Leading You Astray

 

Leading You Astray

Remember I told you I have no sense of direction?

Besides, I never said I wanted to leave.

You say we have been walking round in circles for weeks.

I tell you I sometimes get lost on purpose.

I tell you I like it here.

You say I am trying to lead you astray.

You show me the way and expect me to follow.

I nod politely.

You shouldn’t trust people so easily.

Midway across the field, you turn and look back.

Our footprints are gone.

No one is holding your hand.

The field is not a field.

The walls of your room are closing around you.

I was never there

and you will have to find your way out of this

all by yourself.

GloPoWriMo Day 30

 

In the Window

None of Your Business

The blinds are drawn.

The lights are out.

Billie Holiday on the radio.

There is nothing to see.

It’s none of your business, anyway.

Her Reflection

She saw her own reflection in his sunglasses.

She liked what she saw and wondered if he could see it too. 

When he took them off,

she could no longer see herself in his eyes.

The Crack

Where a stone hit many years ago,

a tiny hole, a beginning of a sun.

Only three rays.

The largest part of the window is unmarred.

Except for that scar on the belly.

Rapunzel

There is a window at the top of that tower.

You would have to be a bird to look inside.

They say a princess lives there.

She spends her days spinning.

She uses her own hair as the yarn.

One day her prince will come, they say.

He will be a true hero and his heart will be pure.

She will let her hair down for this man

and he will use it as a ladder to climb up.

It is not clear what will happen next, but somehow

the hero will find a way to rescue the princess.

He will kill a dragon or two in the process.

For, what’s a story like this without dragons?

Many have believed this and tried their luck.

Most of them are dead now.

She is still up there, spinning her yarn. 

If I didn’t know any better,

I would say she never intended to leave

or had any plans of letting herself be rescued.

GloPoWriMo Day 29

When Will This End

 

When Will This End?

How long is it until sunrise?

Where is my phone?

Is it going to rain tomorrow?

Can you keep a secret?

Why is the raven like a writing desk?

What is that song?

Why is Pluto not a planet?

When were we young?

Why am I always cold?

How do you make these chocolate muffins?

Can dogs eat blueberries?

Why do we cry?

How much is nothing?

What would you do?

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Is it OK if I eat that muffin?

How do you tie a noose?

How much longer until sunrise?

When will this end?

GloPoWriMo Day 28 - questions

This is a found poem. I used this website for the most asked questions on Google

 

Sorry to Disappoint You

Zielschmerz

The reason I was brought to this world was to write timeless poetry,

to share deep wisdom and show the right way forward.

I have worked hard for this and now it’s here.

This poem is the crown of my life’s labour.

It contains everything you’ll ever need to know.

It is all there ever was and all there ever will be.

I am sorry if you expected more.

Nodus Tollens

I have been trapped inside someone else’s sloppy writing.

Everyone thinks they can write these days.

Someone started a novel about me in a thick NaNoWriMo notebook

with a manga character on the cover.

They used a fragrant pen with a pompom on top.

Then they just closed the notebook and went back to their daily duties.

Then someone else found the notebook as they were cleaning the attic.

They decided to turn this into an experimental play.

They tried to have it published, but it was rejected.

I would love to give this story some structure.

After all, there were some good moments in it.

Sadly, that would mean reading through everything, including the boring parts.

I think I will go and read a Shakespeare play instead.

Life is too short to waste it on bad reading.

GloPoWriMo Day 27 - two entries from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

Not a Nursery Rhyme

 

Not a Nursery Rhyme

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

how does your magic grow?

With whispered spells and hidden dells

and pretty maids all in a row,

and pretty maids all in a row.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary, 

how does your power grow?

With muffled knells and darkened cells

and deadly maids all in a row,

and deadly maids all in a row.

GloPoWriMo day 26 - a parody

A Well-Trained Poem

 

A Well-Trained Poem

Let’s celebrate the independence of this poem.

It is nine years old now.

It has learnt a thing or two.

It knows how to restrain itself

and what pitfalls to avoid.

It is no longer sentimental.

This poem has killed its darlings multiple times.

It has stolen from others in broad daylight.

This poem is a scavenger.

It will collect anything it finds on its way.

See how it’s running down the page all by itself.

Now I am no longer afraid to leave it alone

and go do something else.

By the time I return,

this poem will have written itself out 

and put a full-stop to itself,

so that we can both go

and get some well-deserved rest.

GloPoWriMo Day 26 

On Sadness

 

On Sadness

Sadness has nonretractable claws. There are eight species. 

It’s typically solitary, except for mothers.

It is an omnivore.

During the fall, it eats practically around the clock.

As the cold swoops in, it waddles into a den among rocks. 

Female sadness enters her den pregnant.

Her blind and hairless cub is born midwinter.

Sadness is a powerful, top-of-the-food-chain predator.

It roams large territories.

Every encounter is different.

Please, don’t feed the sadness!

Do not fight it.

When it charges at you, hold your ground and stay calm.

This is a found poem. Here is the list of websites I used:

https://www.nps.gov/articles/bearattacks.htm

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/facts/american-black-bear

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/facts/grizzly-bear

https://kids.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/facts/brown-bear

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/facts/bears-grizzly-polar-panda#:~:text=Weight%3A%2060%20to%201%2C600%20pounds,America%2C%20Europe%2C%20and%20Asia.

GloPoWriMo Day 24

I am out

 

I am out

You keep changing the rules.

I have been standing here for days,

counting,

waiting for you to show yourself.

See, I am no longer playing your game.

I am not even pretending to search.

You can stay there forever,

mislaid and forgotten,

for all I care.

It takes two to play

and I am out.

GloPoWriMo Day 23

A poetic response to Žmurke by Vasko Popa

The Trumpets

 

The Trumpets 

They will be here the day you are born.

Their deafening call will let you know what this place is like.

Theirs will be the lullaby that brings thunder into your dreams.

Their music never stops.

They will wake you up at public holidays.

They will play your song over and over

after your first heartbreak.

You will dance to them on your wedding day.

They will see you off at railway stations,

as you go searching for somewhere quiet to live.

They will wait for you until you return.

Their deafening call will let everyone know you are back.

This sound is your heartbeat.

You were never meant to live in silence.

They will stay with you for the rest of your days.

And when you go, they will follow as far as they can.

They will cry for you

long after you are gone,

filling the night air

with that song you used to love.

GloPoWriMo Day 22

Make It or Break It

 

Make It or Break It

A single word can make you smile.

A single pebble can trip you. 

A single smile can ease your heart.

A single heart can love.

A single word can trip you.

A single pebble can warm your hand. 

A single smile can wound a heart.

A single heart can plot revenge.

A single word can break a promise.

A single pebble can break a window.

A broken promise can trip you.

A wounded heart can break.

GloPoWriMo Day 21

Whose valley, again?

 

Whose valley, again?

The river flows through the sleepy valley. Shallow and lazy.

Water snakes sunbathe on the dam. The river doesn’t mind.

She’ll wait for the rains to return. Then she will take back what’s hers. 

GloPoWriMo Day 20 - a sijo

I Really Hate

 

I Really Hate

Tree cutters.

Tomorrow’s weather forecast.

Conspiracy theories. 

Those who tell you to think positive.

Christmas decoration in June.  

Those who wear their masks like bracelets.

Empty streets.

The sound of an electric drill on a quiet evening.

Those who ask why she waited so long to report him.

Roadworks.

Those who wear their masks around their chin.

Firecrackers.

Those who say she is making it up for publicity.

Earthquakes.

When someone dies of a broken heart.

Those who say it could be worse.

Large parties.

Those who walk into a shop without a mask just to ask for something. 

Minefields.

Those who tell you to smile more often.

Public buses. 

Large parties with little girls in them.

Those who tell you to toughen up.

Meaningless tasks.

Monsters hiding in plain sight.

GloPoWriMo Day 19

Please Don't Understand

 

Please Don’t Understand

I 

You ask me how I am and I say great.

Let’s leave it there, shall we?

No need to pry.

II

So, you saw me with a shovel last night. That doesn’t mean I killed anyone, not necessarily. Not everyone with a shovel and muddy boots is burying a body. If you must know, I am digging out a time capsule. Or, at least, trying to. It was here somewhere, I have been searching for days. Nights, rather. Why I do it in the middle of the night? Well, to avoid questions like these, that’s why. What was inside? Oh, nothing special, just some meaningless junk. Scraps of paper. Yes, a poem I tore up. I could put the scraps together, it still wouldn’t mean anything to you. Because it is in a language you don’t understand. Yes, I know there is Google Translate now. It wouldn’t help, though. Because I made the language up. But even if I found the time capsule, even if I put the poem together and read it to you, even if I translated it, it still wouldn’t make sense. It was just a bad poem, that’s what it was. Why I buried it? See, that’s something I don’t intend to tell you. You wouldn't understand, even if I did, but I won't.

GloPoWriMo Day 18

What Moon?

 

What Moon?

A cold hazy night.

Raindrops pelting from the sky.

A single street light. 

GloPoWriMo Day 17

Quarantine Teaching

 

Quarantine Teaching

Living room, dining room,

gallery, breaking room,

Webex or ZOOM.

Talking to whom?

Bathroom or storeroom,

sunroom or cloakroom.

Never assume

that a restroom

or a balroom

can’t be a classroom.

Any room is

a good room

for knowledge to bloom.

Monday or Wednesday,

Thursday or Blursday

Every day’s a schoolday.

Except for Sunday

which will be a fun day

again someday

once this goes away.

GloPoWriMo Day 16 - a Skeltonic

The Power of Things

 

The Power of Things

My father liked to visit flea markets and junk shops.

On Saturday mornings he would leave in his best white shirt,

his  pockets full of coins.

“See what I found today!” he would proudly say.

Sometimes it was hard to tell what the thing was

or why my father decided to buy it.

From time to time, he took me to his expeditions.

We would visit a DIY shop 

and spend all day buying nails and bolts.

He would bribe me with jewellery and ice cream.

He had boxes full of trinkets which waited to be repurposed.

You never knew when the right type of bolt could save the day.

He rummaged through people’s back yards and attics.

“Do you need this?” he would ask.

He brought home old mirrors,

gas lamps and maps.

Sometimes he searched our own cupboards

and found things long forgotten.

“Look what I found”, he would say.

He tinkered with everything.

He transformed old junk into something new.

Something that no one else had.

Once he built me a tent in the back yard.

My nightstand was painted bright green.

I wished for things, and they would appear.

I wished for things to be different, and they would change.

Sadly, I am not so good with my hands,

but I still believe in the power of things to regenerate

and turn themselves into something beautiful.

Just like my father,

I find it hard to throw anything away.

Who knows when a button or a bead might be needed to save the day?

GloPoWriMo Day 15

Talismans

 

Talismans

My ancestor came from the East. 

In his old country, there is a bottomless lake.

The water is black as ink and you can hear voices calling you from within.

Young girls often swim there, but they are not afraid.

The Old Country, which my ancestor fled, belongs to women.

They own the magic.

The name they give you can save you or doom you.

My ancestor wore his name as a talisman.

Nothing can happen to you as long as you have that name.

His name, Boža, can mean one of two things.

Either he is the one who loves God.

Or he is the one that God loves.

Either way, he is safe and young witches can’t touch him,

nor can the bottomless lake tempt him on a hot day.

I am sure he met things more dangerous than witches and lakes.

There were wars and uprisings, so he fled inland.

Here the land is tame and rivers are slow and lazy.

We still carry his name as a talisman.

Our surname has morphed and now it means Christmas.

My first name is Nataša, from Dies Natalis.

My first name also means Christmas, only in Latin.

I will give you a moment to think about that.

Now, you might believe in divine intervention.

Or you might say that life is full of meaningless coincidences.

My mother was in the second group.

She liked the way my name sounded, so she chose it for me.

I am in the third group.

I believe language can play strange tricks on you.

Which is why I married into mountain folk from the West with a unique family name. 

They swore to me their name means nothing

and I thought this would make a nice change.

Yet, I believe language can play tricks on you when you are not careful.

So, I did my research.

Unlike most people here, my husband’s tribe was named after a woman.

Grojana was a grape-bearer, she brought abundance and beauty.

She turned grapes into wine.

Not bad magic, that.

In the country where names can doom you or save you

you can do worse than be named after a wine-maker. 

GloPoWriMo Day 14

Some Good News, at Last

 

Some Good News, at Last

 

We are planting trees in your street tomorrow.

There will be a tree with your name on it.

Your own private oxygen factory.

You can come and talk to your tree

whenever you want

and watch it grow.

One day

(long after you are gone)

they might put a bench there,

so that people can sit down in the shade

and rest.

NaPoWriMo Day 13

Aristomache

 

Aristomache

Aristomache of Erythrae was a poet.

She lived 24 centuries ago.

None of her poems have survived.

Elsewhen, there were wars.

GloPoWriMo Day 12

You Really Should Have Visited

 

You Really Should Have Visited

I didn’t turn into a pile of rubble overnight. It takes years of neglect to reach this state. There is pain involved. At first, a slight itching under the skin, tiny wrinkles on the ceiling. And still this could have been fixed. A whiff of mold that only I could feel. Then there was that mysterious pain in my belly. Still nothing visible. Then the tiles started falling out every time there was a storm. You complained, but you never fixed anything. There were more cracks and this time they hurt. You cut that cherry tree that was protecting my entrance. You claimed it was sick and you were doing it to for my own good. You exposed me to the winds. My doors and windows became unhinged. Draft got in and I was forever cold. Then you no longer pretended that you cared. Once you stopped visiting, it was only a matter of time.

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 floods did a lot of damage. We found some new trees, I am not sure what they are yet. 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 11

So Many Broken Things

 

So Many Broken Things

So many broken things.

This woman's voice is like cracked glass.

I never throw anything away, that's why.

Everything can be a memory.

This song makes me think of my grandmother.

Sea shells, a tiny key.

Never heard of this singer before.

"There is no pain any more".

Voice like torn silk.

Too many sleepless nights.

A 20-drahma note, some Italian lira, in coins.

I never knew I had those.

They say she is the mother of Gypsy soul. 

Family photos.

My grandfather never came back from the war.

He spent the rest of his life in exile.

Some letters, a comb.

Birthday cards.

If she could kiss his lips one more time.

Some jewellery.

The flowers I wore in my hair on our wedding day.

She is living in a dream now.

A wine cork.

My grandfather died in the street,

among strangers.

He was 55.

She never saw him again.

A button, why did I keep it?

I am 54 now.

Shiva and Ganesh.

"When you die tomorrow", she says.

This is where she has changed the text. 

Zen stories and pressed flowers.

It should be "When I die tomorrow."

I need to throw these broken things away.

The violin is crying.

No pain. Except her wounded heart.

She has changed the text

and now it is my grandmother's story.

When you die tomorrow, I wish I could kiss your lips one more time.

So many broken things.

Or maybe we are all inside

this woman's dream

and there is no pain

any more.

GloPoWriMo Day 10

A mountain fairy, before she goes to sleep

 

A mountain fairy, before she goes to sleep

Must get up early, to wash my hair. It takes forever to dry. Luckily, I have forever. That joke is stale. Must get my beauty sleep for that party tomorrow. I love dancing by the lake. Hope no mortals try to join, hate all that bloodshed. I had too much wine with Marko and his horse last night. Should have stopped after the second barrel. Then those children got lost, so I had to play their nanny. I don’t know why parents don’t pay attention. And then they say I am the one stealing their children. That little girl would have drowned if it wasn’t for me. They were after me with nets and spears that time. Lucky I have wings, so I escaped. Didn’t want to waste arrows on those fools and the child needs her parents. Must remember to knock that city down again tomorrow. Cutting trees to build their stupid towers! Who do they think they are? Glad I taught those hunters a lesson, too. No one touches bear-cubs on my watch. Their faces when the mother appeared! And when I zoomed in from behind a cloud! Marko made me a new quiver for my arrows. He has a violent temper and that horse drinks too much. Still, we get along and the wine is always good. Need to look for some herbs for that nice woman at the end of the village. To help her sleep. Also for that old lady, an ointment for her swollen feet. She always leaves me honey and walnuts. Rada’s labour is coming in three days, don’t forget. Twins. Must fix Rada’s roof, too. Can’t let the babies live in those conditions. Maybe I should build her a new house? The old lady will need help with housework. Ok, what else? Must warn mortals not to sing during our party tomorrow. Some of my friends have zero tolerance to singing out of tune.

GloPoWriMo Day 9  

Aunt-Vera from the Third Floor

 

Aunt-Vera from the Third Floor

The earthquake changed everything.

I can still hear the rumble.

As if the earth was choking on something.

I never felt safe after that.

My bag was always packed.

I had clean underwear inside

and all my diplomas.

Crackers and water and

a warm blanket.

People don’t know how to pack for emergency,

They keep all their money inside, then

act surprised when they get robbed.

It is different here.

The only thing I really valued was

my life.

Now the fear is gone.

Here I am part of it all.

This is a noisy place.

The rumble can get very loud.

The Earth is alive. She fidgets.

Sometimes she clears her throat or sighs.

Most of the time she stops herself

before things get messy.

GloPoWriMo Day 8

Lessons in World-Building

 

Lessons in World-Building

The 

ground

beneath

is shifting.

Landmarks are sinking.

This world was built on quicksand and

dreams. It was so pretty, but not

real. Next time try to

use mortar

and brick

and 

stone.

GloPoWriMo Day 7 - a bell-curve fib

Missing

 

Missing

"The constant dream of my life came to me"

Nikiforos Vrettakos

                                                                                       

There is a place where I go to hide.

A secret place,

sad and beautiful.

I leave my body behind, as a ruse.

I smile, my head nods.

I make little encouraging noises.

She knows how to listen, they say,

she really understands.

That’s when I can leave safely.

They never notice I am missing.

I have brought this trick to perfection.

My secret place is sad and beautiful.

The world around me shifts according to my mood.

I have torn it down a thousand times

and built something new on the ruins.

It is mine, but I don’t own or control it.

The place is always new

and old landmarks no longer work.

This is a dream

of someone who never learnt how not to dream.

Sometimes things get messy and out of control,

in which case

I can always pop back into my body which is still sitting and listening.

And no one will know I was away.

GloPoWriMo Day 6 

The Wine Barrel

 

The Wine Barrel 

Open your mind and listen.

What do you hear? 

Inside, a revolution is being plotted.

Inside, a miracle is being born.

Water is turning into wine, a magic potion is 

cooking silently.

Inside, sugar is transformed into something wonderous.

There is a silent party going on.

The guests are bubbly with excitement.

This is a speakeasy.

Only the secret password will get you in.

But even if you are not invited,

even if you just stand with your ear to the door,

and wait,

perhaps you will hear the change as it comes.

GloPoWriMo Day 5

The Old Cinema

 

The Old Cinema

This was once a cinema.

Back when we still lived in packs

people would gather here

just to watch a  movie in the dark.

That thing over there was the projector.

See how comfortable these seats were.

Can you believe that you could eat popcorn while you watched?

This café was where we would go afterwards.

I don’t know why, but watching movies always made me hungry

and popcorn was never quite enough.

I can’t believe that we used to travel for an hour sometimes,

that we would cross that bridge over there

just to watch a movie 

with a bunch of strangers.

Children went to school in that building across the street.

See, this is where they played.

We have come a long way since then.

You can have all of these things at home.

You don’t need to travel or cross bridges any more.

And, of course, we all know

how dangerous it is to go out.

So, no, I don’t miss the old days.

I don’t feel safe among strangers any more.

GloPoWriMo Day 4 - inspired by this image

The First Flight

 

Image by danny moore from Pixabay

The First Flight

 

See that bridge.

It is a good spot, like any other.

The river will catch you if your wings don’t open.

No one has seen this river, but have faith it’s there.

Maybe your wings are ready, maybe not.

You will never know unless you try.

We were not made to crawl on the ground.

There’s no other way to learn how to fly,

no other time, except right now.

GloPoWriMo Day 3

A Wrong Turn

 

 

 Image by 愚木混株 Cdd20 from Pixabay

Wrong Turn

I ran after a bus once. I might have been 12 years old. 

Turned out it was the wrong bus.

It drove me to a part of town I had never been to before.

On the side of the road there was a car

which had been through a nasty accident.

The driver must have taken a wrong turn.

I wrote my first poem when I came home that day.

It was about wrong turns and burning cars.

It was terrible and I set it on fire.

I swore never to write poetry again.

Then, one day, I had nothing to do.

I might have been 18 by then.

I turned on the TV and heard this poem.

It gave me wrong ideas

all over again.

So I sat down and wrote a poem of my own.

It was terrible, but I wrote two more.

The poem which inspired me had been written by someone

who’d taken a wrong turn one night and found himself in a dark forest.

No one knows what happened there, but he never came out alive.

Maybe it was the forest that Charles Simic writes about.

The one with greasy ropes and baby nooses.

The poem I heard on TV that day was read by an actor

I used to admire a lot back then.

I was only 18, after all.

I trusted people too easily.

The actor drove someone home not so long ago.

The car took a wrong turn and they found themselves in a lonely house.

Something bad happened there.

Or so they say.

Yesterday I turned on my TV again.

Apparently, there was a whole country once

which took a wrong turn and ended locked up in someone’s private safe

while outside monsters took over. 

There aren’t a lot of people I admire these days.

Charles Simic might be one of them.

And that poet who died long ago.

I have decided not to watch TV any more.

I will stay indoors for fear of taking a wrong turn.

The world is full of monsters and greasy ropes.

This poem has taken a few wrong turns as well.

If it is ever called upon to bear witness to these times,

I am not sure its testimony should be trusted.

Someone who gets lost this often

can lead everyone else astray.

GloPoWriMo Day 2

The face of that dream we have all had

 

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

The face of that dream we have all had

The blue base will lead you astray.

The serpent is your friend.

Every hour of the night

has its own horrors.

You will meet them all.

The eye of the flute and the earth-within-the-earth.

The brain-planet and yellow percussions.

Here the dead lie in fields of reeds while

pink flowers die in their bloom.

The pathway through the desert is a labyrinth.

Beware the pig-monster, it is not dead yet.

Does fire really taste like bubble-gum?

Gates, caverns and flames.

Fish-trumpets and a fist.

We are all at the mercy of the giant tree-god

and the demon who has lost his head.

The Devourer is his name,

his face

is the face of that dream we have all had.

You know the one I mean.

GloPoWriMo Day 1