The New Arrival

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Well, I’m trying–emphasis on the trying–to participate in NaPoWriMo this year again and, as I have a draft for day one, I thought I’d put it up here. Please bear in mind that this, along with any others I post this month, is a draft and so a bit rough round the edges, to say the least. That having been said I hope you enjoy it.

I’m also having a go at Robert Lee Brewer’s April PAD challenge, which is where this poem came from.

The New Arrival

It didn’t exactly burst in
like an angry parent trying hard
to catch its child
in some deplorable act.
It just floated in like night.

So patient
so careful not to disturb.
Waiting for me to stop,
look around, take in some new scent
or change in the atmosphere.

Once I knew it was there
its truth punched me hard
in the chest.

It was OK, more than OK,
to be alone.

I prefered the silence.

Playing cards: a poem

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I was inspired to write this by a prompt to write a poem about an everyday object. I just chose something from my backpack and it happened to be a pack of playing cards. Here goes, then:

Playing Cards.

Amunition in a box
two left unused. Shared out
at the start of the battle
unusual to have allies
in this war
of plastic-coated paper.

Lost: a poem

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No prizes for guessing what this one’s about. I never could be all that indirect. This thing anyway, poem? whatever it is, came from Robert Lee Brewer’s prompt Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 203 pretty much all at once. In pretty quick order I managed four drafts then figured I’d put it up here. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading. (The X on the blank lines just denote where the verses end and begin.

Lost.

It happens like this, doesn’t it?
You understand this, I know
having been there yourself.
x
You’re just walking along
no specific direction
just walking
maybe you’d spot something off in the distance
a tree
a flower
a rabbit
a bird
x
curious, you’d start walking in its direction
just to see if it was real
or if you were mistaken somehow
like the crystal-clear pool
that, once you reach it, becomes a patch of dry sand.
x
Then, out of nowhere
nothing becomes a name
a name becomes some random facts
a voice you want to hear again
a laugh like soft music
a brief conversation
you don’t want to end.
x
You keep going, then whether it happens
suddenly or not
you notice that You’re no longer walking
but floating.
Not falling, but floating
in a gently swirling atmosphere
of spring days and poetry.

Trees: a poem

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I have another poem to release into the wild. Good luck little poem, I hope someone enjoys reading you.

Trees.

We were standing in what I can only guess
was a forest, or wood of some kind.
The kind of thing I picture
when I hear Joany Mitchell
singing about a tree museum.

Such a cold, spacious place
a different kind of noisy to our school
all wind and rustling.

And were there birds?
I remember there being birds
but maybe it was my memory
that put them there.

Our typing teacher
introduced me
to a Larch
perhaps an Elm, too.

‘This is a larch,’ she said
putting my hand
on it’s thin, rough trunk.
Remembering it, I want to compel my former self
to put out his hand
as though the tree could shake it.
‘Pleased to meet you sir.’

But this is now.
back then it was all face value
and blind faith.
Like what was then
was normal
and wouldn’t change.

Autumn weather: a poem

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This is a poem I wrote in answer to the prompt ‘write a scary poem’. I know of few greater fears than losing a loved one.
Autumn Weather.
Autumn’s here
in an outfit she borrowed.
One of winter’s lighter suits
but still, more her style than autumn’s.
The wind blows harder
the rain is heavier
and the radio is full
of weather warnings and traffic jams.
in the kitchen, waiting, hoping…
and shivering despite the central heating
I sit, thinking the worst.
What if
you don’t
come home?

NaBloPoMo: a book review of The Shunning by Beverly Lewis

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Another book review for you today. It was a nice surprise to enjoy this book as much as I did so I had to share it with you. I’m so glad I read it and hope this review, such as it is, will get you curious enough to try it for yourself.

The Shunning (The Heritage of Lancaster County, #1)The Shunning by Beverly Lewis
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I like the phrase ‘compelling story’. True, it’s used so much it could almost be a cliche, but I can’t think of a better way to describe this book. I love hearing about people, especially when their lives are so vastly different to my own and that’s definitely true of the people in this book. The story also reminded me of two old TV shows I still love, the Waltons and Little House On The Prairie. It’s blatant escapism but there’s a lot to be said for reading about a simpler time, especially when life these days gets as complicated as it does. Anyway I don’t see much wrong with taking a break from modernity sometimes. Just like a holiday in the country. All in all a lovely story that I’m glad I read.

View all my reviews

Almost: a poem

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As aposed to almost a poem which isnt’ quite the same thing, or is it? I’ll let you decide.

Seriously, I forgot I had written this til i was looking for a poem to put up here just now. I’ll see you later for NaBloPoMo, but here’s this little thing for now.

Almost.

When I was a kid I hated the dark
It was as though it concealed
some great monster in its silence.

Now it’s different
with the darkness comes sleep
and no control over what is said in dreams.

When we were lost, in Brussels that time
my fear of traffic accidents came back
so strongly I felt sick
every time I felt the car’s brakes go on.
I think I’d prefer to face
the biggest fireworks display
other than do that again.

sitting in that cafe, though
milky coffee on the table
people milling about
Cologne sun burning the backs of our necks
you beside me
almost made it all
worth it.
You with that voice of yours
that could persuade
a lion to bleet
the birds to bark
and me, despite our afflictions
that things would work out.