A poets thoughts...

My third and final poem is about writing poetry itself - a mad pastime, but an immensely fulfilling one!

 

When words don't come

 

Sometimes the words don't come,

They stutter on my finger tips,

They get stuck in the crevices

Of my mind

 

Sometimes I struggle to think

Of words that flow or rhyme,

I'll sit and stare for moments on end

Wasting precious time

 

When the words don't come,

I continue -

I write until

They slide off my bones,

Onto my keyboard

 

Until like Hemingway,

I bleed.

 

Andrea Vermaak

 

 



A fond farewell...

Now, the end is nigh (for NaPoWriMo 2014, at least). As suggested, my final poem for this challenge is a farewell poem...

A fond farewell

 

Farewell my friend,

Until next we meet -

Cliches filled with sincerity -

For I truly will miss you

With all of my heart,

My love, my brother,

My friend

 

I will miss your bright laughter,

Your clear, smiling eyes,

Your generous embraces

 

I will miss your sleepy existence,

Your energy and fun,

Your wise and comforting words

When I need them

 

But I'll se you again,

Hopefully soon,

Until then I truly will miss you

With all of my heart,

My love, my brother,

My friend

 



Sounds like...

I will, in this last sprint to finish before midnight, write a short poem using onomatopoeia and alliteration.

 

The Ocean

 

The ocean sighs

On shores

Scattered with shells

 

Foam flies and flings and flails

 

The rush and roar,

The crash of waves

Softly sing me to sleep.

 

Andrea Vermaak

Hello haiku!

Another form of poetry with which I have always struggled is the haiku. Now is my chance to prove that I am worthy of the form (I hope!)

 

Autumn

 

Many colours of the sunset

Lie scattered on cold and dusty ground,

The winds begin to change.

Andrea Vermaak

A little limerick

Fifty minutes to midnight and seven more poems to write. Let's make them short ones... Perhaps I should try a limerick. I was never really great at writing limericks, but I enjoy a challenge... Here goes...

Southern Belle

There was a girl from the South

Who had a very large mouth,

She stuffed it with pie

People thought she would die,

But only gained in her health.

Andrea Vermaak

The last stretch...

Today is the last day of NaPoWriMo 2014. I need to write eight more poems to complete the challenge of writing 30 poems in 30 days. Although I began late, missed a few days of writing due to work and such, and wrote more than one poem on other days - no matter how unconventionally I strive to meet the challenge - I, nonetheless, endeavour to meet it!

Today I am going to have a bit of fun, challenging myself to write in the style of a few poems to which I have recently been reintroduced in my readings. I will also write a few poems prompted by our hostess.

Firstly, I wish to write an ode. An ode is a poem which praises or glorifies 'an event or individual, describing nature intellectually as well as emotionally'.

I will take cue from the classic ode, structured in three major parts: the strophe, the antistrophe and the epode. However, I will use the English ode's most common rhyme scheme (also used by John Keats in his famous odes): ABABCDECDE. Keats also makes use of iambic pentameter. I'll do my best...

I will use a prompt from a dear cousin to write a humorous piece dedicated to one of my favourite subjects (read 'obsession'): cheese.

 

Ode to Cheese

 

Oh yellow goodness mild, potent and sweet

On all occasions do we eat you oft',

You're lovely melted and poured over meat,

You're wonderful crumbly, hardened and soft;

Often do we eat you on toasted bread,

We like to cut you into thick slices,

In a pot we melt you with herbs and wine,

For sarmies we love you as a thick spread,

Sometimes we add pepper, salt and spices -

In any form with you we'd like to dine.

 

Since I discovered you, I loved you much,

Of all your flavours I love gouda most,

If ever I am craving cheese as such

I grab some bread and make a piece of toast;

I cut thick slices of your golden glow,

Add lemon pepper and watch 'til you melt,

Until your deliciousness starts ooze,

Then I grab you and eat you on the go;

More delight have I very seldom felt,

Of you my friend, I will not dare to lose.

 

 

Now that I have declared my love for you,

Now that I can't think of more words to write,

I do, dear cheese, hope that you love me too,

As very little are you out of sight;

For breakfast, I'll make sure that you are there,

For lunch, I'll take you to my favourite park

Where I'll eat you melted over my fries;

For dinner we'll dine with fine wine and flair,

For cheese must always be there after dark,

And I will never to you say goodbye.

 

Andrea Vermaak

Out in the open

My sixth and final poem for today draws inspiration from outside. We are prompted to look outside a window and spend a bit of time jotting down all the nouns and colours we see, as well as all the things that are taking place outside, writing down the relevant verbs for each action. We are then prompted to use our list of words to inspire a poem.

I can't help but think of the scenes outside my flat window, below the castle, when I lived in Edinburgh. On rainy days, when I was not at work, I would happily watch the world go by, sitting on the couch and staring out of the window. My poem is, therefore, also about those outdoor scenes, that happy time. Not much colour is used though, but I think the scene sets itself... Either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Looking out

 

Looking out of my flat window,

I see the puddle splashed streets below,

The grey, cloudy skies above

 

 People run to catch buses

Or catch-up with friends;

People sing in the rain

 

Mothers carrying heavy bags

And herding laughing children,

Dodge early party-goers

Already skipping in the street

 

Rabbits hop and hide in shrubs

Between oblivious walkers

And Queen Mary's quarters,

Which dominate the skyline

 

Two young men

Sing and wave at me;

I smile and wave back

 

All is right with the world.

 

Andrea Vermaak

Anaphora sets you free

I'm on a roll...

Another prompt challenges us to write a poem in which we use anaphora, "a literary term for the practice of repeating certain words or phrases at the beginning of multiple clauses or, in the case of a poem, multiple lines."

My subject is the feeling of freedom...

 

Let me

 

Let me see,

Let me taste,

Let me sing,

 

Let me feel,

Let me hear,

Let me breathe

 

Let me run,

Let me fly,

Let me be

 

Set me free.

 

Andrea Vermaak

Snapshot inspiration

Much like the very first prompt I used to write an ekphrastic poem, we were given a series of photographs from which to draw inspiration. The photograph which caught my eye was one of a snowy sidewalk.

 

Winter Morning

 

Silence surrounds me

As I follow frozen footsteps

To nowhere

 

Where will these foredreamers lead me

Under these comforting trees,

Along this frosty path of wonder?

 

My steamy breath does not answer me,

Nor does the sky

Or the mist,

 

But crunching footsteps

Echo in my ears,

Leading me towards the unknown

Deeper into my curiosity.

 

Andrea Vermaak





She sells seashells....

A challenge is to write a poem, using one or more names of seashells in a given list. The poem need not be about seashells, just inspired by one or more of the names. I used the entire list and took cue from Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky to write a nonsense poem. I've placed the names in bold for the sake of convenient perusal.

Yes, I know what you're thinking, and yes, they really are actual names of seashells. My poem may be just as silly, if not more so, as the seashells' unfortunate names...

You, yes you!

 

I saw you wander

Under incised moon,

Your strawberry top

Tucked under heavy bonnet

 

Your false cup-and-saucer smile

Held unequal bittersweet sincerity

As you passed me in my Peruvian hat

 

I know you still have my Lazarus jewel box,

My leather donax and striped engina;

My tricolour niso I know

Lies in ruins

 

But you deny and look away

To pet your shoulderblade sea cat

You now feed on sparse dove,

Snout otter clam and

Atlantic turkey wing,

While you sip tea with triangular nutmeg

In shuttlecock volvas and woody canoebubbles

 

You are the epitome of awful,

You tuberculate emarginula!

You ghastly miter!

 

Andrea Vermaak

 

 

One for the kids

I've never attempted to write a poem for children until now (well, at least not as I can recall), but it should be quite fun. Now to choose a subject. Ah! A picnic!

 

The Picnic

 

Cakes and cookies

Mess their crumbs,

For tiny ants

With tiny thumbs

 

They scurry in line

To clean up the mess

To feed their queen

Under so much stress

 

You see, she has many duties

And soldiers to rule,

She has no time

To fetch her own fuel

 

So shake off your blanket

And leave your crumbs

For the tiny ants

With tiny thumbs

 

Andrea Vermaak



 



New York, New York!

There is a particular prompt which caught my eye because it involves including certain 'elements' in one's poetry. The prompt is to write a New York School poem. This type of poem is named for a group of poets who lived in New York during the 1950s and 1960s. Among these poets are Frank O'Hara, John Ashbery and Kenneth Koch.

Many poems of this style are conversational in tone, refer to friends and places in and around New York, display humour, include pop culture, and present a sense of the importance of art its many forms.

We are prompted to follow the 'recipe' for a good New York School poem, found here: http://jacket2.org/commentary/recipe-writing-new-york-school-poem. We may include as many or as few of the listed elements as we wish.

Below is my poem, dedicated to my friends Nicki and Ian who live in Hollywood and Washington DC, respectively.

Until we meet again

We will meet again, my friends,

Nicki Bixler and Ian Reynolds,

On the Brooklyn Bridge,

Or on a bench in Central Park,

Or outside the The Dakota

Where John Lennon died,

Where we’ll will think of our days

In pubs in Scotland,

When we walked The Royal Mile;

Now we’ll walk the sunshiny Broadway

And eat hot dogs,

While dreaming of

How the heck we came to be here,

This ‘halfway point’,

And I’ll wave my farewells

Until we meet again.

            Andrea Vermaak

Terza rima

A challenge is to write a poem in terza rima, a form invented by Dante, which he used in The Divine Comedy. It consists of three-line stanzas, with a 'chained' rhyme scheme. In other words, the first stanza is ABA, the second is BCB, the third CDC, and so forth. A particular meter is unnecessary, however, many English poets tend to use iambic pentameter. A common way of ending a poem in terza rima is with a single line, which rhymes with the middle line of the preceding three-line stanza.

My poem is a little nostalgic, as I think of my many friends who have immigrated to distant lands, as well as all the friends I have had to leave behind during my travels...

 

 

I once knew you

 

I once knew you well,

We'd laugh and cry

At the stories we'd tell

 

Now from far away I sigh -

It was the most difficult thing

To say goodbye

 

But one day I will once more sing,

When we once more together are,

For you do all my happiness bring

 

For now, I'll miss you from afar.

 

Andrea Vermaak

 

Ruba'i

I will now attempt to write a ruba'i, a Persian form of poetry which consists of a four-line stanza, with a rhyme scheme of AABA. A poem with multiple stanzas in the ruba'i form make up what is called a rubaiyat. I will, however, only try to write a meaningful ruba'i. My inspiration is water.

River

 

Crystal clear do your waters flow,

But very little do I know,

Of nothing do I understand

Of all your secrets kept below

 

Andrea Vermaak

It's rather... abstract

In my desperate attempt to catch-up, I used a prompt in which we are to replace a common noun with an abstract noun to inspire a poem. Once again, here are my efforts...

 

Love like light

 

Loves makes us blink

In the morning of our lives,

We feel its warmth on our skin

 

Love shines brightly

In the midday of our youth,

We often feel its burn

 

Love glows warmly

On the horizon of our age,

As we contemplate the day

 

Love is dimmed

In the night of our time,

Yet never ceases to exist.

 

Andrea Vermaak

All lies...

I have yet again much on which to catch-up. The last few days I felt hopelessly uninspired and lacked the energy with which to find any inspiration, despite several NaPoWriMo prompts. Today, I simply must write something.

A prompt is to write a ten-line poem in which each line is a lie. I think my poem makes use of sustained metaphor more than anything. The ending is also a bit anticlimactic, forced even, in my opinion. Either way, here are my efforts...

 

Why flowers bloom

 

The earth is awoken with the sound of weeping -

Fairy tears water the earth to feed it,

To uncurl tendril arms

Which embrace the saddened earth child

 

Delicate petals unfold to comfort

Lonely, broken hearts of tiny beings

In which children don't believe

 

Flower heads rock sleepy heads

To dream of a land where sunshine smiles

 

The earth blooms to bring fairies hope.

 

Andrea Vermaak

 



So many questions...

One NaPoWriMo 2014 prompt is to write a poem in which every line, except the last, is in the form of a question. I decided to write a poem last night in which I ask a few questions regarding one of the most mysterious abstract nouns on earth...

 

What is love?

 

What is love?

Is it even real?

 

Is it the comforting sound of your mother's voice?

Her warm embrace?

 

Is it found in your sister's reassuring smile?

Or in her cupcakes?

 

Is love the friendship you would die without?

Or is in the smile of a stranger?

 

Is it the touch of a lover, their gentle kiss?

Or is it in the laughter of your children?

 

Is love the feeling of nostalgia?

Or the longing for what you cannot have?

 

Is it the unconditional loyalty of your pet?

Or the cherished memory of a childhood toy?

 

Is love the warmth of food?

The smell of summer?

 

Is love in music?

In dance?

 

Is love real in the movies?

Or is it deeper, more spiritual?

 

Love, my love, is love.

 

Andrea Vermaak

 



A feast for the senses

Today, I will draw inspiration from yet another prompt. We are prompted to write a poem in which we "very specifically describe something in terms of at least three of the five senses".

Bali, a beautiful Indonesian island which I was fortunate to visit last year for a dear friend's wedding, immediately came to mind. Every aspect of the island is a feast for the senses, is utterly captivating and captures the imagination in a wonderful way.

I have titled my poem after the name I gave a perfume I made at L'atelier while in Bali. Its scent reminds me of my visit, as I hoped it would. I just hope that my poem does justice to the island as I try to capture Bali's essence in a more metaphorical way than (literally) trying to bottle it.

Indonesian Daydream

 

Incense, flowers and laughter

Dance on the sea breeze,

While coconut and spices

Tease my lips

 

Gamelan music

Floats on sweet air,

Moving gracefully

Between brightly coloured silks

 

Smiles and kindness

Embrace me,

Tempt me

To stay

 

The day's joy clings to me

Like the friendship of the balmy night

 

Andrea Vermaak

To ken a kenning when you see one

An optional prompt is to write a poem which contains at least one kenning. A kenning is "a circumlocution used instead of an ordinary noun in Old Norse, Old English and later Icelandic poetry."

As tribute to the great Nordic sagas, I have written a poem, a kind of warning if you will, which reflects the beliefs of the Sami, regarding aurora borealis.

Sky Spirits

 

When the Sky Spirits

Light their fire roads

Across the night,

Watch in silence

 

When the Dancing Souls

Play in glowing fields,

Whistle not

Lest they wander closer

 

When Magical Fires

Light the heavens' highway

Wrestle not

But bind brother blood

 

 

Andrea Vermaak

Music to my ears...

There are five song titles in the poem below, which I've placed in bold. They were randomly chosen (believe it or not) from a play list I recently made for my sister. Do you recognise any of them?

Sometimes and Always



Sometimes when the

Winter Winds blow

I miss you

 

I often wonder

Why does it always rain on me?

Or the Hard Sun beat down on me

When I am most alone?

 

I will ever wonder

Why you never said goodbye

That frosty evening

When it was Closing Time

 

I will always take comfort 

In the summer of my heart

That we are never long parted.

 

 

Andrea Vermaak

Il vino e l'amore

A prompt was to write a poem about wine and love. I have taken it a step further and used wine as a sustained metaphor of love that is beyond repair.

 

 

Bitter Sweet

 

Bitter sweet is our love,

Stained upon our minds,

Our lips

 

Our sour grapes,

We cannot contain

 

Our shattered hearts

Cut the hands

We once held

In desperate longing

 

We stomped on our feelings,

Releasing the anguish

Ripe within us

 

We have tasted despair,

Spit out our anger

 

No more will we drink

Of this vine

 

 

Andrea Vermaak

 

 

 



After 'The Tyger'

Today, I am going to rewrite William Blake's poem The Tyger, using a lion as my subject. I'm not too fond of wild animals (they scare me!), but a lion is more fitting than any great cat to replace a tiger, seeing as I am born and bred South African. I've tried my best to keep the original metre and rhyme scheme where possible.

 

The Lion

Lion! Lion! roaring loud
In the bush veld, standing proud,
What terrific fear could pierce
 The greatest mortal heart so fierce?

 

In what distant plains do prowl
 The dark shadows of your scowl?
 In what darkness dare prey to roam?
Where this great beast can call home?

 

And what great power and great dare
Could twist your mind so as to scare?
And with your heart so wild and free,
What do you think? What do you see?

 

What of anger? what of pain?
In what terror of your mane?
What of danger? what is said
 Of those who thee in nightmares dread?

 

When great men break down in tears,
Releasing all their bottled fears,
Do you savour them to cry?
 And do you strive where vultures fly?

 

Lion! Lion! roaring loud
 In the bush veld, standing proud,
What terrific fear dare pierce
 The greatest mortal heart so fierce?

 

Andrea Vermaak

How much do I love thee...

A prompt was to write a love poem for an inanimate object. If a city may be viewed as an 'inanimate object', then my object of affection is an obvious one: Edinburgh.

I lived and worked in Edinburgh for over eight months in 2008. It is, in my opinion, the most amazing, beautiful city in the world; one which I will love as my second home forever.

I dedicate this poem to you Edinburgh, my love.

 

Edinburgh

 

I answered when you called my name

And you showed me beautiful secrets

On golden lit streets

 

Memories are written in your

Ever changing skies,

Nostalgia in your music

 

Your heart,

Your pulse,

Is your people,

Brave souls with dancing eyes

 

The wind whispers the names

Of warriors, kings and thieves,

Of those who lift your standard,

Those who turn your wheels

 

Sleepy, proud city,

I still hear you call my name,

 I still walk your streets in my dreams.

 

 

Andrea Vermaak

 



A golden shovel

Today, I attempted to write a 'golden shovel', a poem in which the last word of every line is that of another poem. The poem I have chosen from which to dig is William Butler Yeats' When you are old.

As this is my first ever attempt at a 'golden shovel', I have only uprooted the words of the first stanza of Yeats' fine work. The result is that I wrote from a 'stream of consciousness'. I'm not quite sure if I like the outcome. I sincerely doubt that Yeats would approve...

I loved you once

 

I loved you once when

you were you

and not how others are;

 now that you're old,

I love you more and

no grey 

skies could conquer your light and

 joy so full

 of

inner strength; but sleep,

 and sing and

dream, while I smile, nodding,

knowing, remembering by

the wrinkles around your eyes, the

 great fire,

that once was in them, a fire that would take,

 would claim all joyful moments and burn down;

all unfortunate memories; this

 great heart, great book,

of life and

adventure that now slowly

 fades; I read

once of your desire and

wishful dream

to see all of

the great world, all of the

rolling hills so soft

beneath your feet; you'd once again look,

and feel with your

heart, see clearly with eyes

that once had

seen it all before, once,

had felt it all before and

taken it all in; all that of

beauty that was never yours. Now you go to their

reflection, the beauty and shadows

of mountains strong and deep.

 

 

Andrea Vermaak

 

 

 

 

To read the rest of Yeats' nostalgic poem, visit http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172055

Lune or loon?

I shall now attempt to write a lune. There are a few variants, apparently, but we are prompted to attempt Jack Collum's version, which consists of a three-line stanza. The first line has three words, the second line has five, and the third line has three.

I have also decided to play with the lune's homophone, 'loon', as well as the stereotypical image which emerges in our minds when we think of someone crazy.

Here goes...

 

Loon

 

 

Yes, you're crazy,

 

Running around like you think

 

You're a superhero.

Andrea Vermaak

 

Charmed, I'm sure...

The third prompt is to write a charm, which resembles something of a nursery rhyme, but isn't, if that makes sense. Now, I'm not too keen to write a charm, so I wrote a poem inspired by the characteristic of charm and its dangers instead. One could say that I used a little poetic license.

 

You can't fool me

 

You thought you could fool me

With your charm and your lies,

But the only one you fooled

Was yourself.

 

You thought you could blind me

To your inner contempt,

But the only one blinded

Was you.

 

You thought you could tempt me

With false friendship and smiles,

But the only one lonely

Was you.

 

For we all see through

Your plots and your schemes;

The only one we pity

Is you.

 

Andrea Vermaak

 

 

 



Mythological poem

Our second optional prompt is to write a poem based on a myth. I metaphorically jumped for joy as I have been procrastinating writing a poem as a prologue to a short story I am writing during Camp NaNoWriMo, based on the legend of Beowulf. Yes, perhaps Beowulf is not quite mythological, but the epic poem features figures and creatures of mythology, such as a dragon.

In essence, I am killing to birds with one stone (excuse the cliché idiom). Hooray!

Here is my attempt...

Draca

 

Wings of steel and leather

Beat the air

As fiery breath

Poured forth o'er warrior;

 

He who had stolen his heart,

His cursed hoard,

Should surely be cursed with flame;

 

He who had led this man here,

This bear like man in wolves clothes,

To his precious lair

Should surely feel his scorn;

 

Ancient scales and talons

Fought bravely

Against biting, stinging blades;

 

This unrelenting beast would

Not retreat until his foe

Lie still

On frozen wastelands;

 

Red rivers upon gold would flow

From both

Before night ended;

 

Each brave in their own right,

Yet cursed

By greed or fame;

Blinded by earth's golden light.

 

Andrea Vermaak

 



My first attempt...

The 'early bird' prompt was to write a ekphrastic poem, a poem inspired or about a work of art. Now, I know that the word 'art' alludes to many different forms, but I decided to let inspiration flow from what the layman would call art: a painting.

I chose to draw inspiration from The Lady of Shalott, an 1888 oil painting by English Pre-Raphaelite painter John William Waterhouse (1888). The work, in turn, as I soon found out, is a representation of a scene from Lord Alfred Tennyson’s 1832 poem of the same name. The young woman described is based on Elaine of Astolat in the Arthurian legend, a story I hold very dear to my heart.

I attempted to write my poem, pretending not to know any of the above. I think you will find my interpretation of the image rather different to Waterhouse’s interpretation of Tennyson’s poem. Either way, I find it rather thrilling that my poem is based on a work of art which is based on a poem. I tend to do this somehow...

The Lady of Shallot by John William Waterhouse

Futile Escape

With a heavy heart,

Fair maiden fled

From anguish and despair,

Hope and love had faded,

Leaving only disappointment

To guide her through darkness;

The tapestry of her life

Lay forlorn and forgotten;

Soaked in her tears;

Her dimmed eyes

Darkened as light faded

From her heart;

She lay down to sleep

To dream no more

On her lonely journey

  

By Andrea Vermaak

Let's begin...

Two days ago, I came across National Poetry Writing Month, affectionately known as NaPoWriMo.
Founded by poet Maureen Thorson in 2003, NaPoWriMo is an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.

I was already nine days late in taking up the challenge when I discovered this wonderful creative project. I am now eleven days late. Tomorrow I will be twelve. Life happens. Nonetheless, I am willing to attempt to write thirty poems before the end of April. I intend to use as many of the prompts given as possibly, and quite unashamedly.

If you are also feeling the nudge towards picking up your quill to jot down a few poetic thoughts, visit www.napwrimo.net and join me. It is never too late!

Happy writing!

Follow on Twitter @napwrimo2014.
'Like' on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/National-Poetry-Writing-Month/415972748492192?fref=ts.