Careful steps where the puddles meet
a little lady wages war
Smiles of empathy cross the street
Her umbrella falls to the floor
It’s all about the shades of grey;
paint an urban watercolour.
it’s just four seasons in one day
a game we play in Melbournia.
A little girl waited for her “true love”
Studied her reflection in the mirror
She hoped to be as lucky as Jasmine
Happy ever after was her future.
Like the caterpillar in the oak tree
She grew into a pretty butterfly
But her one true love she still searched for
she concluded Sir Walt Disney had lied.
Instead, she wandered the world like Alice
created realities of her own.
She painted with her words; coloured the wind
She flew far far away from her home.
Just like Elsa she dreamt of letting go
All her skeletons fallen and broken
She sailed along life’s crooked road, in summer
Young and free, she left no words unspoken.
Once upon a time there was a young girl
who dreamed of meeting her one true guy.
Now there is a woman weathered by life
and beneath an old oak tree, is where she lies.
So for today’s challenge I decided to use William Blake’s London as my source of inspiration see here http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172929. Don’t forget to let me know what you think! 🙂
Blake spoke of a wretched London
cursed by dreams of English elites.
Their world, an Orwellian dungeon
on the banks; on the city streets.
Still the people scream and shout
Still the people are marked with woe
Still the people wander about
Near where the chartered Thames does flow.
But above, the ancient houses
Eyes only see what they want to see
and treat humble peoples grouses
with no sense of propriety.
Is there hope for this ancient heart?
When history repeats herself.
Is there hope for her to restart?
And take her people off the shelf.
Creamy, frothy bliss
On an Autumn day
Fill us with desire
Find happiness, in
Eternal moments
Echoing through time.
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.
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!
Charlie Ann Alford 
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