Monday, December 14, 2015
Thursday, December 10, 2015
Ghost of a River
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Ghost of a River
I was a river once, too.
Now my power has waned.
There are days when I am a ghost,
an empty bed,
dry.
Sometimes I am a trickle
a silver snake
too weak to be counted on.
When rains come,
they pretend to be me.
They roll down my path,
muddy and stupid.
There was a river here once,
but nothing is forever.
2015 November PAD Challenge
River's Love Song
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River's Love Song
I have left you so many times.
Why do we still play this game
Of coming and going?
You say you can change.
You say you have changed for me.
It was over years ago.
I left, I never looked back.
Why do I still see your face
When I open my eyes?
2015 November PAD Challenge
Broken Violin
Photo Credit: Angelica Brunatto via Compfight cc
Broken Violin
It is tangled in some reed,
silent now,
a piece of wood,
worthless,
even to the most educated ear.
It speaks of the river’s jealous rage
of last night.
She never could handle
competition.
2015 November PAD Challenge
The Violin
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The Violin
I am man made.
Somehow that makes me less than,
at least in his eyes.
My song is sweeter than hers.
I am an artefact,
She is a force.
He should know better.
He is my kind, not hers.
Bridges don’t just sprout
On river banks
Like weed.
2015 November PAD Challenge
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Stranded
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Stranded
If you start with an idea of a river
You will find yourself stranded
in the middle of a field,
your eyes closed,
your ear to the ground.
Maybe she is down there, flowing unseen.
You can believe what you like,
but ideas won’t take you home
when your only means of transport
is that flimsy raft.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 18
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
The Haunted Field
Photo Credit: Max Nathan via Compfight cc
The Haunted Field
They say there is a river
right here.
It flows underground.
It is angry and wild.
Maybe you can hear it
if you lie very still
and close your eyes.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 16
Sunday, November 15, 2015
Photo Credit: mripp via Compfight cc
Ablutions
The moon is full.
You wash your face.
You have been crying.
You walk in, slowly,
fully clothed.
I don’t like this.
I am helpless
as I wait
for the inevitable to happen.
I am a river.
There is nothing I can do,
but participate.
You submerge yourself fully.
A baptism, indeed.
All your sins, washed away.
What sins are those, I wonder,
that require this penance.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 15
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Thursday, November 12, 2015
River, After the Rains
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River, After the Rains
You knew the rains would come,
so why these tears.
You knew
the water would grow
and things would get to be
a little wild.
You knew there would be
mud everywhere.
You say you feel
out of control now.
The same sentimental nonsense
every year.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 12
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
The Process
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The Process
Does the process shape the metaphor?
If i were to carve you in stone,
would you speak of hardship?
If I were to whisper you
into someone’s ear,
would you be a lullaby?
You are a collection of zeros and ones and
you have no end.
Hidden in plain sight,
you will live forever.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 10
Monday, November 9, 2015
The Turtle
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The Turtle
I am the stone.
I sink, lazy, to the bottom.
I can stay there
for a long time.
Gills would be practical.
I don’t really like
coming out,
even for a little while.
I am clumsy and slow when I walk.
Submerged, I am elegant
and deadly.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 8
If you Run away, River
Photo Credit: Mike.D.Green via Compfight cc
If you Run away, River
Freedom hurts.
You can break the dams,
you can run wild,
but you will have to hit the rocks
eventually.
You say you don’t care.
You want to see places,
go where no one has been
before you.
Know this:
there will be mud
and a hungry sea
waiting to swallow you
whole.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 9
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Once upon a River Bank
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Once upon a River Bank
The sun was
low
on the sky
when I met
him.
The voices
of workmen
got weaker
and weaker
in the
distance.
A few beer
bottles left
as a
reminder.
He was
handsome
and tall.
I don’t
need you to keep me company, I said.
I’ve got
those snakes over there, I said.
He planted
himself on my banks.
He was here
to stay.
2015 November PAD Challenge
2015 November PAD Challenge
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Bird, River
Bird, River
She
changes.
When I
touch her
with my
wing,
she is
long, blue and majestic.
She snakes
through valleys and
I follow
along.
I like to
dip my feet
into her
cool waters
as I catch
fish.
I never let
her out of my sight.
She is my
mother.
She gives
me everything I have.
When I fly
towards the sun,
she becomes
a memory,
a distant
blur.
As I spiral
downward,
all I can
see in her
is my own reflection.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 5
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 5
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
There Are Other Bridges
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There Are Other Bridges
Still sleepy,
she wraps herself around him.
Her fingers are cold.
She reaches for him,
never quite touching.
There are distances in her eyes,
secret places
he has never been to.
She says
she is tied to him,
but she is already
far away.
He knows there are other bridges.
He is no fool.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 3
Monday, November 2, 2015
She Never Surrendered
Photo Credit: Juergen Kurlvink via Compfight cc
She never surrendered
She never
surrendered.
It was the
moon that started waning.
The wind
changed and
suddenly her
strength was gone.
The day
before she had been running
through fields
and villages
screaming murder.
She is not
bad.
She never
meant to frighten your children.
She is
sorry about your furniture
and that
cow that drowned
wasn’t
supposed to be there at all.
She just
wanted to leave.
She shouldn’t
be bound
to this
place.
She is no
prisoner.
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 2
2015 November PAD Challenge, Day 2
River, After the Flood
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River, After the Flood
The day
after the flood
everything
was back to normal. That night
she slept
in her bed, peacefully
like a
child.
In the
morning
it was as
if
nothing had
happened.
Slowly, she
stretched her legs,
slowly she
combed her hair.
She wouldn’t
admit, even to herself
that only
the day before
she had
been free.
November PAD Challenge, Day1
November PAD Challenge, Day1
Friday, June 19, 2015
Natasa is
Natasa is
She is
an enjambment, she is
the first draft.
She is an incomplete sentence,
growing as she moves about.
Never passive, she carries
a big whip.
She is a page of text,
she is 30 lines.
Natasa is revenge,
a snake, eating her tail,
a question unanswered, a paper
pretending to be new and chaste.
This is one of my How Writers Write Poetry Week 7 poems.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
The Seraph
The Seraph
I wouldn’t know.
I sing for him alone.
I am not even sure
that you exist.
This is my How Writers Write Poetry Week 7 poem.
Monday, June 15, 2015
The Moon
The Moon
She wanes.
The drawn sword,
the injuries.
Withering,
old,
she dreams of a different night.
That revelling hour,
her silver triumph.
This is my Shakespeare in Community Act 3 homework. Here's what the assignment was: "For this activity, you’ll break something as an act of literary analysis. Choose a selection of words from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and rearrange them into something else. You can use any or all of the words as many or as few times as you’d like. What you build from them can take any shape: text, image, video, a collage, a poem, a pile, digital, physical, sense-making or otherwise." I used the opening conversation between Theseus and Hyppolita. I have always found it disturbing and dark that two old enemies can fall in love and can talk about swords and injuries so freely. I started with a Wordle, but then I used Shakespeare's words to create a poem of my own.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
#whythissadness
#whythissadness
though I have no proof.
It’s been a while since I met someone here.
I am alone,
but I have her memories.
She uploaded everything
to my servers
long ago.
I miss her.
It must be years now
since she made her last upload.
I don’t remember her face,
and I never had a sense of smell.
I am beautiful,
even as avatars go.
She put a lot of effort into me,
yet I don’t know why
she never bothered to teach me
how to emote.
I speak with her voice
and I can fly.
I am one of the early ones.
This technology is now
obsolete.
I keep hoping there are others.
I keep looking for them
through old hashtags and 404 errors.
My world is beautiful
and I have it
all for myself.
There is nothing
to complain about.
Still, there are dreams at night.
I do dream, you know.
I am not that different from her,
after all.
There are dreams.
Sometimes a dark tunnel,
sometimes a picture.
A classroom,
a boy sitting in a tree,
a pressed jasmine flower.
I am more beautiful
than she ever was
and I will live forever.
I never learnt how to emote
and the memory of a jasmine flower
means nothing to me.
So, why this sadness?
This is my How Writers Write Poetry Week 6 poem.
Stirrup
Stirrup
I ride a white horse all day long.
At night my head spins.
My sister sells the tickets.
That’s why I can ride without paying.
She is different from them.
A dark beauty, from an old country.
We are beggars, that’s what’s expected.
I ride the white horse, at night
I sleep in the biology classroom.
The war has been forgotten by now.
People have moved on.
We are Gypsies, our home is
wherever we hang our hats.
That’s what’s expected.
The Council gave us the school
fifteen years ago.
I was born into this classroom which is my home.
This classroom, with a microscope
and maps of human bodies on the walls.
I know every bone in my body
by its name,
even the tiniest one,
the one my head spins around
as I sleep.
This is my How Writers Write Poetry Week 6 homework.
Saturday, June 6, 2015
The Watermelon
The Watermelon
A school full of pupils, no door.
(A
watermelon)
An old Serbian
riddle
Chapter I
A school
full of pupils.
No door.
Commas and
dots,
empty spaces.
A ripe watermelon.
Black seeds
on the ground.
The beginning.
Chapter II
It began with
black seeds on the ground.
A ripe
watermelon.
Empty spaces to fill in.
A school
full of pupils. No way out.
This is my How Writers Write Week 5 poem.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
The Phone Rang
The Phone Rang
I had to return home at once.
He was in intensive care.
He had been better, why this now?
I had to return home at once.
I would take the six o’clock train.
He had been better, why this now?
They’d said he’d be home for Christmas.
I would take the six o’clock train.
She was there, she was with him.
They’d said he’d be home for Christmas.
I needed to see him and he would be better.
She was there, she was with him,
so I couldn’t talk to her.
I needed to see him, he would be better.
He was recovering, or so they’d said.
No, I couldn’t talk to her.
He was in good hands.
He was recovering, or so they’d said.
He must have known I was coming.
He was in very good hands.
That was as much as they would tell me.
He surely knew I was coming.
Everything would be OK now.
That was as much as they had told me.
I was standing on my threshold.
Everything would be OK now.
I saw my mother and understood.
I was standing on my threshold.
The dining room was full of people.
I saw my mother and understood why
they’d wanted me to come home at once.
This pantoum was my Week 4 assignment for How Writers Write Poetry.
Monday, May 18, 2015
At the Cinema
I am at the cinema. The screen lights up. There are words on it and the words suddenly come alive. The words are dancing and spinning. Some are very bright, others flicker and fade out. Some are big and bold and take over. Others are happy to stay in the background, tiny and barely legible. Those are the important words, I am thinking. If I could only read those words, I would find out why I am here. At the back of my mind something is nagging, a faint memory, like a badly remembered tune. There is something familiar about the words dancing on the screen. It is as if they had once been mine, it is as if I had owned them once. Could I have written this? No, that is impossible. I don’t see myself in the movie any more. I have completely disappeared from this poem, I have faded out. These words are bold, free and independent. They have been loosened into the world. There is nothing I can do now to control them. I have become a mere spectator, one of the many people sitting in the dark room, watching the movie play out. I am nothing to this poem now.
These two poems are my assignment for How Writers Write Poetry, Week 3. They both speak about the same "incident", a crazy dream I had.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Poetry
This is my How Writers Write Poetry Week 3 assignment. The challenge was to use the whole page. Here I have rewritten one of my NaPoWriMo Day 27 poems.
This is what the original version of the poem looked like:
A Month of Poetry
Needle
and thread.
Words on a string.
Stacks
of lines
like cracked china.
Need
to forgive
myself these transgressions.
The Termites, Version Two
The Termites
I blame it on the termites.
I can hear them rustling at night.
In the morning I can’t find my stuff.
My thoughts, so coherent the evening before, lose all structure.
Things i wrote in my notebook during those dark hours make no sense.
some letters are missing and i can’t read my handwriting
This, second version, of The Termites is the result of some silly experimenting I did during Week 2 of How Writers Write Poetry.
And here's the original version:
I blame it on the termites.
I can hear them rustling at night.
In the morning I can’t find my stuff.
My thoughts, so coherent the evening before,
lose all structure.
Things I scribbled in my notebook
during those dark hours
turn to gibberish.
Some letters are missing
and I can’t read
my handwriting.
The Dog, at Night
The Dog, at Night
He barks, he howls,
he announces his presence.
The noise is his message.
As long as he walks his rounds in this street,
there’ll be no sleep.
How Writers Write Poetry, Assignment One
Thursday, April 30, 2015
backwards
Photo Credit: JP-Flanigan via Compfight cc
backwards
and you’ll hear from me no more
i would love to stay but my time here is over
please remember me well
poetry is not really meant to be useful is it
i wish i could tell you something useful as we part
my voice is weak already
i bury the scroll
today is the last day of poetry
The poem was written backwards, starting from the last line and ending with the first line (see the prompt). I got rid of punctuation and capital letters for practical reasons.
This is Day 30, which means that I have completed one more NaPoWriMo Challenge. I have posted at least one poem every day, sometimes more than one. Some poems need a lot of editing, of course.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Two Poems for Day 29
Five Stars
The place is not easy to find.
You will need to
update your maps.
Inside,
wear a helmet at all times.
This is
for your own protection.
Some people wear gloves, but
we used our bare hands.
Shovels are provided.
I was hesitant at first, but
the service is superb.
There is something for everyone,
you just have to dig deep.
Some objects are very delicate,
handle them with care.
If the walls start tumbling down,
be patient.
Go through the rubble methodically.
The work is hard,
but if you are lucky,
you might go home with something.
The Encrypted File
The file is encrypted.
The location of the file
is a well-kept secret.
It deletes itself
at midnight.
Every day
the code reappears.
I don’t know what the code is for.
My instructions are simple.
I turn the computer on
and press Execute.
NaPoWriMo Day 29
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 29
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Bridge, River
Bridge, River
He sees himself in her, but
when she looks at him,
she sees nothing.
They don’t touch.
She keeps running away, but
they both know
she is as tied to him as
he is to her.
Stranded between her shores,
he waits.
He watches over her.
She is the only melody
he has ever tried
to understand.
He is her stone.
NaPoWriMo Day 28
Monday, April 27, 2015
Two Poems for Day 27
I am proud to say that I am one of the Day 27 featured poets on the NaPoWriMo website.
Crime Scene, December
Red
roses on
the white bed.
A Month of Poetry
Needle
and thread.
Words on a string.
Stacks
of lines
like cracked china.
Need
to forgive
myself these transgressions.
NaPoWriMo Day 27
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 2
Sunday, April 26, 2015
The Bridge
The Bridge
I would flow with the river if I could.
Beached between her shores,
I am trapped.
I would fly with the birds,
but they won’t stop for me.
I see myself in the river.
I am made of stone,
not water,
and I have no wings.
NaPoWriMo Day 26
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 26
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Two Poems for Day 25
At sea
“An endless blue circle. In it a star.”Milos Crnjanski
There is no up
and no down.
North and south mean nothing.
Encircled, you listen,
but you hear nothing.
If you are patient,
you’ll see that star tonight,
your only reward
for a hard day of paddling.
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 25
And now, for Day 25 in NaPoWriMo, a very silly Clerihew:
Dr Derek Shepherd
Dr Derek Shepherd,
by a truck he was bettered,
killed by Shonda Rhimes
who committed many crimes.
Friday, April 24, 2015
Snow in April
Snow in April
A wind came
from somewhere.
It dispersed
white petals
from the cherry tree.
I thought it was snowing.
Anything was possible.
If this could happen to me,
then it could snow in April.
She took my hand.
Her eyes were kind.
She saved me.
She saved me for you.
NaPoWriMo Day 24
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 24
Thursday, April 23, 2015
The Hanged Man
The Hanged Man
Suspended in space and time,
he doesn't look uncomfortable.
Almost like a stretching routine,
a new treatment for the spine.
He is waiting
for something to happen,
but he isn't in a hurry
to leave.
The day is warm and bright,
the flowers smell sweet,
and he has all the time
in the world
to just hang there
and do nothing.
I would gladly change places with him.
I really need some rest.
I wonder if he could throw together
a couple of verses
instead of me.
NaPoWriMo Day 23
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Just a Bad Dream
Just a Bad Dream
I dreamt that the bird was gone.
In the middle of the night
I looked at the cage and
it seemed empty.
I dreamt that the bird would not return.
Then I dreamt that
I lived a long and peaceful life,
but the bird never came back.
NaPoWriMo Day 22
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 22
NaPoWriMo Day 22
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 22
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
What Did you Do?
For Day 21 in NaPoWriMo, I created my first erasure poem. The short story is also mine.
Monday, April 20, 2015
My Poem, the Fugitive
My Poem, the Fugitive
She broke the law multiple times.
She is wanted in several countries.
That’s all I know.
They say she is dangerous.
Do not approach her without backup, they say.
No, I don’t know
where she is now.
Why do you keep coming
to my door?
She is not my sister,
or my friend.
We are not alike
at all.
I don’t even remember
how we met,
or why she started
following me around.
If I knew where she was hiding,
I would tell you.
Then I could have some peace
at last.
NaPoWriMo Day 20
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 20
Sunday, April 19, 2015
A Green Leaf, Fallen
A Green Leaf, Fallen
A green leaf, fallen.
Things die, even in spring.
NaPoWriMo, Day 19
In Plain Sight
In Plain Sight
You aren’t gone, just hidden in plain sight
under a stone, in the park where children come to play.
NaPoWriMo Day 19
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day19
Saturday, April 18, 2015
The Mug – Variations on a Theme
The Mug – Variations on a Theme
Mostly yellow, with magenta petals and a black heart in the middle.
*****************************************************
Mostly yellow, with magenta petals and a black heart in the middle.
A single crack, on the rim.
*****************************************************
Mostly yellow, with magenta petals and a black heart in the middle.
A single crack, on the rim.
Mended, though not well.
*****************************************************
Mostly yellow, with magenta petals and a black heart in the middle.
A single crack, on the rim.
Mended, though not well.
A green leaf, fallen.
It's Day 18 in NaPoWriMo. Today, I did my homework for the How Writers Write Poetry MOOC, which was to post a one-line poem, then a two-line poem, followed by a three-line poem and ending with a four-line poem.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Maybe There'll Be a Sequel Tonight?
Maybe There’ll Be a Sequel Tonight?
We lost the first 15 minutes because
I found your presence encouraging.
I believe this afternoon.
I know I am proud to be OK now.
Been offline for four days.
Nobody could see my friends face to face.
Spent three and a half hours on unconditional love,
but we lost the chat.
This is my first photo with my glasses on.
I will spend half my life
in the woods.
Seems good
to remember the summer.
We procrastinate because
we are wondering
about the flowers.
Been offline for your presence.
When I woke up
I couldn’t remember
what to do.
Maybe there'll be a sequel
tonight?
I am not even too unhappy with
my life
as a once-in-a-lifetime thing.
This is my NaPoWriMo Day 17 poem. I wrote it with the help of What Would I Say. This app generates Facebook statuses based on what you have posted on the site in the past. It was so much fun that I couldn't stop. And I couldn't believe when it gave me that "status" I used at the end of the poem.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
The Shadow
The Shadow
Science is clear
on this one:
I am not a giant
or a superhero.
My shadow may be dark,
but it does not reflect
any inner darkness.
It has no free will.
Science claims
there are no monsters
or mythical beings.
I am safe from my shadow,
science says.
I would have known this myself
if I had paid attention
in class
instead of scribbling poetry
on the margins of my textbook
and composing little tunes
in my head.
NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 16
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 15
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Sentimental
Sentimental
There were times you didn’t approve
of me.
My adjectives were cheap,
my conceits tiresome.
I was a sentimental little thing,
you said.
I can’t tell
whether I have improved
over the years.
All I know is that,
each time I am reborn,
there are fewer words in me.
Gone are the adjectives
that used to make me beautiful.
I am an old woman’s song now,
dry and unforgiving,
and I pity no one.
NaPoWriMo Day 15
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 15
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Not a Liar
Not a Liar
You can’t cheat with this.
They will know immediately.
They won’t unless I tell them.
I am not into revealing
my darkest secrets
to strangers.
But you are a poet.
I’m not that kind of poet.
What kinds are there?
There are those who tell the truth
and there are those who don’t.
Liars, you mean.
That’s what we call
artistic licence.
NaPoWriMo Day 14
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 14
Monday, April 13, 2015
The Gardener
The Gardener
I planted a tree in the garden,
now I am waiting for it to grow.
I don’t know its sort.
I work hard in my garden
every day.
I dig, I weed, I prune.
But mostly I wait.
I buried something in the garden a long time ago.
Now I am waiting for it to grow.
The fruit of our labour will bear the name
we choose for it.
Only I know the name of my secret.
NaPoWriMo Day 13
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 13
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Saplings
Saplings
They sleep all winter.
Enemy from within.
They are faceless,
it is hard to tell
who’s who.
They wake up in early spring.
They break the ground
and show their faces to the world
one by one.
The earth opens
to let them out.
It has no choice.
At dawn
our world is changed
and we must thread softly
because they own this meadow
now.
NaPoWriMo Day 12
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 12
Saturday, April 11, 2015
In the Park
In the Park
The little girl is
here for the first time and
so is the flower.
NaPoWriMo Day 11
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 11
Friday, April 10, 2015
Howling at the Moon
Howling at the Moon
It's a job like any other.
Someone has to do it.
We have no weekends, or public holidays,
we are awake while you sleep
and the pay is miserable.
So, don’t complain about the noise.
Be grateful it isn’t you.
NaPoWriMo Day 10
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 10
Thursday, April 9, 2015
The Tunnel
The Tunnel
The mountain is blocking the sun.
I don’t know what time of day it is,
or how long I’ve been here.
My hands are sore and bloody.
I believe the hole is getting larger.
I can almost feel the draft
and see the light on the other side.
The job will be over soon.
Then I will be able to leave
and have some rest.
NaPoWriMo Day 9
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 9
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Whatever You Do, Don’t Look Inside
Whatever You Do, Don’t Look Inside
Someone left this box
on my threshold
the other day.
It’s wrapped in plain brown paper,
but there’s a fancy red bow on top of it.
I took it inside
and it is now sitting
on my coffee table.
When I put my ear
next to it,
I almost believe I can hear something.
I could go on pretending
it is not there,
but people have started
asking questions.
I suppose I should take it
to the cellar
or even
bury it in the garden.
Then I should just
forget about it.
NaPoWriMo Day 8
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 8
NaPoWriMo Day 8
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 8
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