Past The Aftermath

When I yanked, twisted,

you came loose.

Fallen, you held up your arms

and wined like a child

looking for their mother.

I remember staring at you,

head titled and cheeks still damp.

I remember looking at you

and wondering

where I’d found beauty.

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Happy Monday readers! Tell me, could you write a piece in just 44 words? Why not give it a go with the rest of the lovelies at dVerse Poets Pub. Today’s theme is twist, so let’s twist and shake off any residual Monday blues.

I’ve decided that this week is going to be super productive. I’ve done some studying tonight, I’ve worked on some poetry and I’ve still got a couple of hours before bed. That means I’ve hopefully got time to read some of the other Quadrilles over at dVerse, work on a poem for my work’s newsletter and get something down for NaPoWriMo Day Eighteen’s prompt ‘sounds from your childhood’.

We’re off to a good start to the week.

At The Platform

The trains stopped coming

twenty years ago.

But still you wait,

hands deep into your pockets

watching the minutes

on a clock stuck

at ten past eight in the morning

from a year only you remember.

I have taken to waiting with you.

Who knows,

perhaps I am the fool.

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A quick poem for this weeks Poetics Night at the Poets Pub. Thank you to Bjorn for the prompt.

I feel like my poems are becoming a bit samey at the moment so I might give this prompt another go in a bit. See if I can write something a little less mournful.

The Women I Come From

1.

The women I come from

learnt how to thicken their skin.

How to tan it, and beat it,

until inch by inch

it covers all those soft spots

we might have thought to share.

 

2.

The women I come from

never learnt how to bow their backs

so far that vertebrae fossilise

into constant arches

that creak beneath the weight

of someone else’s moral compass.

3.

The women I come from

learnt how to carry their secrets close.

How to tuck away their thoughts

into deeper shadows

until the faces we painted on

become the only ones we knew how to wear.

4.

The women I come from

have hearts cocooned in armour.

They are riddles without answers

twisted into people.

They are worriers, and they are lovers

and they are more fragile then they act

when they take all of what they are

and entrust it, to someone else.

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I was a bit at loss for which poem I was going to chose to write a response to for tonight DVerse Poetics. In the end I chose ‘Dragons’ by Sarah Kay, one of my favourite poets, and a poem that I find a lot of myself in when I read it.

My favourite bit of her poem is:

Me – I was not born with enough fuel. My anger often melts into sadness, it will just disintegrate into shame or fear, my clenched teeth release into chatter.

I come from a family that very much takes the ‘Keep Calm And Carry On’ approach to life. In some ways it’s a fairly good ethos as it has encouraged me to stay calm in stressful situations and I don’t collapse into hysterics in the face of an emergency. Emotions get bottled up until the practical side of things is out of the way. I get it from my mother, who gets it from her mother. Out of the three of us I’m possibly the most outwardly emotional person and some of that perhaps comes from my love of writing since you have to make use of emotion when writing.

I had a couple of busy days so I’m now going to try and get through a few of the other DVerse Poets’ entries. I haven’t had chance to read through many of the poems from yesterday’s DVerse Event either so I’ll try and get through as many as I can tonight and tomorrow.

As always I love to hear what you’re thinking so feel free to leave a comment if you want. Other than that, happy writing and goodnight.

Winter Haibun

In the morning I woke to find you watching from the window, dressing gown pulled tight as the snow came in drift and flurries against the glass. Next-door’s cat had already asserted itself across the garden. One thin set of paws from corner to corner, from rose bush to compost bin, long and straight.

I lie there, still softened by sleep and content to see the tracks fill with snow through the calmness in your eyes. We’ll stay like this, in silence. Until the sun has risen high enough for the snow to melt and the birds to brave to skies and next doors cat returns from hunting with mice or vole. Until it rouses you from the window and brings you back to bed, where I will lie waiting for you.

 

Wonderland winters

stay only in the present.

They end too quickly.

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This prompt from dVerse Poets has been rolling around in my head all week and more specifically I’ve been trying to work out how to write something less dark than my first attempt ‘Flower’.

This is what I ended up with. I’m really not sure what I think about the ending but after fiddling around for a bit I’m tempted to just leave it as it is.