears the name, dates unremembered,
Of one who loved but died alone.

I know the language of dried flowers.
The message of each one’s the same:
The gathered rosebuds fade too early,
The thorns remain. The thorns remain.

 

Notes: A slightly cynical/depressing take on the prompt to write a poem in which one or more flowers take on specific meanings!

2020 Day 10 – Eurydice

Upward
You lead.
I will follow.

Don’t look back.
Trust me.
Believe.

Tangle
My heart
In your song.

If I weep,
Don’t turn.
Ascend.

Hades
Was safe.
I could breathe.

The way up
Is hard,
Relentless.

Stumbling,
I hesitate,
My path uncertain.

As you turn,
I weep,
Beloved.

Forget
My face.
Remember only music.

 

Notes: This poem is a child of three parents – the http://www.napowrimo.net/ prompt to write one or more hay(na)ku,  a prompt from a NaPoWriMo support group to ‘link myth to your current situation’ and a thought scribbled down last night just before sleep – “Did Eurydice really want to be rescued?”. Hence this chain of hay(na)ku and reversed hay(na)ku.

 

2020 Day 9 – Magnetic

 

inexorably
drawn together
positive            negative
yin &                        yang
day &                       night
can’t                          fight
even                          with
iron                             will

 

Notes: Write a concrete poem.

2020 Day 8 – The Witch Poesy

Her midnight dancing in my head
Won’t let me sleep until I write.
She weaves her magic round my bed.

I try to hide in dreams instead,
To calm my restless mind despite
Her midnight dancing in my head.

From every poem that I’ve read,
From music, pictures, perfume, light
She weaves her magic round my bed.

In bare simplicity, clothes shed
Or draped in silk and jewels bright –
Her midnight dancing in my head,

She spins the words, then thread by thread
Keeping the rhyme and rhythm tight
She weaves her magic round my bed.

From hidden loves and tears unshed,
From rainbows, mirrors, fear and night,
She weaves her magic round my bed,
Her midnight dancing in my head.

 

Notes: The prompt today was to use a line or phrase from one of a number of Twitter accounts which tweet phrases from various poets’ work. I dipped into @PercyBotShelley and found the phrase ‘the witch Poesy’.

2020 Day 7(b) – The Goats of Llandudno

It’s our town now, so Ianto and Gwilym
Will have your roses for their tea.
Mervyn will mow your lawn for free
With a bit of help from Bryn and Dylan.

It’s quiet now the cars have gone
And all you folks are stuck at home
While Dewi and Ivor are free to roam.
We like it this way – carry on.

We’ll wander past deserted shops
And climb your walls to chew your hedges,
But one thing puts us off our veggies –
Look out, mates, here come the cops!

Notes: I promised a lighter take on the news item prompt, so: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-wales-52109712/coronavirus-goats-take-over-deserted-llandudno

 

2020 Day 6 – Self-Portrait With Demons

I am a broken shell, a ruined tree.
You think you see right through me. You do not.
This is my world. How can I make you see?

Tangle of naked limbs. My limbs are wood.
A bird-faced demon dances on my head.
How can this ever come to good?

A lustful Adam giving Eve the eye.
Eve names the creatures. She does not name me.
Ears hold a knife – is this how I will die?

So many ways to taste forbidden fruit,
Yet I am hollowed out instead,
Hell’s music echoing at my root.

The key will open all the lands of death
Though heaven’s locked and all the demons free.
I tried to warn you – did I waste my breath?
I am a broken shell, a ruined tree.

 

Notes: The prompt was to write a poem from the point of view of one person/animal/thing from Hieronymous Bosch’s famous (and famously bizarre) triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights.  When I discovered that there was speculation that the Tree Man in the right hand panel was a self-portrait by Bosch, I knew whose point of view I would use.

2020 Day 5 – Our Mirrored Souls

Our mirrored souls
Could taste each other’s tears like salty nectar.
I could cross the ocean in a single step
If you should call.

Our mirrored hands
Could touch through glassy screens and feel the heat.
We raged, and raised the storm –
Sturm und Drang, a tempest throwing teacups.

Our mirrored hearts
Echoed the green scent of a Rhondda spring.
The clock spoke up and warned us time was passing.
Our mirrored minds
Could hear the beating of a distant heart.
If you should call
I could not move, for joy
and fear.
Our mirrored eyes
See only shadow and danger in tomorrow
A clusterfuck to come.
Like Icarus, this Flutterby will soar,
Held for a blazing moment on
The melting wings of hope.

The mirror still stands waiting.

 

Notes: Today’s prompt was the ‘Twenty Little Poetry Projects’. I think I managed to work about 14 or 15 into this.

2020 Day 4 -Thirteen Dreams About Tomatoes

She bites into firm skin
With a secret smile,
Watching me intently.

He slices the tomato
And his finger.
Red against red.
Adds both to the salad.

The tomatoes are displayed for sale
But there are no takers.
Passers-by spit contemptuously.
I weep.

I nurture the tomatoes tenderly,
Am oddly unsurprised
To see their faces at my window
Like eager children.

You hand me a yellow tomato
In a blue velvet box.
I promise to treasure it forever.

She bites into soft skin
Letting the juice run down her chin
Like blood-stained tears.

I fight my way home
Through a forest of tomatoes.
I can feel their malice.

I am stopped by a policeman
Who becomes angrier and angrier,
Suddenly I realise
His face has become a tomato.
I take a picture for Facebook.

Laughing, we lob tomatoes
At each other’s naked bodies.
We get thrown out of Tesco.

I am rooted, green, deliciously scented.
I put forth abundant fruit
Ripe for your plucking.

A giant tomato
Rolls down Market Street
Headed straight for the Arndale.

The green tops of tomatoes
Mutate into jellyfish
And cover the kitchen walls.

She bites into my skin.
I bleed tomatoes.

 

Notes: The prompt was to write a poem based on an image from a dream. One of these was a dream I actually had, and looking for a dream interpretation I found ‘Twenty Dreams About Tomatoes‘. Hence this.

2020 Day 3 – Hunt

Hound tongue rung out,
Sung out, drowned the blown horn,
The pure prayer of the harp.
Stories struggled free
From lips stained red with berries.
The steerers wound through stone and fire,
Their guide the fallen star whose waning
Revealed the fairies’ quarry.

Sharp dawning stopped the wintering heart.

 

Notes: The prompt asked us to make a list of ten words, then use Rhymezone to find several rhymes/similar words for them and use those to create a poem. I only used a handful…