NaPoWriMo 2016, Poetry
Comments 6

NaPoWriMo Day Eleven

In The Kitchen

The window steams,

until droplets

run fat and thick

in wandering lines

to the peeling paint

on the windowsill.

Their slow bodies slurping

into one another’s paths,

growing, conjoining,

until the puddle is there.

 

The tulips now old,

have lost their colour

and hang limply,

heads bowed

and wilting,

in the vase tainted green

by the water inside,

and slimed over with something

I don’t care to name.

 

Sunlight fragments

through the glass.

I’m still waiting for dawn.

Make sure you check out the first of our poetic guest posts for the month by Muthri Raja! 

Until the 30th April, Writing and Works is playing host to poets from across WordPress, all here to explain why they think poetry is amazing and important. Want to join in? Email me at caroljforrester@hotmail.com

This entry was posted in: NaPoWriMo 2016, Poetry

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Carol Forrester is a twenty-three year old writer trying to be a better one. Don’t ask her what her hobbies are because the list doesn’t get much beyond, reading, writing and talking about the same. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University and various poems and stories scattered across the net. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry’s. Most recently, her poem ‘Sunsets’ was featured on Eyes Plus Words, and her personal blog Writing and Works hosts a mass of writing from across the last five years. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and is always open to writing more and hosting guest bloggers here on Writing and Works. With hopes of publishing a novel in the next five years and perhaps a collection or two of smaller works, Carol Forrester is nothing if not ambitious. Her writing tries to cover every theme in human life and a lot of her work pulls inspiration from her own eccentric family in the rural wonders of Shropshire life.

6 Comments

  1. Is the ending meant to hang like that? “until droplets…” seems incomplete. I’m all about closure. I’m mentally filling in the supposed gap:
    …until droplets fall
    …until droplets form
    …until droplets spontaneously explode leading to a tsunami in the wash basin.

    Maybe I am not meant to read poetry?

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