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
Tag: national poetry month
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.
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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.
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On Writing Poetry
On Writing Poetry
Da-duh. Da-duh. Dah-duh, My finger taps.
A Word Art race. Scurry across my eyes
Like math, dancing into a rhythmic sequence
They say mean it, do you know what I mean?
My heart’s static. A buoy in the ocean
Floating, drifting – a gypsy vagabond
Words tornado our binding emotion
Beckoning your aching heart to respond.
Someone said your soul should orate your truth
Let your heart hug people – join the chorus
Animate the philosophy of youth
But please please, do your best not to bore us.
Our brain is the marionettist of life
And our fingers bear the unwanting strife.
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Triolet: If it’s quite alright
If it’s quite alright, my darling
I’ll remember the time we met
A lakeside Autumn, so charming
If it’s quite alright, my darling
You offered your hand for dancing
Weaving in a timeless duet
If it’s quite alright, my darling
I’ll remember the time we met.
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Places
Places
Up in the hills of Merri Creek
Dancing around my red brick walls
I breathe in the eucalyptus
Listening to urban laughs and tram bells
Wrapped in blankets of holidays past
Dreaming of the day I can leave
Just so I can come home again.
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NaPoWriMo 2017 8/30 – Tea Cup
There’s a teacup under my bed.
I bought it on a damp high street,
when the days smiled
and our light repelled
oncoming clouds.
You said I was weird.
So when summer ribbons
were moth-eaten
and flowers faded away,
that little teacup stayed.
It watched from the basket,
when lovely red sandles
were discarded,
onto your thick head.
And the purple pen you gave me,
the ink had run
dead.
I love that little teacup,
that sleeps under my bed.
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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 2017 3/30
Here enters this world, a parable;
a soul whisked from Anglo and Asian
beaten to the creamiest caramel
cast into a classic Australian.
Creator mixed me with wit and wonder,
folded in compassion and empathy,
she filled my guts with bolts of thunder
and hammered in the nails of humanity.
She cooked me until I was honey golden
measuring each and every state of play.
She watched me carefully, my path chosen
She knew I would be delicious some day.
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NaPoWriMo 2017 2/30
A little girl waits in an oak tree
like a pearl from the deepest sea.
She hears her call,
a bold buzzing,
drumming thoughts
a white noise humming.
The little deer through the years
riding through her fiery fears
she fought and sought
with all her might
dodging judgy worldly lights.
Battles won – she can count a few,
the mountain peak, it’s not far from view.
Yesterday’s fountain has run dry
the truth, bellows a Banshee cry
they cannot run. they cannot hide,
for all unjust will certainly die.
The little girl laughs from her tree,
the ones before whisper in the breeze.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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