All posts filed under: NaPoWriMo 2016

NaPoWriMo Day Thirty

Three Steps From The Landing Three steps from the landing our stairway creaks. That low, moan of too many years of feet, one thudding after another, children, parents, grandparents, ghosts, always up or down or back and forth. I forgot the key, to brush my teeth, to do my hair, handbag, shoes, make-up, towel for swimming, trainers for fifth lesson PE, always one more thing we needed, one more creak before we could go, We learnt to skip the step on late night, early morning, returns. Unaware that our mother had done the same once upon a time. She knew the trick all too well. So did the stairs. Aunt Josephine was sure she would go through, find herself sitting on the pantry floor looking up at the first floor ceiling through a hole in the boards. At the new house there were no creaks, not whines and shudders as people moved. It was quiet and neat. It didn’t feel of home.   That’s it! We are done for another year, NaPoWriMo has officially come …

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Nine

I Remember I remember that feeling you get in dreams, where your legs feel like lead weights and no matter how hard you push, you can’t make them move fast enough. I remember the headteacher’s voice coming in over the loud speaker to announce to the parents that I was either finishing the last race or coming first in the next. I remember crying afterwards and swearing to never run a relay again.

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Eight

So, a backwards story is the prompt for today. A little strange, but let’s see what we can do with it. A Change In Season That was when the thaw came. Fingers blue and black against the ice, blood can freeze if you get it cold enough, still just enough life to shiver, teeth like tic-tacs rattling in a box, the pin pricks of goosebumps, one cool breeze to lift tiny hairs, a chill along the spine, clothes in a pile on the sand legs bare to the winter sun, footsteps towards the waves. The sea takes bites out of the cliff-face each night.

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Seven

Solitude From pier-point we walked to the mountain slopes where the slate fell in slag-pile avalanches and the yellow grasses rippled against the breeze. Your battered trainers barely survived the trip, so you carried them in one hand until the kissing gate, and left them hanging by their fraying laces. With your footsteps just behind mine we scrambled for purchase, chasing thoughts like stray insects up the pitted pathways we’d walked more times than memory. One by one they dropped away, pebbles tossed and bouncing, pinging out of sight and hearing until there wasn’t any further to climb. Below there would be small slate rooftops and white wash houses with chocolate box roses around whorled glass windows, framing shuffling figures pottering from one day to the next. Winded, panting, face shining and nose pink tipped you took my cheeks between your palms and pulled it close. ‘Just be here with me,’ you asked and for those moments I was. Together in the solitude of our mountain, barefoot and tired and palms stinging from falls and sharp stone. …

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Six

Spin Me To The Stars and Back Take me out dancing, your hands into mine, spin, spin, spin me to the stars and back. Take me to dinner, your smile against mine, spin, spin, spin me to the stars and back. Take me the the river edge, your lips against mine, spin, spin, spin me to the stars and back. Take me to the end of the world, just you and I, spin, spin, spin me to the stars and back. Day Twenty-Six called for a call to arms poem. Not sure if this meets the exact prompt but since I have two more poems to write before I’m all caught up it will have to do.

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Five

Looking Back When in the chronicle of wasted time you find my name among past lovers and think about those open arms and the empty hearts, do you best to blame every ill we wrought on me and me alone. I will take all those words and keep them closer than I ever could you. I’ve been absent for a few days so I’m playing catch up with the NaPoWriMo Prompts. Day Twenty-Five challenged us to write a poem that started with a line from another poem so I’ve taken the first line of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 106 ‘When in the chronicle of wasted time’.  

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Four

Your Mother Your mother was antediluvian. Woollen skirts and flat soled shoes. She burnt the dresses deemed to short when the sun was low enough that the neighbours wouldn’t see the smoke. She spoke to you with asperity, and I noticed when sleepovers became weekends, and then weeks. Only to be punctured by cantankerous phones calls demanding locations. The first time you swore, she turned white. It wasn’t really the first time, but she’d never heard you before and the fuck stabbed her like all the little hair pins she used to hold herself together.

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Three

So today it is 400 years since Shakespeare’s death. I absolutely adore Shakespeare and have done for a long while. One of the first dates that the fiancée and I went on was to watch a live screening of Macbeth, directed by and staring Sir  Kenneth Branagh. It was utterly brilliant and the setting they used, a de-consecrated church, really added to the production. I also have the 2015 film version of Macbeath downstairs which I’ve been trying to make time to watch. I think today would probably be a good day for it. For today’s NaPoWriMo prompt, we have been challenge to write a sonnet. An apt prompt in view of the significance of the day. I have tried writing a sonnet before and it’s not a form that I find very easy. As someone who doesn’t tend to use rhyme much I feel like too much of my focus goes on getting the structure right instead of the poem. But, I have managed all of the other NaPoWriMo prompts and it is Shakespeare’s …

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Two

Earth At school I learnt how tectonic plates moved. Their sliding, shifting, wanderings always there beneath the earth’s skin. I learnt how the Amazon forest was considered the lungs of the planet, and watched presenters with sweat slicked skin meandering in small wooden boats along the forest’s main, arterial vein. I learnt that I was part of a predator, its jaws already closed around the world, teeth sunk into flesh. I learnt that I would be needed to do my part and watched as change came slowly, creeping along, stuttering and stalling, and I hoped that all those little parts, would be enough.   I’m playing catch up a little today. Yesterday’s prompt for NaPoWriMo was to write a poem in honour of Earth Day. Funny enough, Earth is also today’s daily prompt for WordPress so I don’t feel so bad about being late since I’ve been able to combine the two prompts in this poem.    

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-One

Day Twenty-One of NaPoWriMo, write a poem around a minor character from a fairy tale. I wasn’t sure what to do with this prompt but then the idea for the following poem struck and I decided to try and write that. I’ve noticed I use repetition quite a lot in my poems so I’m going to try and avoid it for the next few I think. Also! Today is National Poem In Your Pocket Day! The Witch’s Gardener The witch’s gardener was too old to remember his name. He sat by the turnips, stamped his feet against the dirt and tried to rattle the soil from the cracks in his boots. That was about all he was good for these days. When the man came over the wall, searching for rampion, he stayed where he was, hunched a little further into his collar and let his body melt into the clutter by the potting shed. Became one with the terracotta, the twine and the mulch. When the witch asked about a thief he shrugged. Blamed …