a poem for lippy

 

a mood is lippy on a cup of something crucial

a person’s choice of lip shows social preference

hear your red and you’re redolent with riches

touch your pink and you’re prior to other pinches

taste your lip and you’ll experience that fully

see your beaut and you’ll believe you are lovely

smell your grey and you’re grazing something truthful

listen to shade: you’ll touch your wounded core place

Poem for Day 5 of NaPoWriMo 2020: partly achieved

if I were a cloud…

If I were a cloud I would love all my shapes,

shifting and wisping and forming with joy.

 

If I loved all my shapes I would welcome all change

and flow in harmony with the sky and the stars.

 

If I welcomed all change I’d feel freer to fly,

to carry aloft my dreams and ideas.

 

If I felt freer to fly I would grow my wings wide

and glide through the arc of a rainbow.

 

 

NaPoWriMo 2019 Day 6: Write a poem that emphasises the power of “if,” of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world.

NaPoWriMo 2018 day 7: critic & creator

 

We’re broken and bruised,

battered from birth,

we were built so fundamentally wrong.

The world makes life so bloody hard.

Just give up trying to

create or belong.

 

You break my heart

with your wounded ways.

We’re not defined by our past.

Yet you’ve kept me stuck for five decades

with your sneers, your pokes,

my sad little un-started drafts.

 

Too right there: I get my kicks

when I sit on your shoulder,

sabotaging all that you ‘write’.

You’re far too old for all that hope

now in life you’ve reached

your twilight.

 

That’s enough! I’ve had an idea

about wounds and abuse and stuff.

If I begin to transform all of our pain

into fables strong and true,

you’ll lose your hold over my head

and my heart will take the reins.

pic credit:

the conflict of lonely and alone

being alone is a heart-opening thing

and the solitary self comes alive when alone,

yet the yearning of lonely brings bitter-sweet tears

that fall on a cheek with a splash and a sting.

 

the bitter turns sweet when a spine feels the comb

of fingertips intent on opening the heart,

yet the yearning of lonely brings tears for fears,

and that solitary self plays a part.

 

My response to day 14 of NaPoWriMo 2016: write a san san