NATIONAL POETRY WRITING MONTH - Day 26

 

it can take a lifetime

to differentiate between

decades long strategic alliances

and real friendship

especially

when one is an ostrich

 

hard to confront

but best to  know

Day 27

Parody on The Crocodile - Lewis Carroll

 

how doth the little underling

scale the pecking order

 deferring never demurring

cajoling following orders

how cheerfully he seems to grin

kowtowing to roars and bellow

it is his lot no schemes nor plots

just an ordinary little fellow

Day 28

 

i have known you

my entire life

you live in the next suburb

you suggest we keep in touch

by texting or email

which is ok for bloggers 

separated by oceans

and continents

 

but

i find this

too offensive

too rude

too weird

too chilling 

for those old 'friends'

who live only

a stone's throw away

 

unimpressed

by your vip status

no thanks

Day 29

 

 

the best bed must have been very special

to inspire such lovely lines

feminists are not too thrilled about your leaving

the second best one to your wife

although better than the mouldy cushions

hidden in the priest hole

Day 30

it can rain

for days

for weeks

for months

 

at some stage

someone

might throw you an umbrella

 

then you have to work out

how to use it

National Poetry Writing Month - Day 18

 Day 18 Shadorma

 

 

 ma memere

taught me how to sew

these french knots

not easy

my rosy cheek'd grandmother

was such a darling

 

 Day 19 - Cinquain

“You have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness.”

Shakespeare

 

oh well 

that is my lot

i'm surprised it's not worse

a carer treads a long hard road 

uphill

 

Day 20 

 Weekly Scribblings # 66

april love

evokes memories

of rope petticoats

shirtmaker frocks

beehives

glory boxes and  court shoes

yes

i am that old

 

 

 

Day 21 

 

the slings and arrows

of outrageous fortune

are firing in our general direction

again

 the faceless bureaucrats are

alive

( in a manner of speaking )

and hopefully all

unwell

Day 22

 

in

the wee hours

the precious hours

the quiet hours

moments for myself

i write 

my great luxury 

fortified

by fur rugs

and a mountain of pillows

i sink into my cosy pink world

place my thoughts on the page

and nod off

Day 23

Shall I compare thee to a summers day

 too late for that

the summer of my life has passed 

i am but a mere dot disappearing

over the horizon in a winter coat

Day 24

sipping pineapple juice

cuddling up to my person in a red fleecy top

things could be worse

Day 25

the governor general

said this year all aussies

must celebrate anzac day

so i forced myself to buy

2 large packets of anzac biscuits 

knowing i have done my duty

Aimless Love ...Billy Collins

This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
 
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
 
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
 
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
 
No lust, no slam of the door –
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
 
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor –
just a twinge every now and then
 
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
 
But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
 
After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,
 
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.

 

photo © gezett.de

* , New York, United States
lives in: Somers, United States

Billy Collins was born in New York City in 1941. He is the author of several award winding books of poetry, and a recording of reading thirty-three of his poems, The Best Cigarette, was released in 1997. Collins's poetry has appeared in anthologies, textbooks, and a variety of periodicals, including Poetry, American Poetry Review, American Scholar, Harper's, Paris Review, and The New Yorker.

 

National Poetry Writing Month Day 12 - 17

 Day 12

the prince will be missed

good gorgeous and interesting

a rare combination

she won the prize

a love story

Day 13

Cento ...Aimless Love... Billy Collins

This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
No waiting,
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
my heart is
so at home
I could feel myself falling again
as I caught the scent of lavender  

 

Day 14

 

family gatherings

can make the solitary life

seem appealing

     

Day  15

 

Weekly Scribblings # 65

 

 

 when birds do sing

hey ring a ding a ding

 

hey ring a ding a  ding

 

 hey ring a ding a ding

 

sweet lovers love the spring

autumn

 

summer

 

 winter 

sunshine

rain 

sleet

 

snow

everything

i remember

 Day 16

 

 

the sound

 

of clanging bins

 

the wail of cop sirens

 

crowds like squashed sardines in a can

 

all part of city life

 

Day 17

 

 

 

he moved on to the next world

 

in a green landrover

 

accompanied by navy whistles

 

trumpets laments and psalms

 

he was special

 

the chapel air was thick with grief

 

heartbreak in their eyes

 

above their masks

 

 

 

 

 

 

National Poetry Writing Month

<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/X7SvBtJuh3Y" width="480"></iframe>

 

 

 Day 8

Weekly Scribbles 64

my refuge

my pink queen size bed

so cosy

so secure

my place to hide from the world

to find peace and sleep

Day 9

 

she flew silently

under his huge wing expanse

for years

he did not notice her

nor did anyone else

so she found her own tree

and sang her own songs

'

 

Day 10

 

 

 

 

she only wanted one

one special person

she would have liked

to be number one in someone's life

one should be so lucky 

Day 11

 

 

even the prickly cactus

blooms into loveliness

 when all is going well

 

 

 Day 12

 

The Sunday Muse # 155

 

sending him a giant

paper plane

matching her outfit

inscribed with love messages 

she hoped

he might be impressed

she hoped

he might consider joining her

in a life tous les deux 

then again

he might think she was 

a raving loony

 

 

Bach: St Matthew Passion | Kommt, ihr Töchter, helft mir klagen | Sir St...

National Poetry Writing Month 2021

 Day 1

it's almost easter

hot cross buns tomorrow

stations of the cross

 

Day 2

good friday

a sad day for christians

can never shake off the grief

every year the same

Day 3

easter saturday

the women waited by the tomb

not knowing

but we do

Day 4

easter sunday

he has risen and sets

the world alight

christus vincit

 

Day 5

easter monday

public holiday

all the chocolate eggs

have disappeared already

it wasn't me

non mea culpa

Day 6

the first time

disappointing

m's mother said

don't expect too much

just do your duty

Day 7

don't change your hair for me

stay little valentine stay

but if you decide to go

leave your key in the ash tray