Posts tagged with ‘napowrimo 2007’

napowrimo #24-28

Greeku An old man in a suit gathers wild fennel from the verge. A wryneck calling. — Fried Beauty Glory be to cod for battered things, for chips as golden-glisten as a suntanned thigh; for fresh-made doughnuts, croutons, chicken wings. All things that saute, sizzle, fry, praise them. — A poem Her breath is vine […]

napowrimo 24: no title

Looking down into the valley and seeing them fly one after another across the olive groves like flakes of gold, or sparks, or dandelion petals, or some kind of elemental spirit, eight golden orioles; I find myself thinking I do not deserve this.

napowrimo 23: Just theory

The ball is round, the game lasts 90 minutes; everything else is just theory. Sepp Herberger. Except that the ball is oval. The bar has spent a lot of money on a widescreen telly and isn’t going to waste it. Passes from end to end are noticeably quicker that the ones from side to side, […]

napowrimo #21-22: Greek snippets

21: The waiter asks “How was the food? Was everything OK?” But I don’t know the Greek for “The cumin cured pork was so salty that my tongue is puckered.” So I said “yes.” 22: As the waves break high against the rocks, a small boy throws the town into the sea one rock at […]

napowrimo #something: not just yet

I have actually written a poem of a sort, but this internet connection is in a travel agent, and even by the low standards of ambience typical of internet cafes, it’s just not terribly thrilling. And possibly more to the point, all I’d had to eat all day is a cheese pie. I came in […]

napowrimo #20 – shameless filler poem

Down in the benthic darkness among the ghosts and mud hagfish gnaw at the bones of a whale as death rains from above. — I think I’ve recycled not just the first line from yesterday’s poem, but the last line from some previous poem a while ago. But it’ll have to do.

napowrimo #19: Down in the benthic darkness

Down in the benthic darkness where curious creatures dwell is a species of hermit crab so big it uses a boat for a shell. The hatchlings start in a bathtub or fridge and when that gets too snug, first they move to a dinghy or sloop and then to a sampan or tug. Nobody knows […]

napowrimo #18 – squiblet

How nice it is to be in a location where sunglasses are not an affectation.

napowrimo 17: The Death of Maradona

I’m in a Greek bar, watching football; Giggs, Rooney and Ronaldo on the break so fast and effortless it almost seems like cheating. Then at half time, among the trailers for upcoming matches in the Bundesliga and the NBA, a slow-mo montage of Diego Maradona. Mainly the fat Maradona; waving to an screaming crowd, singing […]

napowrimo #15 & 16: ‘Gatwick, 5am’ and a haiku.

Poems for the last two days; I haven’t written today’s yet. Gatwick, 5am Were Dante writing the Commedia today he’d surely model one infernal circle on 5am at Gatwick airport. Well, maybe not. Even piped music, sulry staff, strip lighting and the vacant stares of travellers only awake enough to slowly masticate a sandwich are […]

nopowriday

I’m off to Crete tomorrow, and with all the packing and procrastinating I didn’t write a poem. And I have to get up in about 4 hours time [yipes] so no poem today. I’ll try to write two tomorrow— I have a longish flight to fill time on. Posting may be sporadic in the next […]

napowrimo 14: Μπορίς να φας τον καρπό;

Please use a new blade. Shave it all off! I need an adaptor plug. Can I see it? Do I need to pay upfront? I have a doctor’s certificate for this medication. I regretted it (lit: It came out of my nose.) Where can we hire an uncrewed boat? Please give me a slice. I’ll […]

napowrimo 13: shoe limerick

An old woman who lived in a shoe said “what is a person to do? There’s a hole in the roof and to tell you the truth it reeks of old feet in here, too.” ~~~ Not in the mood for real poetry.

napowrimo 12: Poetry Thursday exercise

In ancient art, birds always seem to carry a hint of the unworldly; their fragile bodies just the physical expression of some god intruding on our world. Flight and song; the essence of occult. We praise them in bowls of water left as mirrors for them to bathe in, and with propitiatory offerings of seed. […]

napowrimo 11: Making Pizza

Start with Tipo 00 flour. So fine and white, it makes your usual flour seem hard and vulgar, and makes a dough as silky and elastic as (supply your own lascivious image here). For two, use half a pound of flour with a quarter-pint of water. Add olive oil, salt and yeast, knead until smooth […]

napowrimo 10: Hollow

I aspire to be meringue— sweet airiness just scorched enough for flavour— but recently I seem to be a rock cake. Or on a good day, a doorstep sandwich.

napowrimo 9: Heraclitean Fire

Beneath us rock stretches and folds like toffee. A bracken frond unfurls. A tadpole hides beneath a lilypad. Within the window of an aeroplane a film of condensation glitters. A glacier scrapes across a rock. In someone’s ear the wobbles of a magnet turn electricity to funk. A krait splits its own skin. A girl […]

napowrimo 8: salmon

Salmon throw themselves upriver hurrying to die. The cones upon the pine trees shiver at the spirit thrusting by. ~~~~ another short one, I’m afraid.

napowrimo 7: golf limerick

There was a young golfer from Troon Who wanted to play on the moon To his horror he found When he started his round That he kept hooking his drives. ~~~~~ I was kind of tired yesterday. So this is late and silly.

napowrimo 6: blackbird triolet

The blackbird on the rooftop sings ancient songs of sex and death. The woman in the garden thinks the blackbird on the rooftop sings a a joyful welcome to the Spring. But with each lascivious breath the blackbird on the rooftop sings ancient songs of sex and death.

napowrimo 5: nightlife

Half-deaf in a silent street, bereft of bass; as he inhales, his cigarette lights up his face. A fox slips through a broken fence and hurries on. Two tramps in an empty warehouse roast a stolen swan. A man peers past his sleeping wife to check the time. Snails cross-hatch a patio in trails of […]

napowrimo 4: Metaphors Are Shapely Lies

Poems are like birds: dinosaurs with airy bones. Or like potatoes: sunlight turned to stodge.

napowrimo 3: Spring

The treetops echo with the throaty hoot of woodpigeons, nuthatch whistles and the resonating thrum of woodpeckers. All colours glow: the orange of the blackbird’s bill, the new green leaves, milky wood anemones and golden celandines; through the dapples stray the first few butterflies. Soon the swallows will wake from hibernation and squirm free from […]