March Poetry Challenge (26th March, 2013)

A Quote in Time

Rosencrantz and Guildernstern,

They sat upon a log,
When one said to the other,
Through the morning fog,

A man breaking his journey

between one place and another

at a third place of no name, character, population or significance

sees a unicorn cross his path and disappear.

The other turned to face his friend

Not sure he’d heard him right.
He though he’d said a unicorn
That came and went from sight.

That in itself is startling

but there are precedents for mystical encounters

of various kinds or, to be less extreme,

a choice of persuasions to put it down to fancy;

Guil continued without much pause

There would be so stopping him
Now that he’d been started
Save tearing him limb from limb.

until - "My God," says a second man,

"I must be dreaming, I thought I saw a unicorn."

At which point a dimension is added

that makes the experience as alarming as it will ever be.

He’d always been one for melodrama,

From such an early age
If you wrote the story of his life
There’d be drama on every page.

A third witness, you understand,

adds no further dimension

but only spreads it thinner,

and a fourth thinner still,

And there was the other side,

One slightly more morose,
Whose wistful pessimism
Cut all too close.

and the more witnesses there are the thinner it gets

and the more reasonable it becomes

until it is as thin as reality,

the name we give to the common experience ...

Yet when it comes down to it

He is most insightful –
Never a more accurate word
Though sometimes more delightful.

"Look, look!" recites the crowd.

"A horse with an arrow in its forehead!

It must’ve been mistaken for a deer."

I'm sorry it wasn't a unicorn.

Though unicorns may not be real,

Nor Guil or his friend, Rosencrantz,
We can marvel at the wonder
And sing and jump and dance.
 
          It would have been nice to have unicorns.

March Poetry Challenge (25th March, 2013)

In the Mix

Drink til your heart’s content

Tonight the tab’s on me
We’re celebrating once again
Because I’m thirty-three.

It’s not often you turn a third of a century,

In fact, it’s only once.
If I thought it was anymore
I would surely be a dunce.

After an hour or two, or maybe three,

If you feel the ground shake
It might be you’ve had one too many
But have another Earthquake.

You might feel the wind in your hair,

A gentle breeze drifting by,
Or it’s just a Hurricane
Making you think you can fly.

If you’re hanging for Sex on the Beach

Make sure you bring a friend
And an Orgasm should be shared
Before the night comes to an end.

If you find you’ve had a Salty Dog

Come barking at your heels
Take a hair of the dog quickly
And let me know how it feels.

Four Horseman can’t carry you

Through the entire night
So down a Margarita
Before the first shard of light.

Don’t want to suffer from

Death in the Afternoon?
Maybe something lighter sounding
Before you start to swoon.

A Tokyo Tea might do the trick

Though it’s tougher that it sounds;
Don’t blame if you wake
With a head that pounds.

I have a pretty heavy friend,

Harvey Wallbanger is his name,
He’s crafty in his work
And never takes the blame.

So while you’re celebrating

Remember just one thing –
You might think you’re all that
But you really shouldn’t sing!

March Poetry Challenge (24th March, 2013)

One in a Million

A million eyes are watching

As you strut that thin red line;
Blinking at the flashes
Of a million faceless cameras

The smile is plastered on,

For the millionth time this week,
Answering the questions
You’ve heard a million times before.

Is is worth the millions

That now sit in the bank,
Knowing there are a million more
Who would gladly take your place?

March Poetry Challenge (23rd March, 2013)

Excitement

Do you see it, do you see it?

Over there, not far away.
It’s clear across the farmer’s field
But I see it clear as day.

I can feel my heartbeat quicken,

The anticipation of what comes
Fires up the imagination
And stirs every fibre of my being.

I want to run on ahead

But my parents call me back.
Do they not understand me?
How can they be so calm?

Can you hear it now?

What sound was that?
Surely it can’t be …
Surely they didn’t!

It’s a cacophony of sounds

And mind is racing through them
Loud and shrill and confronting
Before we’re even there.

The smells have reached my nostrils,

Sweet and rotten both entwined.
The popcorn and the animals
Confuse my poor little nose.

We’ve finally reached our destination

And the curtain is swept back,
Revealing the rings and ringmaster
Under the spectacular circus tent.

March Poetry Challenge (22nd March, 2013)

Embarrassing

Well, this is embarrassing …

Having nothing to write
About the topic of embarrassment
Because everything that comes to mind
Is too embarrassing
To be put on paper.

All I could think of

That would be vaguely worth writing
Is the tragically embarrassing
Story of my love life
And nobody wants to hear that
As long as they live.

March Poetry Challenge (21st March, 2013)

Weather, it be good or bad …

The sun is shining peacefully,

Burning through my skin
Killing me silently
With its intoxicating rays.

The rain falls from the sky

In drips and drops and floods
Roaring across the landscape,
Not waving but drowning.

The wind picks up a mighty speed

No longer just a breeze,
Ripping by in gusts and gales
And tearing by in hurricanes.

The ice and snow of winter

Make the world into a wonderland
Where slips and slides are commonplace
And the land begins to freeze.

March Poetry Challenge (20th March, 2013)

Addict

Addiction can be easily defined

As the continued use, and often abuse, of
A substance which can alter your mood
Or perhaps your behaviour
In such a way as to be detrimental
To your ongoing health.

They say the first step in dealing

With an addiction (or any problem, really)
Is to admit you are an addict
But it’s sometimes not as easy
As standing up and uttering the words,
“I have a problem”.

I am in the enviable position of knowing

That I have an addictive personality.
I am fully aware of how easily I fall prey
To that soul destroying affliction
And tend not to tempt fate
By staying away from addictive substances.

If there were a magic pill I could take

To rid me of my addictiveness
I would probably become addicted to that,
And so another vicious cycle
Would construct itself in my brain
And it would never end.

March Poetry Challenge (19th March, 2013)

Lucky in Love

How I wish to wish

Upon a falling star
That my knight in shining armour
Is not very far.

How I wish I’d see a penny

And pick it up for luck today
And all my dreams would come true
And Mr perfect would walk my way.

How I wish I’d find a clover

With four leaves instead of three
And my dashing prince charming
Would come dashing over to me.

How I wish that love

Was as easy to manufacture as luck
Then I would have not a care in the world
And be happy as a pig in muck.

March Poetry Challenge (18th March, 2013)

Old Favourites

I have a favourite pair of shoes

They’re dainty and they’re pink
They don’t fit me at all
And they really aren’t my style.

They belonged to a friend of mine

Who grew out of them too fast
She only wore them once or twice
Or maybe even thrice.

She’s had a million pairs since

And will have a million more,
And she’ll never love them
Quite as much as I.

This favourite pair of shoes I have,

Now half a century old,
Will always be my treasure
Just as their owner is always in my heart.

March Poetry Challenge (17th March, 2013)

The Luck of the Irish

Before Patrick was made a saint

He walker o’er the greenest isles
That e’er anyone had the fortune
To lay a softly trodden foot.

The legend it has thus begun

Of serpents banished hence,
Yet not a one was e’er found
Upon the verdant grass of Eire.

Yet to this day some souls will tell
Of the daring of this man
Who cast those slithering beasts to the waves
Ne’er to be seen again.

It continues at Aspatria

Where his lifeless staff took root
Upon being heaved unto the ground
And stood such long, long while.

Patrick’s preaching fell on deafened ears

And he stood upon that spot
So unflinching in his determination
Until such time as they heard.

By which such time his walking stick

Once a mere prop in his hand
Had reached a searching root down
Into that succulent soil.

Though remembered in our prayers today

As Saint Patrick, of the Irish folk,
His name has not been canonised
For his miracles were not true.

This day we celebrate a Christian Saint

With a day more pagan than not
More in accordance with those ancients
Once met by young Saint Pat.

Those two warriors of the Fianna

Survived across the eons
To meet the wandering cleric
Who then tried to persuade and convert.

They stood fast in their belief,

Instilled by Fionn mac Cumhaill,
Of fighting and feasting eternally
And living with the natural world.

And ‘tis the luck of the Irish

That this holy cleric, Patrick,
Has had his day become
A day of drinking and buffoonery.

March Poetry Challenge (16th March, 2013)

In Search of Happiness

In January I looked under the couch.

That’s usually where things end up
When I lose them or can’t find them
But it wasn’t anywhere under there.

In February I looked in the fridge.

Food has given me such comfort
Over the long and many years,
But comfort is not happiness.

In March I looked around the garden.

Though the flowers were pretty indeed
And the trees were stunningly magnificent
It wasn’t the feeling I was searching for.

In April I looked in the city.

With it’s high rise buildings and
Stark, modern landscape
It was nowhere to be found.

In May I looked in the country.

The rolling hills inspired me
While the fields nourished my soul
But still that happy feeling eluded me.

In June I looked to the heavens.

The sparkling stars shone down
And the moon glowed brightly
Yet it was not there at all.

In July I looked to the sky.

The suns warm rays filled me up
With good will to all mankind
Yet, not quite the happiness I sought.

In August I looked to the snow.

It’s intricate beauty mesmerising
And it’s touch so refreshing
But not that which I longed to find.

In September I looked towards the earth.

Life springing eternal in many forms
And renewing itself once more
Yet not a speck of happiness to keep.

In October I looked to the mystical.

No God nor spirit nor mythical beast
Could conjure up that feeling
Which was proving quite elusive.

In November I looked to family and friends.

Their love and companionship
Means more than anything to me
But that which I cannot find externally.

And then by chance one December day

I happened to catch a fleeting glimpse
Of something that had been with me always:
Happiness, in my constant beating heart.

March Poetry Challenge (15th March, 2013)

Room to Move

I feel so constricted here

Like the walls are closing in;
There’s precious little air here
And what there is tastes stale.

I need to stretch my wings

And fly free once more;
Free my mind of the shackles
That have held it for too long.

Give me the room to move,

To really expand my horizons;
To be confronted by the unknown
And not shy away from the fear.

March Poetry Challenge (14th March, 2013)

On Talent

Being talented is so much more

Than being good at something.
It’s being driven to succeed
By something deep inside your soul,
Having the courage of your own convictions
And the power of self belief.

With a little talent it’s easy to get by,

To float through life, not really trying
And expecting that everything will happen
Just the way it’s supposed to,
But when it doesn’t happen that way
The whole world collapses in on you.

With a lot of talent you can rule the world

But it won’t last as long as you think
Because there’s always someone
With more talent than you’ll ever have
Chasing you down and knocking you off
The pedestal you’ve built for yourself.

With a little talent and a lot of hard work

There is nothing that cannot be achieved
And no-one can tear you down
No matter how hard they try
Because talent is shallow and fleeting
But dedication breeds resilience.

March Poetry Challenge (13th March, 2013)

A Picture of You

I look at your picture sometimes

But not all the time.
It lives in a draw by my bed
And I take it out every now and then.

It shows the twinkle in your eye

Your beautiful blue eyes
That I always thought
Looked just like your sisters.

Your hair was darker than hers, though,

Much more like your fathers,
Well, before it started to turn grey,
And well before it began to fall out.

Sometimes, I open the draw,

Only peering in before I close it.
In those moments the pain is too raw
And I want to scream and cry.

Other times, I take it out,

Hold it close to my heart.
And remember the happy times
That I never wanted to end.

Your laugh made me laugh,

Your smile made me smile,
And the conversations we had
That no-one else would understand.

I’m holding your picture now

On what would have been your day –
The day you came into our lives
And filled it with the joy of a lifetime.

And though I may shed a tear,

Not the first nor the last,
You will forever be in my heart

And always be my baby girl.

March Poetry Challenge (12th March, 2013)

Beyond Tomorrow

I might wish on random days

To know what will come,
Not tomorrow but further,
On days more distant.
I could be happy in the knowledge
That my prince charming
Is out there somewhere
Just waiting to be found;
I could tremble at the thought
Of that fateful, yet inevitable, day
When I cease to draw the breath of life
And, instead, expire;
But what good is that awareness
When every action by myself
Or some friend, relative
Or random person never met
Can change the entire construct
Of my very existence
Making the understanding gained
Null and void and useless.

March Poetry Challenge (11th March, 2013)

Licence to Write

I remember that first day,
Feeling somehow more grown up,
That in the space of a day
I had aged exponentially.

I was putting away childish things,

Having to live with the mistakes I made,
Indelible and forever mine,
Scrawled by still small hands.

This was the day I was trusted

To hold my future in my hands,
To make my mark permanently
On a world that saw me as a child.

No longer at the mercy of broken pencils

And no longer forced to erase my errors;
I was now the proud and grown up owner
Of the most wonderful gift I had received.

In my hot little hand I held,

Ready to write the speaches and songs
That would move the world to tears,
The first of many pens I would own.

Whether the cheap and nasty variety

Or the expensive and carefully crafted,
Each would bear the expression
Of a mind finely tuned by experience.

Though the ink may occassionally run dry,

The imagination never would.
The scripts of a thousand days
Would ebb and flow in my viens;

Still, the writing would continue to flow,

Though I again would graduate
To a medium sometimes shallow and cold,
And I would never forget that old feeling …

Or that old friend of mine.

March Poetry Challenge (10th March, 2013)

My smile

I can’t describe the feeling,

The overwhelming feeling,
The miraculous, wonderful feeling,
Of knowing that you’re there.

I get this warm glow inside

That fills my very being
From the tip of my pointed toes
No the top of my head held high.

But the only way you’ll recognise

When I am in this sort of mood
Is to look at my beaming face
For the smile ten miles wide.

March Poetry Challenge (9th March, 2013)

Family

My family is not like yours.

I don’t have the two parent household.
I don’t have any siblings.
I’m not married, yet I have a child.

I have cousins old enough to be my parents,

The ones who live closest to me, in fact.
The ones who are my age
Live half a world away.

My son calls my friends aunty and uncle.

He’s never known his father.
He may have cousins, brothers, sisters
That he’ll never even meet.

My father lives with his ex,

In a granny flat above her house,
Where she lives with her husband
And the children that they had.
 

My mum has never remarried,

The thought never crossed her mind.
We live, mostly happily,
Under the same roof as always.

One day my family may include

A man who wants to stay
And build a life together
But I won’t hold my breath.

Family is what you make it,

Even if they aren’t bonded by blood.
The connection isn’t always physical,
But those who stuck the course.

March Poetry Challenge (8th March, 2013)

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Curlers, straighteners, crimpers, pins

Darken, lighten, highlight, whims
What we’re born with, what we have,
What we die with, matters not.

Wear it up or wear it down,

Tight braids or loose curls,
To fringe or not to fringe
Or to half a fringe instead.

Cut it short or let it grow,

Undercut, layers, or perhaps Mohawk,
Plain and unadorned
Or bright and interestingly styled.

Whatever your fashion, or lack thereof,

Whatever takes your fancy,
Be proud of your luscious locks
Or your smooth and shiny head.

March Poetry Challenge (7th March, 2013)

On Gloriousness

There is nothing so glorious

As that first whiff of aroma;
Before the oven door fully opens
Before eyes have seen its delight.

It fills the mind with delicious thoughts

And melts the other senses to nothing,
Leaving only the insatiable craving
For that which must be devoured.