The love I want lives inside the TV
a dark haired prince whose dark eyes catch my heart
intertwine a transparent energy
a magic beginning about to start.
He attends to my story likes it’s truth.
His hand catches mine when I don’t feel strong.
He stands beside me holding up our roof.
Our minds and body in sync all day long.
But, when summer has had her last sunset
and Autumn beckons the eternal dark;
Lobster love, can we breathe enough of it?
Has the mighty great Eros left his mark?
The love I want is sleeping next to me;
My best friend, my confidante, my story.
Author: Charlie Alford
I like to think I'm a story teller. I love stories. I believe the world is filled with stories just waiting to be told and learned. I enjoy travelling down the road less travelled, with my iPhone and journal in each hand. Here you'll find all my poetic musings... Enjoy!
NaPoWriMo – Day 8 – Twenty Little Poetry Projects
Toy bunnies feed his soul.
He has too many toys.
Smelling the Autumn air
sinking his teeth
into the spongy grey fur
dangling from its squeaky paws.
It tastes like peanut butter.
April showers rock n roll
like Elvis on a Memphis stage.
He needs more bunnies.
Did he eat all the peanut butter?
Gee whiz!
If I wash him, it’ll rain.
It’s alright mama.
The caramel pup of happiness
sleeps during thunderstorms
and climbs trees in Autumn.
Chum shouldn’t buy more bunnies.
Payday comes in seven days
Jesse Bells heard the ringing.
Suspicious minds
will be disappointed.
C’est la vie!
The toy bunny fights for life
under the zealous pup.
Why does it smell like peanut butter?

NaPoWriMo – Day 7 – List Poem
Aged building
Waving flags
tall flowers
dancing fountains
birds watching
aromatic gum trees
red brick laneway
dark windows
tram bells
happy shoppers
green domes
yellow steps
soap box speeches





NaPoWriMo – Day 6
Sure, at the point of Avon town
let us dance, yes we dance.
Sure, at the point of Avon town
let us dance - two and one.
My beau moves in tune.
And please, encore commune.
My Bella, dances under the moon.
And please, encore commune.
The free front the croon.
And please, encore commune.
The music fills our commune.
And please, encore commune.
NaPoWriMo – Day 5 – Inappropriate moments
It was the moment Dumbledore
died, falling from the owl tower
the cinema inhaled in awe
silence echoed in the hour.
In that moment of quiet grace
I saw my friend in my side eye
roll her lips inside her face
and an epic pop broke the ice.
Vibrating through the crisp darkness
a climatic moment ruined
shuffling awkwardness won’t confess
the inappropriate intrusion.
NaPoWriMo – Day 4 – Triolet
So you want to know about me.
Oh dear, how do I explain this?
First can I offer you a tea?
So you want to know about me.
Let’s see, I make my own honey
and drink an appletini spritz
So you want to know about me.
Oh dear, how do I explain this?
NaPoWriMo – Day 3 – Opposite Poem
Red Chicks & Cheese
I like them in a basket
I like them with a witch
I like them in a flat
I like them with a cat
I like them here or there
I like them anywhere
I like red chicks and cheese
and I’m the only person, I like to please.
Inspo: Green Eggs & Ham
NaPoWriMo – Day 2 – Surreal
Grey haunting fog.
Stepping forward, from
shadow selves.
A flute echoes across the sky
stirring the dark and twisted
sounds of thunderous clouds
echoes the rushing rivers
meandering down the hill.
Angels favour the brave.
The oaks stand tall in the woods
battered and bruised
at the mercy of Zeus.
I am a wedge of cranberry cheese.
NaPoWriMo 2023 – Day 1 – The Art of Book Covers
Started at: https://www.napowrimo.net/

I am the 18th edition
of an annual incarnation
I offer no explanation
for this pathetic introduction.
My stems are weathered by… life.
My leaves are folded in secret.
I could write down all my desires
but the darkness won’t let me keep it.
A daisy taught me to market
the stigma running through my core
and make myself the target
in everything I live for.
But the words fall flat on the page
and I sit alone on the stage
squared in a transparent cage
smelling of lavender and sage.
Sunset Storm
Sunsets reflect
the passage of the day
squeaks of light
strikes of gold
rolls of grey
blurred puffs of energy
cry – intensity
In a moment
the sky breaks
the trees fold
the house shakes
the girl’s cold
Set into darkness
Blown into nothing
all that’s left
pitta patta
of something

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