NaPoWriMo 2017 4/30 Elegy

Branded in my memory – those headlines.
“Everybody’s going to war”, she said
in big bold irrefutable lines 
caterwauling across the world: “you’re dead”.
I remember summer, so exciting
hanging together in our township, there
used to be laughter at sudden lightening
we were innocence at the village faire.
But despite the darkness that lingers here
you’re flickering in the deepest shadow
and where there is light, there is hope my dear
inspiring a better tomorrow.

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NaPoWriMo 17/30 Death of a poem

Placed neatly in the wooden box
the lid is grazed by graceful fingers
over the long years you took some knocks
and now your voice echoes, lingers.

Creating a dance of letters
the words fell from my pointy pen
nights trying to make you better
but the sun was setting, my friend.

We should have sung at our first chance
thrown those words out into the sky
but shaping had us in a trance
and now your words will never fly.

You are the reason I am me
Therapy from reality
helped me conquer the how to be
helped unlock the insanity.

Your voice may have faded away
Your words dissolved into nothing
and this empty blank page will stay
but your memory will keep on living.

It’s only life

Can you smell that picture?

It smells old and betrayed

burns when you look closer

The sun weighing over

the bones that climb the hill

lost girl at the crossroads

broken – social schism

rains bittersweet regret

there’s no escape button

just left, right and forward

until the end game – death.

#NaPoWriMo Day Thirty – “April’s Journey”

headstone-md1

She noticed the line between B and D

on the worn out stone in that photograph

and thought, what could that line possibly mean?

When she leaves here, she’ll paint an autograph

of all her thoughts, moments and poetry

signed, sealed, delivered with a smile and laugh.

Walking through time, her quest to history

where she wrote letters on a Wiltshire hill

pondering the worlds greatest mysteries.

Lie with her in fields of daffodils

as she gazes into Albion’s windows

from the grassy bench of Salisbury’s windmills.

Or find her dancing sunshine and rainbows

as she encounters New York Down Under

April Twenty Fourteen was quite a show

just like lightening in a storm of thunder.

Her line tastes like chai latte on Mondays

a blissful moment her heart could plunder

From point B, the line is a disarray

of wibbly-wobbly moments

just waiting to be played.

 

Prompt: All the 29 poems I’ve written this NaPoWriMo 2014.

#NaPoWriMo Day Fourteen – “Song of Sorrow”

Whilst upon my weekend web travels I came across this artist: Victoria Frances – and was so taken with this piece I couldn’t help but write about it. If you want to see more of Victoria’s work please see here: http://www.victoriafrances.es/en/ 

Painted smiles and comical tears

lie beneath a gold plated mask

so many faces; so many years

Who I am? It’s only natural to ask.

I am the forgotten extra

a dark, morose, Venetian clown

just waiting for my exit, so

Death can rescue me from this crown.

For my master sits on the bloody throne

a cheater of time and of death.

I am a mere mortal instrument

to entertain until my last breath.

He found me by the Grand Canal

a weary flower weeping

took me for his possession

another toy for his keeping.

Winter breathes inside these walls

compelled to the dreary and dark

bound by magic into the night

cursed by an invisible mark.

At sunset, the music will start

and echo through the dusky halls

I am captive in his shadows

imprisoned inside the dark stone walls.

Goodbye, Uncle

We got the word on Christmas morn,

And they told us you were gone.

Asleep, at peace, with the angels

The Silent Night, your Swan Song.

So, rest your weary head, dear uncle

your work on earth is complete.

“God is good”, you used to tell us

Now you’re sitting at his feet.

Sitting in the kitchen corner

With your cigarette and smiles.

“Oh, My” and “Exaa-ctly”

we would laugh with you awhile.

I’ll remember your red jumper

And the coat that was too big.

I’ll remember your brilliant mind,

And playful mischief with us kids.

I remember the last gift you gave

Was a box of “Indian Sweets”

We all gasped, and gave you “the look”

But were grateful for the treat.

Rest easy now, dearest uncle

Your light shines on us from above

No words can describe our sadness

Always and forever, sending our love.

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