Keeping Busy – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

The bins have been emptied,
their silver bellies lined
and sprayed to quell the stink
from last week’s puddling condensation
tack dried at the base.
In the background the washing thumps,
thuds, thunks,
throws itself around drum wet
and clinging,
till the spin cycle sticks it tight
to the very edge of a whining whirl.
Clementine clouds each counter,
cloth swept of crumbs
so they shine when the clouds part,
sun splitting through the grey
and spilling onto the tiles,
knuckled into a gleam on hands and knees,
so your face stares back up at me
tight lipped and furious,
about to speak till the sponge cuts you off.
I can soap over those features
but eventually it all dries out
and there you are watermarked
sprawled across this floor,
elbows and knees against the tiles,
and the dishwasher bleeping
that it is time.

Tonight’s DVerse Challenge is to focus on adding a ‘turn’ or a ‘window’ into our poem. I’ll admit my focus has drifted slightly at the end of this, as something keeps beeping down in the kitchen and investigation is probably in order.

All To Market #DVersePoets #TuesdayPoetics

When the backboard drops they spill like water over a fall,

woolly bodies frothing from the flight decks,

feet upon each others’ backs.


There is a boy behind the hurdles,

already knee bent in anticipation,

fingers spread for the catch.


Outside, a woman is selling cauliflower.

Holds the head of it like a newborn

between the palms of her hands.


A farmer rattles pounds in his fist,

counts his luck,

passed it on to the winning bid.


In a corridor there is a circle

of bowed heads and five pence jumps,

till the circumference is a singular.


A lone man is loading up,

clicks the gates on what he brought,

tries not to fumble the catch.


Someone whispers at an absence,

shakes a head at suspicion,

does a math of miles inside their head.


They wait to hear the hammer fall.






NaPoWriMo – Day Sixteen: Checkmate


We were handed the chessboard

without any instructions.

Did not know Queen from Rook,

or Bishop from Knight.

We clustered our pieces

on opposing corners,

unaware that the aim

was to take the other one out,

to claim their colours as our own,

capture the King.

take a crown from the body

only to reset the pieces

and begin again.

Instead we skimmed each other,

slipped between the checkered tiles

to the grey land beyond.

I remember the first time you touched me,

how the world shuddered as I fell.

I learnt the meaning of captured,

what it was to be conquered

and still I came back

to loose myself each time we played

because defeat

was so much better

than anything else I could find.


“write a poem that prominently features the idea of play”

NaPoWriMo – Day Five: Ghost

I felt you climb inside me.

Your fingers slid between the cracks,

drove them wider,

and you crawled into the darkness,

to paw through all the clutter

I’d hidden away in the shadows of myself.

Now I carry you around like loose change,

always rattling through my skull

off beat and missing the tempo,

so the ripples turn to rapids

and I have nowhere to turn but you

and all the other phantoms

in my head, taking up room.

So I smile,

cheeks cracking like sugar work,

sweetness with no substance.

These are the only walls

I know how to build.

Playing catch up today. Got home from work yesterday and didn’t feel like writing so I’m using my lunch break to make up for it. Not using the prompt for the 5th either I’m afraid. Might give it a go at the weekend when there’s more time.


He kept his apologies in shoe boxes

at the bottom of the wardrobe,

where they stayed gathering dust

until he’d pick a pair

to wear out.

Then he’d wear them until holes

were worn through the soles

and the fabric of them

became crepe paper packing

on unwanted gifts.

They never matched his outfit,

or suited the occasion,

you could pick them out a mile off

three shades too bright

and a little too polished.

I could never take him seriously

when he came to my door

wearing his best apologies

and tried to explain to me

how really,

it was me who was wrong.

Written For The Daily Prompt: Apology