Of all the Queens, I sense I’m Hearts,
but it’s the evil that attracts:
the darker heart has much more power,
from Macbeth to panto’s roar.
A poem for day 23 of NaPoWriMo 2015: take a chance
the darker heart
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my near-erasure
The pencil, always so poised,
so sharp, so in fashion,
came, one day, to feel its own lead.
The spine within became buckled,
twisted, fantasising
about its own death.
The point became lost,
worn down to a stub, where
nothing, but nothing, was left
but the scratchings of a soul
looking to transcend bereft.
A poem for day 21 of NaPoWriMo 2015: the erasure
All work, no play
Work always comes first,
the boldest diary colour
that turns everything else pale.
It dominates the pages, edging all the
fun bits out, leaving me isolated
to the point I must be insane.
Work is my safety, my go-to place of peace.
It blocks out spontaneity, seizes signs
of naughty and caprice.
Work has stolen precious time
with my wonderful only child:
“Mummy doesn’t play,” she says.
“She kind of works a lot.”
To hear her truth said out loud
touches a lonely place at core.
But I really don’t know how to play,
which must make me a desperate bore.
not today
I’ll sit with what I’ve got
rather than ruin what I’m not.
Techie stuff will play my brain
to the point I can’t or won’t.
Dear Rhyme
Dear Rhyme,
please be kind,
don’t betray
my poetic mind.
Dear Rhyme,
please be cool
don’t be obvious
or keep to the rules.
Dear Rhyme,
please be sure,
don’t contort or add extreme line length
to match the word before.
For Day 15 of NaPoWriMo: a poem that addresses an aspect of itself
Trust vs Fear: the creative writer’s dilemma
Fear:
I creep around, spying other’s glory
through shrouds of envy and spite.
I stress, I spew belligerent bile,
I despoil what feels my birthright.
Trust:
If you only knew what your heart could spill.
If you only could allow
those creative gales to transform your gall
into work that makes you feel proud.
Fear:
That gale just feels like a deadly whip
that will beat my words to a pulp,
reducing me to a limping pace
while the rest of the world can gallop.
Trust:
Gallop implies a race to somewhere
while your journey is yours alone.
Pick supreme, your heart’s main theme,
and you’ll romp to the place called home.
A poem for Day 14 of NaPoWriMo 2015: A dialogue
Unlucky thirteenth?
Who knows how many times we’ve split:
Is it five, nine, twelve times, or more?
Whatever.
Each time, we end back right where we started:
Square one. No better, no further.
The same old reunion,
the promises made anew.
Waiting for the other to change,
and no change beginning to come.
Then the same old fights,
scrabbling down the same old paths
of recognition and delusion.
So I wonder if this time, when we finally split for real
– for probably the thirteenth time –
will it possibly be lucky for some?
holding on to innocence
It’s the way the bag bounces on her back
as she runs the alley to school.
Late again, but determined today
to stick to all the rules.
I don’t get it right all the time –
if ever. Yet she forgives me with her hand
that reaches out to curl around mine
before she sinks to dreaming land.
It’s the smile she saves to seek me out
when she wins her latest Gold.
It’s the hug she gets, win or lose,
for being so brave and bold.
It’s the trust she has in her big round eyes
that I’ll treasure in my box.
She’s about to grow, to become her own.
For now, she truly rocks.
A poem for day four of NaPoWriMo: love without saying love
the promise of my new-old writing desk
Leather inlaid, you’re a classy thing:
stole my heart the second I saw you.
Early Victorian, I’m told by the man
who wooed you first, then shone you.
Who knows what charming prose
I’ll produce, posed as Victorian lady:
sitting demurely, fountain pen dipped
into secrets that emerge from maybe.
stars in disguise
The melancholy moon, with a
bite out of its side,
does a smiley for the stars
surrounding.
The constellated night jewels
catch my breath,
lining up for their sightly
performance.
Minor. Major.
Who cares what key
they play their twinkly
chords in.
Their well-placed face,
their bling, their show,
will make the dark more
bearable.
Yet the brightest one
I only have eyes for:
It squeezes my heart’s
accordion.
For Day Two of NaPoWriMo: a poem about stars
inktuition 