La la la la la, li li, li li,
La la la la la, li li, li li,
La la la la la, li li, li li,
La la la la la, li li, li li,
La la la la la, li li, li li,
La la la la la, li li, li li,
La la la, la laaaa, la la laaaa, la la la la la la la, da da.
Di di di di di, di di di di di, diddly di di, diddly di di,
Di di di di di, di di di di di, di di di di di, di di diddly di di.
Di di di di di di, di di di di di di di, di di di di di di di, di di di di di diddly di diddly di.
What a reception! The bride glows pink, hair awry, wilting at this end of day, it drifts across her shining face, she lifts a ringed hand, brushes a strand away.
We catch a glimpse of what’s to come, her gesture echoes that of mum, who’s not here, she’s had to go, with mother-in-law ~ a tale of woe ~ she’s taken ill.
It’s all the thrill of organising such a do, the 60s music, 60s food, cocktail sausage, pineapple, cheese, damp ham sandwiches … Fairy cakes and boys on the dance floor, young men, twitching arses, and girls, fat ones, in very, very short skirts.
A line of stalls,
a place to perform
stories and poems,
the sun was warm.
A ‘poet-tree’ was found,
promo stuff placed on the ground.
People walking into town
with a purpose,
‘No time’ with a frown.
People walking home again,
with no time to linger then.
So the answer was to read them poems
as they walked through the throng.
‘Would you like a poem? It’s just four lines long,’
and some said ‘Ooh, yes, that’d be good,’
and some said, ‘No thank you,’
[they weren’t in the mood.]
The poets did their very best,
gave out leaflets, performed to the rest,
accompanied walkers and gave them a poem
asked them if they wished to join …
but you can’t stop folk when they’ve things to do,
their minds on shopping for outfits new, or
Sunday lunch, fresh veg and fruit,
they saw the stalls, and [what a hoot]
saw nothing to make them loiter
or enter
a writing competition.
Their attention held for less than
the moment it
took to give them a flyer,
maybe they’ll enter
at home …
maybe they’ll tire of
the words on the page and
sling them away.
No matter,
we
had a good day
with amicable spirits willing
to stand
in the sun and
enjoy good fellowship.
To celebrate the festival of Beltane ~ a rewrite of Persephone.
Radiant beauty,
Goddess of the spring,
Scent of the rose
Against your brow;
Fertile maid of life … and of death.
She meandered in meadows of
Fragrant flowers,
Roses, violets, hyacinths in bowers.
Seized, snatched,
Carried off,
Stolen by Hades
In a golden four-horsed chariot,
As Demeter wept.
Odysseus at the House of Death
Sees a wraith
To make one ache
For those who have been.
Persephone now the
Curse of dead souls,
Men distrust her
Six months here, six months there.
It is said:
“This is no deception sent by Queen Persephone,
This is the way of mortals when we die”
Feel the horror queen’s light breath.
But wait!
A kindness yet,
To let
The souls return.
Springtime Goddess of Rebirth,
Mystery initiations,
Sudden depressions,
Give way
To the
Mysteries,
A better life
A different fate after death.
Repeat to the beginning,
Seeds of the
Fruits of the
Field.
All shall return.
She is the
Painted winecup,
She is:
Life and death,
Wife, daughter,
Innocence, wisdom,
Death and rebirth.
And she stole the beautiful Adonis!
Oh yes! A psychopomp …
With pomegranate seeds
We’re going on a walk,
a ‘Words on Water’ walk,
with WLF and writers,
around the waterways
of Worcester.
A trip – not literally –
no accidents, please,
no bodies falling in the wash,
being swept downstream,
to pass through the estuary,
in Bristol, into the briny,
cold currents rushing you further
to the Atlantic Ocean
and across to visit friends
in America.
Day 26 Napowrimo ~ an etheree, very romantic [heh-heh], about the garage … with thanks to Kira for the form.
A
garage
is so much
more than a store
a used bottle bank
waiting until there are
sufficient to take along
to the recycling plant at the
rubbish tip and we know that we have
done our duty to the environment
new garage / workshop setup (Photo credit: riebschlager)
The Etheree is a simple progressive syllabic verse. It is attributed to American poet Etheree Taylor Armstrong.
The Etheree is:
o a decastich. (10 line poem)
o syllabic, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 syllables per line
o unrhymed
o focused on 1 idea or subject
It’s Napowrimo, it’s Day 25, and a triolet for the birds on the seed feeder was born.
Finches cling to full seed feeder,
grounded thrush pecks yellow mealworms,
pigeons play, ‘follow my leader,’
finches cling to full seed feeder,
as earth, the garden weeder, turns,
throwing worms to redbreast cheepers,
feels warmth in soil and from it learns.
Finches cling to full seed feeder,
grounded thrush pecks yellow mealworms.
Birds Fight at the Seed Feeder (Photo credit: dagnyg)
A triolet is an eight-line poem. All the lines are in iambic tetramenter (for a total of eight syllables per line), and the first, fourth, and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines. This means that the poem begins and ends with the same couplet. Beyond this, there is a tight rhyme scheme (helped along by the repetition of lines) — ABaAabAB.
If you’d like a copy of Girl’s Got Rhythm, my first collection of poems, copies are now available directly from me and I’d be delighted to forward one (or more!) to you. I’ll sign / inscribe it / them if you wish ~ just tell me who it is for or what you’d like me to write ~ £5 plus £1 P&P in UK. I’ll work out the P&P if you’re overseas. Let me know where you are located and I’ll come back to you with the costs.
Grace (aka Heaven) ofImaginary Garden With Real Toadsasks for ‘lunes.’ I’ve chosen the Kelly Lune, an American haiku form based on syllables (one line of five, one line of three, last line of five; in a single stanza or multiples of same). This will also be today’s contribution to Napowrimo.
Lune: Dig It
She digs and digs and
loves the soil
rich with warm compost
He knew.
He thought he knew, there would be
sabotage.
It opened up,
a black hole with white frosted spikes.
He did not witness
the evil taste, the smell
of the tainted
saboteur.
Instead, external aggression by
ships dragging anchors.
‘There’s more than one way,’
they said,
‘this is not a mirage.
‘Wait, it cannot be avoided.
‘excuses will be exposed.’
‘The present determines the future, but
the approximate present does not
approximately determine the future.’
‘Your time may come
‘to witness sabotage.’
I have a file called
Daffy Stuff
And in it lurks
The smooth and rough
Of all the funny
Dotty things
I’ve done with friends.
Those ting-a-ling
Moments that you
Wish you hadn’t caught
On camera.
Awfully funny
Horribly gross
To be shared
By mein host.
