A poem: who owns my shadow?

While you’re that shadow under the tree

out there,

you own me.

While you’re the road rage in that car

over there,

you own me.

While you’re that person who snubbed me

back then,

you own me.

While you’re that mess in my cupboard


you own me.

While you’re that bilious resentment

in my heart,

you own me.

While I blame everyone else

for my own faults

you own me.

But take back all that stuff

and make it my own?

Stop the blame.

Retract the same-old-same?

Well, maybe day-by-day

I will start

to own myself.

A poem for NaPoWriMo Noir

NaPoWriMo sets the challenge today

to focus on ‘noir’.

How can I not obey?

A glamorous fringe, sweeping one eye

is hard to resist.

Like a bullet bye-bye.

What’s not to love about murders untraced

that whisper round corners,

waists unlaced.

But my kind of noir travels way within,

to the shadow of self

that’s my evil-ish twin.

Because dark in a mirror without conscience or soul

will haunt my life’s work

like irremovable kohl.

For NaPoWriMo Day Nine

a tulip’s shadow on a sunny day

Even perfectly open tulips have their shadow.

The sun was out in south London today. So were the tulip petals in my front garden. But such a thing of beauty has such a pronounced shadow, which is perhaps more bewitching than the flower itself.

I guess every person who looks at this photo will make his or her own interpretation of it. What perturbs me is that the raised arm on the right of the shadow could be cheering on the tulip for showing off her beauty. However, it could also be a persecutory gesture, an angry hand about to rain down blows to fracture the fragility of the tulip’s petals; to let rip because the tulip was audacious enough to turn its face to the sun and show its true, radiant beauty.

I wonder which one it is?