Day 26 - Ars Poetica

 

The poem for Day 26 is here:

Ars Poetica

Morning Coffee

 

Morning Coffee

It is the mirror I see myself in.

I take off the face I’ve been wearing lately

and a young woman resurfaces.

It is the black cat I am resting my hands on,

so warm and fuzzy to the touch,

its tail long and winding.

My coffee’s feet have cushions on them.

It doesn’t scratch, even when it’s bored of you.

It is a clock that has stopped,

a soft blanket made of fur,

a cave made of purrs.

We could sit here all morning 

keeping each other company,

while the world goes by.

GloPoWriMo Day 25

Baba Yaga

 

Baba Yaga

Suddenly I found myself by a lake

in front of a green doll house.

On further inspection I noticed the house stood

on chicken legs, like pillars above the lake.

So, here we are, I thought.

This is how we’ll play it tonight.

A woman opened the door and beckoned me in.

It was Svetlana, my Latin teacher.

I hadn't seen her in years.

I had always liked her, so

I walked in gladly.

Svetlana was dressed as a flapper,

very elegant, with long pearls 

and a green dress made of rustling silk.

Not at all like a nerd who only cares

about history and extinct languages.

She served me green tea from green cups.

The inside of the house was also green.

Everything was pretty in this doll house.

We spoke about teaching and about life.

Then the chicken legs decided to walk.

We moved slowly, across the lake,

into the woods and further on

across that land

far, far away.

GloPoWriMo Day 24

A Smoking Gun

 

A Smoking Gun

A body lay on the darkest street

as yet undiscovered.

His own gun lay by his head.

He hadn’t planned to come today.

He wanted to surprise her.

A body lay on the darkest street.

He locked her in for her own good.

Showed her where the gun lay.

His own gun now by his head.

He was jealous, he was proud

and he had a temper.

A body lay on the darkest street.

He showed her where he kept the gun

for her own protection.

His own gun, now by his head.

She heard someone breaking in.

She did what he had told her.

A body lay on the darkest street.

How did the gun end up by his head?

GloPoWriMo Day 23

Sparrows

 

Sparrows

I’ve got a flock of sparrows inside me.

They flap their wings all the time.

They chirp and cackle.

They find life amusing.

I tell them to stop, because I can’t hear myself.

They say I could benefit from staying silent

from time to time.

I tell them I can’t sleep because of them.

They say I should get up and get this thing done already.

So, here I am.

And now, that I need them the most

they have fallen asleep,

and I am here all by myself,

and I am no longer sleepy.

GloPoWriMo Day 22

My Name

 

My Name

They named me after my grandmother,

but they shortened her name for me,

turned it into a cute little nickname

with that tame voiceless sibilant.

They also named me after

my mother’s favourite book character

with whom I have nothing in common,

except for synesthesia

and the fact that I once tried to learn

how to knit.

On the other hand, I am quite similar

to my grandmother.

Maybe the fact that she brought me up

has something to do with that.

We don’t let children choose their own name.

I am not sure if that is good or bad.

I wanted to be called Tinkerbell.

I liked the sound

and I really needed those wings.

I love names that mean something important.

For years I thought my name had no meaning.

Now I know it has the same root

as Nativity.

Not bad, that.

If I was choosing a name for myself,

I think I would go with something sonorous,

something long and slightly old-fashioned,

I would try each sound out loud

to see if it suits me.

This would surely be time-consuming.

and, to tell you the truth,

I have grown fond of the name I am wearing.

I like the way it doesn’t quite define me

or explain me,

yet it is there for me to use

and call mine.

GloPoWriMo Day 21

The Owls

 

The Owls

There was a cherry tree

in our garden.

One summer it held a small owl.

I was still awake when the owl called.

I had been told that owls brought bad luck.

I chose not to believe it.

It took me a while to notice

there were two of them.

to hear the overlapping calls,

one voice answering the other

across the dark.

I watched them hunt together in the evenings.

This is what love looks like, I thought.

The next year the tree was gone.

It had been dying, they said.

The owls moved to the oak next door.

I could still hear them.

This is what forever is like, I thought.

We went back every summer.

Time seemed to stand still.

Then cracks appeared in the walls.

More trees went.

Not the neighbour's oak.

It grew strong and steady, 

still holding the owls in its crown.

GloPoWriMo Day20