Saturday, April 29, 2017

Time Merchants

Photo Credit: salvadorkatz Flickr via Compfight cc

Time Merchants

The clocks are going backwards again.
The pirates are in town.
Lock your doors.
Keep away from the windows.
Don’t let them whisper through the cracks in the wall.
Once you start listening, you are doomed.
They will take your family albums.
They will erase your laughter lines.
You will never cry again.
They will go through your wardrobe and change everything inside.
They will throw away
holiday souvenirs, cinema tickets and old posters
and those vinyls you keep hanging onto.
They will leave you sitting on your threshold,
beautiful and empty,
like a Grecian urn.

GloPoWriMo Day 29

Friday, April 28, 2017


1973 Perfume Ad, Charlie Fragrance by Revlon

My local drugstore has a limited edition of Charlie. It is a new version, but still smells a lot like the original. Charlie was my first perfume. Just smelling it again brought tears to my eyes and then I felt compelled to explain to the shop assistant why I was crying. She said not to worry, another woman had already cried over Charlie earlier today.


It smells of hyacinths
and school uniforms.
It smells of
Rivers of Babylon and Summer Nights.
Of a heart broken for the first time,
of peach and lily-of-the-valley.
It is an old lover that has returned.
Still handsome, it brings back
its aroma of violets and carnations,
of hair gel and disco balls,
of lipstick and tears
and the first glass of wine.

GloPoWriMo Day 28

Thursday, April 27, 2017


Uma Paladares
Photo Credit: _luizfelipe Flickr via Compfight cc


I don’t know what this is.
It is something foreign and mysterious.
The taste of mushrooms on a rainy day.
The taste of soil and smoke.
Salty like the sea and tart like buckwheat bread.
Stubborn like newly plucked nettles.
Something like Brie and red wine,
something like fresh beets, like aubergines in September.
That’s what they say it is.
And, though I like all those things,
I still don’t know what umami is.
It is something foreign and mysterious,
like wasabi and za’atar,
like harissa and garam masala,
like ras el hanout and saffron.
It must be something very expensive and hard to find
like truffles.

GloPoWriMo Day 27

Wednesday, April 26, 2017


Desert Moon
Photo Credit: Martin_Heigan Flickr via Compfight cc


There are signs that the world is coming to an end,
cracks on the staircase, mold on the trees.
The birds are getting nervous. They know something.
Apples have failed to bear fruit.
There is no defense from entropy.
You try to preserve the order by writing it all down, but
your handwriting is slurred and
some letters are missing.

GloPoWriMo Day 26

Tuesday, April 25, 2017


Paper Matryoshka Dolls
Photo Credit: fletcherjcm Flickr via Compfight cc


No amount of psychoanalysis 
will help you get to the bottom of this.
Every time you peel a new layer
you will be greeted by the same
smiling face.

GloPoWriMo Day 25

Monday, April 24, 2017

The Bird Can Wait

The Bird Can Wait

I turn myself into a wheel over you.
You make me round and perfect.
Time is short,
but together we will finish this yarn.
The bird can wait.

GloPoWriMo Day 24

Sunday, April 23, 2017

The Well and the Rosebush

Photo Credit: Mark C (Downloadable) Flickr via Compfight cc

The Well and the Rosebush

turning slowly,
pulling at something
that is not there.

growing free
any which way
in the back yard.

GloPoWriMo Day 23

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Growing Roses

Rose after rain
Photo Credit: alekskai52 Flickr via Compfight cc

Growing Roses

They’ll look like a bundle of sticks on arrival.
They are not dead, simply dormant.
Wear sturdy gloves.
Dig a larger hole than you think you need.
Diligently water your roses.
They might suffer and die in the heat.
Don’t drown them.
Attention to your roses’ other needs.
Deadhead religiously.
A small pruning saw is handy.
Feed roses, they have big appetites.
Keep beds clean.
Always wear safety goggles.
Enclose the plant with chicken wire.
Roses grown in weak sun may not die at once.
Hold your losses to acceptable levels.

This is a found poem. The texts I used are here, here and here.

GloPoWriMo Day 22

Friday, April 21, 2017

The Beauty of the Tweet

Reply - Retweet- FavoriteTwitter launches promoted Tweets at Ad Age Digital Next
Photo Credit: David Berkowitz Flickr via Compfight cc

The Beauty of the Tweet

Just stopping in for a quick disruption.
Meeting interesting inhabitants of ancient trees.
Prepping yummy food from scratch.
Using emojis and bullets to illustrate
a tea-based love poem.
New standards for the modern
mirrors of society.
Let the kids play.
Believe in
the beauty of
the tweet.
If someone were talking about you, would you want to know?

GloPoWriMo Day21

This is a found poem. I used my Twitter stream to put it together.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Yoga Poses

yoga mindfullness spirit
Photo Credit: perzonseowebbyra Flickr via Compfight cc

Yoga Poses


I am an arrow and a devourer of sunlight.
I am myself and my own reflection
in the mirror.


I could have done this
back when my limbs were made of clay,
back when I was pliable and soft,
before the thorns grew
and the claws.


No, it is not because I am lazy.
I just don’t feel like going

GloPoWriMo Day 20

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Acacia Tree

Acacia det. (SG)
Photo Credit: davidshort Flickr via Compfight cc

Acacia Tree

I know you are tired.
Come and rest in my shade.
Do not be afraid.
I will lull you to sleep with my scent
and a soft rustle of wind in my leaves.
While you sleep, I will change your world
and turn it into something new and foreign.
When you wake up,
elmes, oaks and maples will be long gone,
apples and plums choked to death.
I will become the only reality you know,
you will need no other trees but me.

GloPoWriMo Day 19

Tuesday, April 18, 2017


Creux du Van by night
Photo Credit: lukas schlagenhauf Flickr via Compfight cc


We are at a crossroads of guidance and pain.
Wanderer, look within and awaken yourself.
Who are we?
Joyous starseeds.
Supercharged electrons.
Souls engulfed in wisdom.
A sign of things to come.
An unveiling of ultra-mythical consciousness.
A gateway to the solar system itself.
By summoning, we believe.

This is a found poem. I used this tool to create it. 

GloPoWriMo Day 18

Monday, April 17, 2017

Street Light

Wandering at night
Photo Credit: mripp Flickr via Compfight cc

Street Light

Sleep tight, my dear.
Don’t be afraid of the sounds.
It is just rain.
Fear not the wings.
Those are moths flying to their doom.
They can’t wait for the sun, but you can.
I will protect you.
I am standing guard tonight.
Let them laugh at my tiny lantern.
My halo sickly pale in the darkness.
My light not really a light,
choking under the blanket of rain.
Let them laugh, but I'll watch over you.
Together we will last until tomorrow.

GloPoWriMo Day 17

Sunday, April 16, 2017

You Should Have Visited

Photo Credit: lewsviews Flickr via Compfight cc

You Should Have Visited

I am sorry it has taken me so long to respond, but we only managed to go there yesterday. The grass was indeed quite tall. We had to cut through the weeds to find the drive. Imagine thorns and acacia trees everywhere. Acacias smell sweet, but if you let them, they take over. You should have visited. Or you could have told me to come earlier, you know I would do anything for you. So, we found the drive, we cut through the weeds and we somehow managed to get in. The cherry tree is completely dry and the birch fell during that big storm last winter. The floods did a lot of damage too. Only the apple still bears fruit. We found some new trees, I am not sure what they are yet. No, we didn’t hear the owls. I can’t tell you what has happened to them, the winter was long. The grass was very tall in the garden and it took us a while to cut through it. The house… I am afraid it has tumbled downhill. You know it was only a matter of time before those old walls gave in. Well, nothing lasts for ever, I suppose. I hope my letter finds you in good health. Please let me know if there is anything else you would like me to do.

GloPoWriMo Day 16

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Before the Storm

The Walker
Photo Credit: ROBERTO CABRAL PHOTOGRAPHY Flickr via Compfight cc

Before the Storm

The sky is getting darker.
The trees are closing in.
The birds have grown silent.
I know I am not alone in this wood.
There are children somewhere.
I can hear them calling in the distance.
Was that a dog that ran past me?
I should have known better
than to wander this far before the storm.
The wind is picking up.
I reassure myself
this path will take me home.
It looks strange and foreign now
as the trees bend towards me
and darkness sets.

GloPoWriMo Day 15

Friday, April 14, 2017

It's in the Stars

Astronomical Clock on the Façade of the Deutsches Museum Clock Tower in Munich Germany
Photo Credit: Arjan Richter Flickr via Compfight cc

It's in the Stars

Is it over?
Let others define what's going on.
Details from your past
come back to haunt you.
Shoddy synergy spells death to your desires.
Refrain from selflessness.
Everything is about you.
Be in sync with your best interest.
Learn all about why you're special.
Let your Guardian Angel shine.

This is a found poem. I used my daily horoscope as a source.

GloPoWriMo Day 14

Thursday, April 13, 2017

The Book

cat of many tails
Photo Credit: BPPrice Flickr via Compfight cc

The Book

I don’t know when and where I got the book.
I can’t remember the time before I had it.
It has claws and teeth, it bites and kicks.
It is always hungry.
Every day I hunt to feed the book.
Every night it opens for me. I read.
It keeps getting thicker and thicker.
New chapters show up all the time.
Now I know I will never finish it.
This is the only life I'll ever have.
No, I won't tell you if I am happy.
And I can't tell you what the book is about.
Some things are better left unsaid.

GloPoWriMo Day 13

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

No Cheese?

Old Red Wine
Photo Credit: fs999 Flickr via Compfight cc

No Cheese?

I’ll snack on some crackers,
with pistachios for protein,
I’ll wash them down with wine,
then add dates for dessert.
All good and wholesome.
I think I’ll last until dinner is ready.

GloPoWriMo Day 12

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Fire, Underground

Underworld 4/8. The dragon inside
Photo Credit: Athalfred DKL Flickr via Compfight cc

Fire, Underground

I know she is out there
She burns in the dark, unseen.
She has something I need.
One day we will meet and she will let me
sit and watch
as she devours the darkness
and turns inwards
for the light.

GloPoWriMo Day 11

Monday, April 10, 2017

My Grandmother, the Weaver of Rugs

Photo Credit: maggy le saux Flickr via Compfight cc

My Grandmother, the Weaver of Rugs

She knew spells.
She talked to the stars and
they listened.
That's how she took my fever away.
Her fingers, like talons,
moving swiftly.
The red rug, my dowry, she said.
When she thought no one was watching,
she cried to herself about something.
Then she took off her scarf.
Her braided hair fell to the floor, still copper red.
I don't remember well what she looked like,
but sometimes I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror.
We are the same age now.
I have never tried to weave a rug or cast a spell,
but blood is thicker than water
and some things are passed on
as dowry.

GloPoWriMo Day 10

Sunday, April 9, 2017

The Wrong Door

Photo Credit: txmx 2 Flickr via Compfight cc

The Wrong Door

This is not where I should be.
I must have opened
the wrong door.

The pen wasn’t worth stealing.
Nothing comes out
when I shake it.

I didn't know I had a twin.
I thought it was me
writing this.

GloPoWriMo Day 9

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Mining for Gold

Austria-03377 - Imperial Gospels
Photo Credit: archer10 (Dennis) 93M Views Flickr via Compfight cc

Mining for Gold

Mining for gold, we climbed the mountain.
Mining for gold, we lived in caves.
Mining for gold, we went bullfighting.
Mining for gold, we danced with no clothes on.
Mining for gold, we took little white pills.
Mining for gold, we set the house on fire.
Mining for gold, we went to sea.
Mining for gold, we lived in circus tents.
Mining for gold, we looked at the stars.
Mining for gold, we searched our sock drawers.
Mining for gold, we tried to stay awake.
Mining for gold, we lived inside a box.
Mining for gold, we let ourselves go.
All month we went mining for gold
and when we came back
our hands were full of trinkets.

GloPoWriMo Day 8

Friday, April 7, 2017

A Button

Assignment - Square
Photo Credit: barbaragaillewis Flickr via Compfight cc

A Button

Something was in the post today.
A plain blue envelope, no address.
Inside, a white button.
Maybe someone came undone on a bus.
Perhaps they were trying to reach home,
and the button didn't make it.
Maybe it happened in a dark alley,
or in an office after work.
Or it was one of those seedy hotels
and the husband never suspected.
Did the button come off willingly,
or was it forced off?
I don’t know why it was sent to me.
My eyes have grown weak.
I can't thread the needle any more.
I was never really good at sewing anyway.

GloPoWriMo Day 7

Thursday, April 6, 2017


Common Blackbird
Photo Credit: rustyruth1959 Flickr via Compfight cc


Voices in the tree.
Yellow beaks unseen,
black wings, a gust of wind on your cheek.

Their song is a distraction.
Searching for them, you will not notice
traces of red in the sky.

When the trees close in
and darkness comes,
you will be far gone.

Once more
a blackbird calls.
Then, only silence.

GloPoWriMo Day 6

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

These Birds

Cawing Crow
Photo Credit: Bennilover Flickr via Compfight cc

These Birds

It’s been a while
since I was visited by these birds.
I know there will be tears
when they start singing,
yet, I await their return
with hope.
These birds haven’t been here for a while.
When they are absent, I am happy, but mute.
Now I will sing with them
and keep everyone awake
all night.

GloPoWriMo Day 5

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

The Feather

The ghost of Hamlet's father: 2
Photo Credit: translator, artist, Renaissance scholar Flickr via Compfight cc

The Feather

I leave a bloody trail
on a white road.
Line after line.
Page after page.
I am weaker than you,
but I can knock you over.
Black as night,
white as snow,
and all colours of the rainbow.
Best of all,
I can fly all the way to the Sun
and back.

GloPoWriMo Day 4

Monday, April 3, 2017

The Meaning of Life

Haricots verts
Photo Credit: Jonas Tana Flickr via Compfight cc

The Meaning of Life

Wouldn’t you like to know why you are here, I asked him?
What the meaning of life is?
Wouldn’t you like to do something truly great
instead of just sitting here
trimming the green beans.
I was 16 at the time.
The meaning of life, he said
Is in these beans.
I will trim them,
we will eat them.
That’s what I am here for.
That’s all there is.
You’ll get it one day.
As I hold the green pods in my hand,
I understand at last.

GloPoWriMo Day 3

Sunday, April 2, 2017

The Broth

Cauldron of soup
Photo Credit: eltpics Flickr via Compfight cc

The Broth

Will you try my broth, sir? The recipe is secret. It’s been in the family for generations. My broth is good and hearty. It will cheer you up. These are chicken bones. They have health benefits. Yes, it was a rather small chicken. The green stuff? Oh, those are wild herbs. I spent all night searching for them. They have benefits too. I cooked the broth when the moon was full. That’s how you impart flavours. I made it for you. I know you want to try it. So, just stop asking questions and grab a spoon.

GloPoWriMo 2017, Day 2

Saturday, April 1, 2017


Lanzarote Landschaft retro I
Photo Credit: penjelly Flickr via Compfight cc


I saw it this morning.
A turf of grass.
My shoes were muddy
when I got home.
Could it be true?
They say
this is where the river was.
She was wild and capricious.
She flooded the fields every spring.
Flowers grew here
and weeping willows.
Nobody remembers those days.
It is hard to believe now,
when you look at this barren land.
The legend says she is still here.
That she has gone underground.
Some people claim they have heard
the roaring from within.
It is believed she will resurface one day.
Could this be it?
If I dig a hole deep enough,
will I be able to set her free?

GloPoWriMo 2017, Day 1
2017 April PAD, Day 1

Friday, March 31, 2017

A Reunion

Against the wall
Photo Credit: Go-tea 郭天 Flickr via Compfight cc

A reunion

The house is at the end of the road. It is just a house, anyone could live here. You wait for me at the door. You seem to be glad that I have come. You offer food, I accept. The bread is stale and you have run out of salt, you say. Never mind, you know I will eat whatever you serve me.

I admired you once. I am willing to pretend that I still do.

You bring me wine. It has a sour taste. I drink it up. I smile.

And in the garden
an apple falls, wings flap.
Then all is silent.

GloPoWriMo 2017, an Early-Bird prompt