Last nights colours blurred in the rain
as the bells echo in her ears;
slowly the cogs turn in her brain
but its fuzzy; nothing is clear.
Her feet reach out for the cold floor
as the world straightens in her head.
Stepping forward to the bedroom door
a mine-field; watching where she treads.
There is hope for this tired zombie
as she finds her way to the ground.
She takes a gulp from her coffee;
her state, she can now expound.
Today, is what we call Monday
a sad wretch that follows Sunday.
Today’s challenge was inspired by this Gogh painting which reminded me of a story my dad told me about my great-grandfather and the long line of Welsh coal miners in our family. The poem itself is still a work in progress but I thought I’d share what I have so far…
Jus’ a weary Welshman, these days
sittin’ quietly in me lounge chair
all the young’uns are around me
they don’t know me tale, they don’t care.
Young ‘arry came up from London
now, spittin’ image of his mam
can’t be more than six or seven
such a clever little man!
“Bore da, Grandad” he says to me
and looks up with is bright blue eyes
he asks me about me birthday
me tears I try hard to disguise.
Give us a tin of air, me son
so I can speak without getting puffed.
Give us a tin of air, me son
so I can stop feelin’ so stuffed.
Me heart belongs to the valleys.
Me lungs belongs to the mines.
Me legs belong to the colliery’s.
Me soul, is jus’ a prisoner of time.
Jus’ that weary Welshman, these days
rockin’ quietly in me chair
all I want for me birthday son:
“Jus’ get us a big tin of air”
Hiding in a timeless forest
she wanders lonely as a cloud
searching for her story; her quest.
She is not another face in the crowd.
She likes to get lost in Austen.
She likes to follow The Doctor.
She dreams of tea time in Boston.
She dreams of joining The Watchers.
Every day; once upon a time
happens simultaneously.
She loves it! – Is it such a crime?
To wander the realm aimlessly?
Soon, she will find the time; the place
to give this world a warm embrace.
Laneway music; apple ciders
Asian street food; Pancake Parlour
Queen Vic Market; Pot n Parma’s
Moonlight movies; Cocktail Spiders.
This is where my story is set
my first love; i’ll never forget
but, this is where my heart calls home
this place, somewhere over the foam.
Authors Note:
I recently discovered these guys on YouTube and as I was walking through the city on my way to work ‘Be Okay’ was blaring through my little white ear plugs and I thought: I love this city but more importantly I love the life I have here… thus my inspiration for Day 3 challenge.
This day adds another fleck of diamond
into a medley of spices and fruit.
Residing in a faraway island
moving forward on a flavoursome route.
But she holds tight onto her ruby slipper
as their roads meander; find the time
to remember playing by the river;
climbing Surrey’s hills; to hear church bells chime.
It is fair to say we improve with age
Life tastes better now we know our story
Every moment is written on our page:
our highs; our lows; our losses and glory.
Like the fine wine, that is close to our heart
We’ve got getting older down to an art.
Here is a challenge to behold
Dancing words, or so I am told
I pledge to you to write
Every day; Every night
Until every word becomes gold.
This is the voice of Always Chum
She talks all day; her voice is numb
But when she is home
Her words fill the dome
Bring on PoWriMo and thensome!
zombie-fied life forms
melt amid the dead brown leaves
in summer twilight
she lets out a final breath
we will miss her warmth and love.
Finding solace in the moonlight
a little girls waits in her chair
watching the world fade into the night
her story; one day she will share.
She is all alone in her home
her friend likens her to a gnome
but there is a lot more to see
and she will show you, subtlety.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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