Only four days until napowrimo. The blog-chatter is building and there are 54 threads so far in the PFFA napowrimo forum. A particular shout-out goes to Reen at st*rnosed mole who came up with the idea three years ago.
Posts tagged with ‘napowrimo 2005’
Thankfully, without Alan Hansen telling me my linebreaks are diabolical. Overall, I’m pretty pleased. I copped out and wrote chaff – limericks, haiku, doggerel, whatever – more than I wanted (six or seven times, in fact). But there were several things I produced which I actually liked. The bathyscaphe sonnet and the Essex poem probably […]
Inspiration In the garden playing Mario vs. Donkey Kong I became aware the bee-hum was louder, harder, more urgent I could feel it in my teeth and I looked up to see the sky was thick with noise and swirling, but before I got into the house the swarm passed.
‘quelea’ At the Malawi/Tanzania border I stepped out of the bus and saw dark wisps moving across the sky. They were birds, sparrow-sized, and each wisp was hundreds or thousands. As each wisp left, another appeared, and another and another and another. While we were there, I thought perhaps 500 000 birds flew over us, […]
| dawnlight shines on the webwet | a fur of globes – pricked with shimmer — cold to the sole – as the shade slips back to itself | throaty effervescence of blackbird – orange and black — agape | darkness marks the walked on | a contrail ghosts the thinblue – spreads to air […]
Passing traffic lifts a blizzard of cherry petals.
Poetry in Motion but poetry is too slow to catch the moment when a striker sprints onto a pass, looks one way to fake the goalie and slides the ball into the other corner of the net; or when a batsman sees the bouncer coming, leans back, and lifts his hands to crack the ball […]
I didn’t write a poem today – I cooked instead and it was better.
‘bathyscaphe’ (provisional title) Slowly, a bathyscaphe begins to sink into a world where everything is blue, a gradual darkening from thrush egg through cornflower, sapphire, gentian and squid ink; and there in the blackness, indistinct and fleeting, blobs of light come into view, drifting across their sight as though the crew had looked into a […]
‘Trafalgar’ Tourists always, smiling stiffly, their backs to Nelson – 200 years this year, of course; the barge with a lead-lined coffin up the Thames, the mourners in top coats – and 60 since VE Day; grainy black-and-white people, uniforms and lipstick, frozen mid-kiss, dancing, climbing on the lions – the England fans, after the […]
‘Bibliomancy’ And I will bring upon that land all my words which I have pronounced against it, even that which is written in this book, which Jeremiah hath prophesied against all nations. The sons of Benjamin; Bela, and Becher, and Jediael, three. Therefore say thou unto them, Thus saith the LORD of hosts; Turn ye […]
yet another without a title. Ho hum. — Londoners, voting for a county flower, picked: the bluebell. What crap. Let the bumpkin counties have the nightingale, the bluebell and the mincing faun. We should celebrate ragwort, sodium yellow and full of hybrid vigour; or rosebay willowherb, with its taste for ash, which grew in clouds […]
‘no title’ A garden spotlight shines into the night; insects fly through it as bright spirals. A woman watches through a motel window streaked with sand. She pulls down the blind, and turns.
‘double dactyl’ Paterson-Caterson, William Williams liked to use ‘Carlos’ as part of his name, slaved at his epic but minimalisticallyplums and a wheelbarrow won him his fame.
‘reflections’ The world is surfaces reflecting one another – a row of whisky bottles held in a tangle of light. A girl looks at the light her face reflects onto the mirror and spreads chemicals onto her skin to tint and blur it. If the image in the glass reflect the images she sees in […]
‘Eleven Ways of Looking at a Blackbird Killed by your Cat’ I When a cat chews the skull of a mouse, it makes the eyes pop out. II As Boris crouches down to stalk the birds on the lawn, he calls to them, low and inquiring. Is he excited? playful? Perhaps he hopes to talk […]
‘This poem is so bad / it makes me sad’ O! my muse has gone away. I can’t write a poem today. I can’t find a rhyme in time the metre’s broken and I ain’t jokin’ so this poem’s not great and it’s half an hour late as well. ~~~~~~~~~~ I can only hope that […]
In Honour of Doctor Johnson, and the Anniversary of the Publication of his Famous and Much-Admired Dictionary, a Poem Composed Entirely of such Words as Cannot be Found* in that Celebrated Volume chipotle hamburger shemale Messerschmitt tartrazine Tanzania underclass skyscraper reggae bicarb retrofit ufologist Joycean supergrass *Probably. No copies of Johnson’s dictionary were consulted in […]
‘An Essex Pome’ Most poets lie, then claim that their ‘poetic truth’ subsumes the normal kind. Not me. When I write that I stabbed a frog so I could watch it die, or that my father had a special belt for punishment, or that I paid my way through university with blow-jobs, every word is […]
‘Jays’ Jays are building their nest on the front of the house. They are stucco-pink and chatter to each other. Their wings have a flash of lucid blue. Each time one swoops to or from the chestnut tree, the kitchen darkens. Last time they built here, the fledgling fell from the nest. It hopped around […]
The Knight with the Sorrowful Face A forest near Seville. Enter PEDRO and DOROTHEA. Pedro How slight a bauble is the intellect, to crack so easily. But soft, he comes, his antic mood still on him. Enter QUIXOTE, mad, wearing a barber’s basin Quixote Rocks and stones and trees and grass and streams, oh hear […]
I really need to spend more time on the titles. —- ‘thoughts’ I light the gas and wonder how many specks of prehistoric life died so I could fry some bacon for my sarnie? And if I died at sea and was enfolded in the silt, would there be enough of me to boil the […]
‘This Poem is Not a Pipe’ There is a gap in the world where things fall through; bicycle clips, and leeks, and off-cuts of astrakhan, frogspawn, gravestones, and the lids from mustard jars. There is a place in the world where smells wait; asparagus-scented urine, coal-tar soap, and mould-spotted copies of Proust. Salmon leap. Flames […]