it's the first year
i have forgotten to write you
a poem on your birthday
i beseech your forgiveness
for this belated greeting
453 years is a long time to be resting
under the daisies pied and violets blue
we still acknowledge your literary genius
also you are recently considered to be
the most eminent psychologist of all time
yes i know this news will evoke mirth
of the bursting pantaloon variety
modern poets write about puke
and the devil's dandruff
you can even win a prize for writing about a mewling's scalp smelling like apricots
the world has come adrift since you have passed
the majority of the inhabitants are lunatics
you remember when you said
hell is empty and all the devils are here
well there are a lot more of them now
that second best bed you left your wife
is worth squillions
wherever you are i hope you will leave
a few sonnets under my pillow tonight
i will sell them
Sincerely
Your devoted Cressida
Day 29 Prompt - 3 word wednesday pluck shady rebel
both are gals with pluck both superlative diplomats diligent non rebellious always destined for success crashing through glass ceilings
historical foes beaming friendship at each other has the lion finally lay down with the lamb or is there a shady agenda behind the effusion sniff sniff lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds there is always something rotten in the state of politics methinks
there are 3,200 nude people
painted in various shades of blue
participating in an art installation
strangers crammed together like canned sardines
in a sea of blue bums sans jeans
head to toe floppy bits n pieces on display
causing certain gasps and a lot of dismay
at all the ensuing unpleasant consequences
that an imagination can envisage
an opportunity for exhibitionism
a pervy pastime
a sacrifice for art
or just avid for sensation
?
Day 23
Carpe Diem Haiku Kai
it's kristjaan's birthday
let's drink to his good health and
buy him red tulips
a parasol shades her face
nice silk kimono wrong shoes
no dancing today
he gave her a sprig
of pale pink cherry blossom
the petals dropped like rain
fly free black birds
a gilded cage is still
an expensive prison
Day 24
NaPoWrimo prompt - ekphrasis Medieval Marginalia
french monks
naughty and bored
painting in margins
some medieval porn
hope there is
a confessional nearby
father franciscus wants to know why
l'abbe le pen
is portrayed as a hen
sitting on a number of
dinosaur eggs
Day 25
Haiku Horizons
white hot third degree
the sun burns bright in the sky
just like your dancing
Day 26
Clarice Beckett 1927
Prompt: Heeding Haiku With Chevrefeuille - MLMM
Troiku
a wet evening driving home thinking of you home cosy and warm
a wet evening
listening to the radio
took the long way home
driving home thinking of you
wishing you were beside me
i smile at my luck
home cosy and warm
you preparing the dinner
lasagne and wine
Day 27
Shadorma
her first time
she cried for her mum
just a child
no joy here
twas her arranged wedding night
sold off like cattle
When you think of rock n' roll, Franz Liszt might not be the first name that comes to mind. But the classical pianist, born 200 years ago was in many ways the first rock star of all time.
In the mid-19th century, Liszt was tearing up the polite salons and concert halls of Europe with his virtuoso performances. Women would literally attack him: tear bits of his clothing, fight over broken piano strings and locks of his shoulder-length hair. Europe had never seen anything like it. It was a phenomenon the great German poet Heinrich Heine dubbed "Lisztomania."
"We hear about women throwing their clothes onto the stage and taking his cigar butts and placing them in their cleavages," says Stephen Hough, a world-renowned concert pianist
with the gals he was a sensation
they idolised him with a fixation
souvenired his cigar butts hid them in their tits
to get his close attention they had to use their wits
Day 16
Saturday Mix Lorraine - MLMM
Shadorma
dirty boots
in hitler's bathroom
slimy mud
from dachau
a present for the fuehrer
from miss lee miller
Day 17
Napowrimo prompt - Nocturne
her beautiful face
half lit by soft lamp light
her eyes
a huge well
deep memories
of pain and war
loss
of everyone
of everything
a young girl
who survived
against the odds
never spoke much
about it
didn't have to
i could read all of it
from her eyes
feel all of it in her arms
wrapped about me tightly
as i sat in her lap
as we listened to
Chopin
Day 18
Carpe Diem Haiku Kai - Love
rainy days in bed
reading books together
who's going to make tea?
Day 19
Imaginary garden with Real Toads - Love expressed by an everyday object
Shadorma
always you
in my heart and mind
you alone
if only
i could be the bed pillow
you hug every night
Day 20
Heeding Haiku with Chevrefeuille ....loneliness MLMM
going home tired
to an empty flat
slam of the fridge door
a beer and pizza
on the coffee table -muffled sounds
of tv and snoring
Day 21
NaPoWrimo...overheard conversation Carpe Diem Haiku Kai ... love
" did you know tansy aspinall was raised with jungle gorillas"
they still remember
her scent her soft infant skin
all those years ago
such is the power
the power of love
they can teach us a lot
we destroy their homes
to make cheap furniture for
our little boxes
NaPoWrimo prompt - repetition Imaginary Garden With Real Toads - ekphrasis Poets Pantry - Poets United
The Things We Do For Love Artwork by Cressida de Nova
i gave you one of my art pieces
and my favourite blue lizard
for your birthday
you said it was beautiful
you said i was wonderful
you said my verse dazzled you
you said you would live anywhere
as long as i were there
all those delicious lies
dopamine pellets
that i craved and enabled
as you me and my pretty party petticoats
whirled through that mind blowing summer
suddenly came to a halt
'all smiles stopped together'
with the onset of reality
early last autumn
when your last duchess
made a surprise guest appearance
my tears
are for my poor blue lizard
who is never going to forgive me
sitting all alone on a book shelf
in a foreign country
Day Nine
NaPoWrimo- nine lines Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Ingrid's Place
when i first saw ingrid's place
i almost wept with joy
she is the consummate artist
she lives with a bechstein grand piano
in her small studio apartment
books and music neatly stacked against walls alongside an easel and paints
her priorities tell me much about her
there is only room to sit in her kitchen
where we sip tea and snack on gourmet conversation
Day 10
The Massage
NaPoWrimo.... someone important in your life
reminds me of my grandmother
she sounded like this
she never mastered the english language
memories of her
examining every seam of lingerie
in the upmarket department store - horrified
saying she could not possibly buy such poorly made garments
sprinkling all the freshly ironed handkerchiefs with eau de cologne
administering a nip of cognac for period pain or any other ailment
teaching me how to embroider french knots and play the piano
at the green grocers
holding all the fruit up to the light to determine its freshness
insisting the butcher give her the 3rd cut only of the meat
charging into the street hailing cabs waving her parasol dragging me in tow
going into the surf wearing a huge straw hat with half moon specs
shrieking like a hyena
you don't have to be a celebrity to be a star
you just have to be an eccentric french woman of a certain era
i adored her
Day 11
Cinquain
This Too Shall Pass
i hope
this too shall pass
time to end this nonsense
a day dreaming fantasy fest
enough
time for
toughening up
a reality check
he will never ever be yours
c'est ca
Day 12
Napowrimo - alliteration and assonance in the style of G M Hopkins
Lurline Bay NSW
wind blown white froth'd waves
raging roaring hurling heaving
smashing on to the rocks
recklessly indifferent to his fate
the fisherman in spite of warnings
succumbs to the irresistible allure
falling into a fascination beyond fish
with lurline bay
a sea solution to a myriad of
slights slings slams and shyte he would suffer no more
the siren sings her seductive song
the current catches and claws at his ankles
in one fell swoop the wave sweeps him off his feet
embracing him energetically ecstatically in a granite grip
as he is swamped submerged and swallowed into the surf
reeling riding the relentless eternal wave of no return
Day 13
Books - Mid Week Motif Poets United Inscriptions
part of the fun
of browsing
in second hand book shops
is looking at the inscriptions
a lot are tender and loving
i wonder why they have been discarded
and some with such insulting haste
even if the the book was disappointing
the value for me lies in the inscription
someone's affectionate thoughts given
as a gift
there must be so many people out there who have a surfeit
of so much love and regard they can squander it
throw it away while others like me would treasure such a token
thankful that anyone would hold them in such esteem
i have never understood human behaviour
probably it is for the best
my sojourn on the planet may not have been as pleasant
if i did
Shadorma
muddled thoughts
what is she thinking
something deep
freud perhaps
she needs a cup of strong tea
with a jam donut Day 2
Book Shelf....Sunday Scribbles 2
one day
they will find her
crushed and buried under books
carpentry
was never her forte
Day 3
3WW... flimsy dazzle erupt
fill that flimsy mind with beauty
feast your eyes on wonder
let your soul soar to great heights
spinning on a dream
erupting in a blaze of stars
dazzled by brilliance
away from the crowd
away from everyone
Day 4
The Riddle
Who am I ?
sings sunshine
sings sadness
withers on the vine
when his love is not with him
if it were just the two of us
he could lean on me
any day is a lovely day
when he is around
Day 5
APRIL
Mid week Motif Poets United
tibouchina
april is easter
daffodil time
the month of poetry
april is a colour riot
of yellow and purple
tibouchina and yellow butter bush
the flower of abandoned
railway tracks
butter bush
april is a time of holidays
chocolate eggs
and hot cross buns
a farewell party to summer
april is a time
when the sun
sinks lower into
a shade of sadness
darkness comes earlier
heralding the profound sorrow
of good friday
with april comes
a cool nip in the air
winter hovering
waiting over the horizon
counting down the days
to sail in and mark
the shoreline with a sign
Day 6
3WW...haunted gloomy intense
gloomy prospects for Syria
children haunted by the trauma
of intense fighting all around them
chemical warfare barbarism and death
innocence destroyed
will this ever end
in a world gone mad?
Day 7
Seven Ways Of Looking At A Harpsichord Player
he's young
he's intense
he's french
he's hot
he's cool
he's talented
he's not a cuckoo
(with 13 ways of looking at a blackbird)
