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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a sad thought

Brunching in the city park
shopping from dawn until dark
inhaling strong chai lattes
in the labyrinth of laneways.

I’m staggering to recall
memories of us, is this all
random moments here and there
tucked away beneath the stairs.
Pictures of you are calling
through the hallway echoing
I remember, you were there
popping in to show you care.

The seasons have clouded my
memories of you. I want to cry
yearning for the could have been
dwelling on the should have been.

With the storm came the changing
your life was rearranging
contemplating what was next
every conversation hexed
a tired withering flower
yielding to a Spring shower
drowning in abundance of time
poisoned by the cheese and wine.

words

venomous words are hard to clean
darkness taints a perfect blue sky
the photograph smudged and ruined
as the strong stench of yesterday
pulls on the chains of resentment
as her world crashes with a thud
her soul melts in the acid rain.
she made daisy chains in the park
on a pleasant suburban day
dreaming of all her tomorrows
while tomorrow lingers in the dark
wondering, how did she get here?
Hi de ho! Old friend, old neighbour
the dividing fence was her home
the promise of stability
with endless woods for her to roam
but the trap of good impressions
lit the snowball of red anger
corrupting her soul, she wants out
she wants sunshine in her picture
she wants the suburban postcard
the venomous words cannot beat her
the venomous words will not defeat her
she will scribble her daisy chains
on her suburban photograph

Inspired by the nursery rhyme ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’

#NaPoWriMo Day Nineteen – “a weeping angels woe”

 

Alone in the churchyard I watch

mortals mourning in tears and flowers.

Leaning against a rowan tree

abandoned by my family.

Beneath my feet a girl is weeping

I open my arms and kneel down

In surprise, she looks up at me

screaming like a startled crow.

She runs back through the stone and grass

reaching out to her, I follow

She turns to me – her eyes are cold

and zap – she’s now in the past.

Falling through time – I am weeping;

my eyes hidden behind grey fingers.

Left within eternal sleeping

this is where my Winter lingers.

#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.

#NaPoWriMo Day Seven – “Discovering Monday”

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.

 

Garfield

#NaPoWriMo Day Five “Tin of Air”

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…

 

Vincent Van Gough

Vincent Van Gogh – Sorrowing Man

 

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”