I will go back to Day 27. I have an idea for it, but it's not done yet.
A shadorma, apparently, is a poem with this syllable pattern: 3/5/3/3/7/5. Basically a bit random, then. I figured I could probably do that with a word per line, so I did.
Poetic
Communication
Cultivates
Creative,
Individualistic
Interpretation.
Monday, 29 April 2013
Sunday, 28 April 2013
Days 22, 23 and 25 - Complex, Love/Anti-Love and "Everyone (blank)"
A complex poem, a love/anti-love poem and an "everyone (blank)" poem.
London Complex
The funny thing
About complexes
Is that they never
Actually are:
All matching buildings,
Open-plan, bright and
Shiny; more windows
Than walls; laid out in
Grids for easier
Navigation. Though
The things that they house
May be different,
It's often hard to
Tell which one is which.
The Antidote
"An antidote," he said, "to man's greatest
Problem. Finally an end to all
Irrationality, to misery,
Loneliness and misplaced loyalty.
Gone are the days of unpredictable
Behaviour. This..." he tapped the bottle, "is the
Beginning of perfection." "What is it?"
I asked, curious. He grinned. "Anti-love."
Aftershock
"Everyone out!"
A gunshot, a shout
Some feeling, a touch...
I don't remember much.
She slides away into that dreamy deep sleep,
Away from the nightmares that constantly creep
Into each waking moment. She must let go.
What happened? Who is she? She no longer knows.
London Complex
The funny thing
About complexes
Is that they never
Actually are:
All matching buildings,
Open-plan, bright and
Shiny; more windows
Than walls; laid out in
Grids for easier
Navigation. Though
The things that they house
May be different,
It's often hard to
Tell which one is which.
The Antidote
"An antidote," he said, "to man's greatest
Problem. Finally an end to all
Irrationality, to misery,
Loneliness and misplaced loyalty.
Gone are the days of unpredictable
Behaviour. This..." he tapped the bottle, "is the
Beginning of perfection." "What is it?"
I asked, curious. He grinned. "Anti-love."
Aftershock
"Everyone out!"
A gunshot, a shout
Some feeling, a touch...
I don't remember much.
She slides away into that dreamy deep sleep,
Away from the nightmares that constantly creep
Into each waking moment. She must let go.
What happened? Who is she? She no longer knows.
Friday, 26 April 2013
Days 24 and 26 - Auto and Cast
All out of order now. More to follow.
Autobiography
Autobiography
Swiftly, deftly, automatically, I
Dissect myself. Almost inhuman,
I open up wounds, removing, replacing,
Methodically processing pieces of me;
Observing objectively, gleaning data
And gaining ideas; reordering,
Re-arranging for cause and effect,
Hunting for stories: a narrative
Self-evaluation. My autopsy.
Cast
It's the world that you're lost in
The spell that you're under
The part you've been playing
Your big acting role.
It's the votes that elect you
Aspersions against you
The eyes that are on you
The dice that you roll.
It's the maths that predict you
The stitches that fix you
The plans that devise you
The plotting before.
It's the hounds that will hunt you
The hawks that will watch you
The line you've been hooked by
The lots that you draw.
It's the mould that will shape you
The plaster that binds you
The climate that bends you
The space you fit in.
It's the port you sail out from
The doubts you let go of
The clothes you change out of
Thrown off like a skin.
Cast it all off: a new chance to begin
Sunday, 21 April 2013
Days 19, 20 and 21 - Burn, Beyond and a Senryu
So I've been asked to write ten pages of script for Friday following a play proposal I submitted to Chester Performs, and a workshop I attended with them yesterday. Add to that there's my Disney interview on Thursday, and upcoming deadlines for a few other competitions. These may well be feeble excuses for my lateness and my attempt to squish three very short poems into one post, but there you have it.
Burn
If ever I get lost in little things
That start to seem much bigger than they are,
I look up at the night sky through my window
And think about our orbit round a star.
Whatever in this world could be worth worry
When in such a tiny way our lives thus turn?
Our fears seem nought but specks of cosmic dust
In a universe where so many stars burn.
Words
Sometimes it's just a little too easy
To get wrapped up in one's own little world
And forget that there's anything else beyond
These scribbled notes: these big little words
Senryu
When writing one thing
Became overwhelming I
Turned to another
Burn
If ever I get lost in little things
That start to seem much bigger than they are,
I look up at the night sky through my window
And think about our orbit round a star.
Whatever in this world could be worth worry
When in such a tiny way our lives thus turn?
Our fears seem nought but specks of cosmic dust
In a universe where so many stars burn.
Words
Sometimes it's just a little too easy
To get wrapped up in one's own little world
And forget that there's anything else beyond
These scribbled notes: these big little words
Senryu
When writing one thing
Became overwhelming I
Turned to another
Friday, 19 April 2013
Day 18 - An "I am" poem
Dear
Sir/Madam, Dear Hopeful Applicant,
I
am writing to tell you that I am: We regret to inform you that you are:
Creative Tentative
Administrative Unrepresentative
A
decision-maker An instruction-taker
And
an instruction-taker Not a rule-breaker
Ambitious Injudicious
Expeditious A bit suspicious
Artistic Unrealistic
And
yet realistic Over-optimistic
Well-suited Unsuited
Reputed Refuted
Reliable Unjustifiable
Pliable Not really viable
Dependable Expendable
Commendable And unrecommendable
A
collaborator A second-rater
A
communicator An exaggerator
Energetic Pathetic
Sympathetic And too apologetic
A
fast learner Easily spurned
A
low earner Of no concern
Very
eager A beleaguerer
Very
keen Young and green
A
storyteller A poor seller
An
exceller A cloud-dweller
Yours
faithfully, Yours sincerely,
A
Hopeful Applicant The Uninterested Management
Day 17 - An Express Poem
Delayed again I know. Yesterday's and today's also to follow shortly.
I also discovered yesterday that I did Day 10, Day 15 and Day 16 wrong because I looked at the November list instead of the April one. That may have been because I checked the prompts earlier in the day before the new ones had been posted. Still.
This is an express poem, made up of (some slightly edited) headlines from the last few issues of the Daily Express.
Wastepaper
I also discovered yesterday that I did Day 10, Day 15 and Day 16 wrong because I looked at the November list instead of the April one. That may have been because I checked the prompts earlier in the day before the new ones had been posted. Still.
This is an express poem, made up of (some slightly edited) headlines from the last few issues of the Daily Express.
Wastepaper
Why Carol Vorderman is smiling again
BACK PAIN CURED BY A SINGLE INJECTION
GEL TO WIPE OUT ARTHRITIC PAIN
ROLLING IN THE CASH: ADELE AND ONE
DIRECTION
FISH IS KEY TO A LONGER LIFE
INTRIGUING DOUBLE LIFE OF STUNNING
BARRISTER
PROOF THAT STATINS CAN SAVE YOUR LIFE
HAS CYPRUS CRISIS PUT YOUR SAVINGS IN
DANGER
FAREWELL IRON LADY: SPECIAL
COMMEMORATIVE EDITION
Breakthrough treatment to bring relief
for millions
Five easy steps can beat the killer
condition
CHEERS! LOOK FORWARD TO A BUDGET BOOST
FOR MILLIONS
£16M PAYOUTS TO GAS BOSSES AS WE
FREEZE
Cheaper beer and fuel, income tax cut
and free loans
Experts find key to beating major
disease
STRICTLY CRAIG: DANCING IS GOOD FOR
YOUR BONES
Migrant backlog will take 24 years to
clear
36 HOURS OF SNOW CHAOS ON THE WAY
Water firms say cut back despite our
wettest year
“We will have said farewell to a
giant here today”
TWO MEN FOUND GUILTY OF JOSS STONE
MURDER PLOT
MAD MAD WEATHER: 21°C
ON SUNDAY
LIFE IN JAIL FOR CHILD KILLER MICK
PHILPOTT
Massive security operation along
funeral route today
Worst offenders lose payouts for up to
three years
GARDENING'S BRILLIANT NEW STAR: AGED
104
Values rise by £45,000 in next five
years
AVERAGE HOUSE PRICES LOOKING SET TO
SOAR
SURPRISES ON MAGGIE'S FUNERAL GUEST
LIST
Philpotts guilty of child blaze deaths
ADELE AND ONE DIRECTION TOP POP RICH
LIST
Eat it twice a week to cut risk of
early death
FREE DVD: MAGGIE THATCHER'S LIFE STORY
5 MILLION COULD GET A PENSION WINDFALL
COLDEST EASTER EVER -15°C
JOCKEY
WINS GRAND NATIONAL IN HORRIFYING FALL
MASSACRE
AT THE BOSTON MARATHON
TODAY'S TV RACE CARDS ALL IN FULL
COLOUR
“We lost a great leader and a great
Briton”
KATE McCANN: WHY I COULD FORGIVE
MADDIE'S ABDUCTOR
7 EASY STEPS TO A LONGER LIFE
48 HOUR DIET 48 HOUR DIET
FIVE-POINT PLAN FOR A HAPPIER LIFE
“A very British occasion. The lady
would have liked that”
Fury at Britain's soaring foreign aid
bill
-12°C
Summer Time starts with our coldest Easter
EVIL
PARENTS' 6 LITTLE ANGELS KILLED
Why can't we just get rid of this evil
hate preacher?
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Day 16 - A Mixed-up Poem
The End
Once upon a girl
There was a time
That wrote a poem,
Or did the poem
Write the time?
Well, any line,
After a way,
There was a while
About a girl -
Or was the girl
About a while?
And then a girl
Came an other
About a long
By the poem.
I mean, the poem
Was along.
And in herself
She found the poem
Where she the end
In her was written -
I mean was written
In the end,
That was writing
Well as her.
Once upon a girl
There was a time
That wrote a poem,
Or did the poem
Write the time?
Well, any line,
After a way,
There was a while
About a girl -
Or was the girl
About a while?
And then a girl
Came an other
About a long
By the poem.
I mean, the poem
Was along.
And in herself
She found the poem
Where she the end
In her was written -
I mean was written
In the end,
That was writing
Well as her.
Monday, 15 April 2013
Day 15 - A Poem Using the Words "Slash", "Button", "Mask", "Strap" and "Balloon"
Because I like to make life easy for myself (ha!), I decided to add one more at random ("silver") and make this a sestina (only notoriously one of the hardest kinds of poem to write), like you do.
This is definitely one of the weirdest things I've ever written - I just kind of let it go where it wanted and wrote it all in one go. You have been warned.
At The Fair
At the fair was a man with a smile like a slash
And an old, grey coat that was missing its buttons
Who stopped me to ask what I thought of his mask
And he tugged at his hair as though pulling a strap.
As he pulled, his cheeks puffed up like big red balloons
And he grinned a broad grin, showing teeth made of silver.
He said I could take it for any spare silver
And pretended to peel off his mouth like a slash.
He let out a sound like deflating balloons
And he tugged at his cheeks as though undoing buttons.
As I watched him I noticed what looked like a strap
Swinging down from his face which came off like a mask.
He told me that this was a magical mask
That was worth so much more than just plain gold or silver
But because he was hungry and constantly strapped
He'd give it to me for a price that he'd slashed:
Just enough to buy lunch and to get new coat buttons
And he warned me to not take the mask near balloons.
"But why should I keep it away from balloons?"
I asked in confusion, looking down at the mask.
The old man looked awkward and rubbed at the buttons
Which shone in the sunlight like pieces of silver.
"Just don't," he replied. And with one arm he slashed
At the air and towards me he pushed the mask's strap.
Nervously I took a hold of the strap,
Looking round at the fair which was full of balloons.
I turned back to the man with the mouth like a slash
But he'd vanished and left me alone with his mask
Without taking payment in food, gold or silver
And there on the ground was his coat without buttons.
I walked on round the fair where a boy bright as buttons
Was selling balloons tied on to a wrist-strap.
I watched as he took coins of copper and silver
From young boys and girls buying coloured balloons
And before I could stop it, I saw that the mask
Had dropped from my hands and its mouth like a slash
Had opened up wide and engulfed a balloon,
Around which it seemed to have tied its own strap,
And it flew away laughing with its grin like a slash.
This is definitely one of the weirdest things I've ever written - I just kind of let it go where it wanted and wrote it all in one go. You have been warned.
At The Fair
At the fair was a man with a smile like a slash
And an old, grey coat that was missing its buttons
Who stopped me to ask what I thought of his mask
And he tugged at his hair as though pulling a strap.
As he pulled, his cheeks puffed up like big red balloons
And he grinned a broad grin, showing teeth made of silver.
He said I could take it for any spare silver
And pretended to peel off his mouth like a slash.
He let out a sound like deflating balloons
And he tugged at his cheeks as though undoing buttons.
As I watched him I noticed what looked like a strap
Swinging down from his face which came off like a mask.
He told me that this was a magical mask
That was worth so much more than just plain gold or silver
But because he was hungry and constantly strapped
He'd give it to me for a price that he'd slashed:
Just enough to buy lunch and to get new coat buttons
And he warned me to not take the mask near balloons.
"But why should I keep it away from balloons?"
I asked in confusion, looking down at the mask.
The old man looked awkward and rubbed at the buttons
Which shone in the sunlight like pieces of silver.
"Just don't," he replied. And with one arm he slashed
At the air and towards me he pushed the mask's strap.
Nervously I took a hold of the strap,
Looking round at the fair which was full of balloons.
I turned back to the man with the mouth like a slash
But he'd vanished and left me alone with his mask
Without taking payment in food, gold or silver
And there on the ground was his coat without buttons.
I walked on round the fair where a boy bright as buttons
Was selling balloons tied on to a wrist-strap.
I watched as he took coins of copper and silver
From young boys and girls buying coloured balloons
And before I could stop it, I saw that the mask
Had dropped from my hands and its mouth like a slash
Had opened up wide and engulfed a balloon,
Around which it seemed to have tied its own strap,
And it flew away laughing with its grin like a slash.
Sunday, 14 April 2013
Day 14 - A Sonnet
I only just realised that last night's attempt at a sonnet had 10 lines instead of 14. So here's another one.
On a Monday in November
So should I rise before the Sun doth so?
Go out without my comfort and my light?
No, it is absurd! I shall not go
And leave thee here, wrenched cruelly from my sight.
Once more I in dismal cold and rain
And unbroken darkness pass the week
Until I come home to your arms again
When to the grey world your bright rays shall leak.
Why race the days of which we've greatest need
While five more sluggards lazily crawl past?
Perhaps our renewed energy grants speed
To those we wish to hinder and make last;
Or else, like me, unwillingly they leave
And in your weekly absence weakly grieve.
On a Monday in November
So should I rise before the Sun doth so?
Go out without my comfort and my light?
No, it is absurd! I shall not go
And leave thee here, wrenched cruelly from my sight.
Once more I in dismal cold and rain
And unbroken darkness pass the week
Until I come home to your arms again
When to the grey world your bright rays shall leak.
Why race the days of which we've greatest need
While five more sluggards lazily crawl past?
Perhaps our renewed energy grants speed
To those we wish to hinder and make last;
Or else, like me, unwillingly they leave
And in your weekly absence weakly grieve.
Saturday, 13 April 2013
Day 12 and Day 13 - A "Broke" Poem and a "Compare" Poem
Ok, so I'm aware that it's officially now 6 minutes into day 14. But, tbf, both of these were actually written on their correct days (the latter finished off about two minutes ago), I've just only had time to type up and post now since I wasn't at a computer all day today or yesterday - I asked somebody else to check the prompts for me.
I wrote two for Day 12 because both are rubbish. Day 13 currently seems marginally less embarrassing because I basically stole the idea, but I'm not sure I can tell any more because I'm too tired.
Day 12
Broken
He was in no fit state to drive back home.
I said so, but he wasn't listening -
Drinking since /
fast.
He was a wreck, moping around, hiding,
Refusing to speak to anybody,
All since the /
up.
As soon as I saw him I thought he was
Verging on /
down.
After he left, he phoned me from the car
But I couldn't hear - terrible signal.
The call just /
up.
It was over in seconds. The smash and
The harsh squeal of /
s.
Getting Even
"Break even," they said. "That's enough. You'll manage."
And look where that led. Broke and broker.
One day, I just snapped. I was desperate.
Ready money, left out like so much junk.
Knew it was stupid, but took a last stab.
Day 13
Spring Sonnet
Shall I compare thee to an April afternoon?
Thou art more cloudy and more changeable:
Fair weather foolery darkening soon
As summer's heralds burst in sounds of Babel,
The victory note turned battle cry in brass -
Thus coming warmth seems promised us no more.
But when the warlike raindrops beat the glass
And chilly air seeps in round draughty doors,
I have only to lean in close and say
That this will pass and summer have it's day.
I wrote two for Day 12 because both are rubbish. Day 13 currently seems marginally less embarrassing because I basically stole the idea, but I'm not sure I can tell any more because I'm too tired.
Day 12
Broken
He was in no fit state to drive back home.
I said so, but he wasn't listening -
Drinking since /
fast.
He was a wreck, moping around, hiding,
Refusing to speak to anybody,
All since the /
up.
As soon as I saw him I thought he was
Verging on /
down.
After he left, he phoned me from the car
But I couldn't hear - terrible signal.
The call just /
up.
It was over in seconds. The smash and
The harsh squeal of /
s.
Getting Even
"Break even," they said. "That's enough. You'll manage."
And look where that led. Broke and broker.
One day, I just snapped. I was desperate.
Ready money, left out like so much junk.
Knew it was stupid, but took a last stab.
Day 13
Spring Sonnet
Shall I compare thee to an April afternoon?
Thou art more cloudy and more changeable:
Fair weather foolery darkening soon
As summer's heralds burst in sounds of Babel,
The victory note turned battle cry in brass -
Thus coming warmth seems promised us no more.
But when the warlike raindrops beat the glass
And chilly air seeps in round draughty doors,
I have only to lean in close and say
That this will pass and summer have it's day.
Thursday, 11 April 2013
Day 11 - In Case Of...
I swear I'm getting worse at this. :|
Action Plan In Case of an Ending
1) Remain calm. Panicking
diminishes judgement and
makes it harder to get out.
2) Do not stop to collect
belongings. Make arrangements
for the later return of
anything salvageable.
3) Do not take risks. In these
situations outcomes are
always unpredictable.
4) Find the nearest exit.
Leave as soon as possible.
5) Close all doors behind you.
Allow yourself a clean break.
6) Do not call. This only
Drags things out and creates more
Opportunites to
Say things that you will regret.
7) Keep well clear. Make no
attempt to re-enter the
relationship. It's over.
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
Day 10 - A Foreign Word Poem
I'm too tired to think of anything clever today so this is all I've got.
Un poème
Ceci n'est pas un poème.
Un poème
Ceci n'est pas un poème.
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
Day 9 - Hunter and Hunted
It's a two for Tuesday double prompt today: hunter and hunted. I'll admit that my hunted element isn't that obvious, but I hope it's sort of implied.
Pride
She shifts the earth beneath her feet,
Stiffens, stills and holds her breath,
Absorbs the sounds of hearts that beat
And in her throat she tastes their death.
She crouches low and presses tight,
Contracting like a coiled spring.
Then bursting free - a bolt of light
And through the air her body sings.
Her hair is sunshine, earth and fire,
Rich gold against an azure sky.
Beneath her paws the prey expires
Who would be king when queens reign high?
Returning to present her prize,
What glories will her trophies win?
An empty stomach's vacant eyes -
A glance from proud, majestic Him.
And now the catch, with haughty air,
He seizes without questioning.
She is the last to take her share.
Who would be queen to such a king?
Monday, 8 April 2013
Day 8 - An Instructional Poem
This month (that is April) is National Poetry Writing Month. This I have known since the end of March.
What I didn't know until late last night is that this is a thing which is happening:
http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2013-april-pad-challenge-day-8
Although I've come to the challenge a week late, I plan to do my utmost to see it through from now until the end of the month. I will also try to go back to last week's prompts at some point, whether that be during the month or at the end of it. How's that for a resolution?
I can't promise that any of them will be any good, of course. They're probably a pile of rubbish. But I'm doing ONE A DAY guys, ok? Bear with me.
So, without further ado, here is my poem on today's theme - "instructional poetry".
Please
Please do not obstruct the path.
Please don't sit on the ground.
The public fountains are not baths.
Keep quiet - no loud sounds.
Please do not walk on the grass
And do not talk to strangers.
Be polite and don't be crass
Or put yourself in danger.
Please do not play in the dirt
Or muddy up the floors.
Don't climb on that, you might get hurt!
Those aren't for use indoors.
Please do not lean on the door -
The hinges cannot take it.
Please do not bounce on the bed
Unless you want to break it.
Please don't skateboard or play ball -
You might upset the neighbours.
Please come back home when you are called
And don't ask for big favours.
You cannot go out dressed like that.
What's that that's on your face?
And must you wear that awful hat?
Slow down - it's not a race!
Please be civil, please behave,
Please do not sulk and strop.
Don't waste that money, try to save -
You do not need to shop.
Please do not obstruct the path.
Don't storm off in a huff!
Oh mother, please, let's just go back:
I have had quite enough!
What I didn't know until late last night is that this is a thing which is happening:
http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2013-april-pad-challenge-day-8
Although I've come to the challenge a week late, I plan to do my utmost to see it through from now until the end of the month. I will also try to go back to last week's prompts at some point, whether that be during the month or at the end of it. How's that for a resolution?
I can't promise that any of them will be any good, of course. They're probably a pile of rubbish. But I'm doing ONE A DAY guys, ok? Bear with me.
So, without further ado, here is my poem on today's theme - "instructional poetry".
Please
Please do not obstruct the path.
Please don't sit on the ground.
The public fountains are not baths.
Keep quiet - no loud sounds.
Please do not walk on the grass
And do not talk to strangers.
Be polite and don't be crass
Or put yourself in danger.
Please do not play in the dirt
Or muddy up the floors.
Don't climb on that, you might get hurt!
Those aren't for use indoors.
Please do not lean on the door -
The hinges cannot take it.
Please do not bounce on the bed
Unless you want to break it.
Please don't skateboard or play ball -
You might upset the neighbours.
Please come back home when you are called
And don't ask for big favours.
You cannot go out dressed like that.
What's that that's on your face?
And must you wear that awful hat?
Slow down - it's not a race!
Please be civil, please behave,
Please do not sulk and strop.
Don't waste that money, try to save -
You do not need to shop.
Please do not obstruct the path.
Don't storm off in a huff!
Oh mother, please, let's just go back:
I have had quite enough!
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