NaPoWriMo 2017 23/30

Inspired whilst walking along St. Georges Road on St. Georges Day on a very sunny Sunday.

I walk St Georges Road,
it’s a far cry from home.
The southern sun explodes
over sand and white foam.

There is only one way,
it’s far from where I’ve grown.
But time turns with the day,
a new world for me to roam.

I find myself on a road,
feeling strong emotion
peaceful town happiness
chaos and commotion.

NaPoWriMo 2017 22/30 Free

So-called promises,
are like words in an old book,
that no one will read.
Saying you will never change,
that we’ll always be the same.
People hide from truth,
like the mouse in the attic,
hoping no one sees.
But Autumn will bring the rain,
and nothing stays the same.
I don’t want the past.
I don’t recall who I was.
I just want to live now.
Everybody wants to be,
simply who they’re meant to be.
But this little voice, that’s me
just wants to be closer to free.

NaPoWriMo 2017 21/30

I am made to serve the people of Earth.
I am found under the introductions.
I work to enhance a carpenters’ worth.
I am measured in all my productions.

My subjects think me imperishable,
I create an unbreakable line.
Once drawn, it becomes unquestionable
although enemies will try to deny.

I go wherever my people will go.
My life’s purpose is to serve until death,
I pledge them all a happy tomorrow,
in a long linear straightforward breath.

My people like to call me a ruler,
but my author just finds me peculiar.

NaPoWriMo 2017 20/30

Today poem is to write in the style of a creation myth.
I decided to write about the creation of a poem.

In a land of truth and disillusionment,
a little black cursor blinked at me.
Sitting quietly in disgruntlement,
I wondered what this could be.
But once the light entered my mind,
my fingers flew across the page,
a thought tornado began to unwind,
a murder of words released from their cage.
My inner crow culled and carved every letter,
like an artist polishing their piece.
I contemplated what would make it better,
refining and shining my verbal motif.
Until finally a group of verses
composed themselves upon a crafted juncture.
Lo and behold a poem surfaces
ready to regale in their next adventure.

NaPoWriMo 2017 19/20

Are you the child that threw stones?
Are you the tremor that shook?
Are you the wind that groans?
That knocked the bird from its nook.

She fell like rain from the sky,
like the leaves in late Autumn.
She waited for her time to die,
though why she could not fathom.

But happy smiles gave her wings,
conversation gave her hope.
She clung to the friendly strings,
through contact she learned to cope.

Sticks and stones will break her bones,
but friendly words will keep her home.

 

Dedicated to my housemate V. Thanks for the prompt and conversation about 13 Reasons Why which also served inspiration for today’s entry.

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NaPoWriMo 2017 18/30

Tonights entry is unedited free hand whilst listening to Sheng Cai play Chopin Nocturne Op.9 No.2

She drifts softly
along sweet green grass
memories of home
whispers in the trees.
The whistles of the wind,
the coos of the swans,
and the song of the breeze
fill the park.
The carousel keeps turning,
she keeps watching,
the children laugh,
their mothers gossiping.
Down by the river,
nestled in the grass
she hums pretty whispers,
enchanted by him.
He strides across the lake,
a dark figure
cutting her world,
like a blemish on a painting.
Her peacefulness is fading,
her realness is falling,
the door closes, her eyes
glisten like the ripples of the river
she takes him in her arms
as they turn about
spinning, disappearing
into a watercolour,
she whispers softly,
silently,
nothing. 

NaPoWriMo 2017 17/30 Letter

I write to you from beyond the ocean,
my situation advantageous.
I find myself with pen in hand,
my urge to tell infectious.
I called upon our dearest friend,
whilst walking about the Surrey downs.
We exchanged pleasant conversation
at the old tearooms in town.
A full account of happenings,
within the Commonwealth and country,
were passed over the jam and cream
in between. tales of the gentry.
I spoke of my play in London,
how Barrie had been resurrected.
I laughed at her dismay of my actions,
you know I am not one to be directed.
Our friend finds the country more to her taste,
she has acquired a shoebox bakery.
It’s a quaint shop behind the church,
but upon my word the drapery!
Now for the strictest confidence,
this is our tete-a-tete:
You-know-who has favoured a certain creature,
shortly to be announced in the gazette.
I asked questions in the usual manner,
but she was not willing to confess.
No matter, I had occasion to pass by the shop,
and found her admiring grandmama’s dress.
Now I bound your silence to this letter,
we must only speak in whispers.
I’ll forward you the refreshed pages,
when we can happily call her sister.