Repetition

It's sad that today's the last day of NaPoWriMo (at least until next year). Our prompt on this final day is to write a poem about something that happens again and again (like NaPoWriMo!). So, here it is. I bid all well until next April, and hope that you enjoy this final poem!

Black Gold

 A colleague calls it 'black gold',

The aromatic, bitter liquid

That drips far too slowly

Into the clear pot 

Every morning

I wait for that final drop to drip

Then snatch the pot,

pour the dark glory

Over two sugars and milk,

And hug the mug with both hands,

Grateful for the daily liquid wake up

Andrea Vermaak

Word association

The daily challenges seem to be more and more challenging! Today, we are prompted to 'find a very specific, concrete noun' in one of our favourite poems. After we've chosen our word, we're prompted to free-write a few associations. We're then to use the original word and the results of our free-writing as the building blocks of an original poem. 

I chose the use the noun 'beggars' from a much loved, heart-rending poem, Dulce et decorum est by Wilfred Owen. I've used a bold font to highlight the words I've associated with 'beggars'.

How dare we

How dare we assume

To know of your struggle,

Your worries and fears,

When our hole-less socks match

And you don't even have shoes

Your bare feet and cracked lips

Merely ask for bread and milk,

Yet we say no;

We walk passed

Without even acknowledging you

Your skinny fingers

Hold your rusted tin;

It shakes from the cold for change

To cure your hunger and your thirst

But we only see your thin cardboard box

And you dirty clothes;

Your crooked teeth

And bulging eyes

We don't stop

And consider your loneliness,

Or your safety on the street

How dare we only give you change,

When we should change the world for you.

Andrea Vermaak 

Skeltonic verse

Our challenge today is to write a poem using Skeltonic verse. Until today, I'd not heard of this poetic form. Well, here goes...

It was at sea

She lost her key,

She could not see

Where it could be;

Many helped look,

As did the cook,

She even looked

Inside her book;

She found it in

A biscuit tin!

Andrea Vermaak

P.S. It's rather more challenging than it looks! I sat for a long time, trying to find inspiration! Then the muse grabbed me by the hand and tugged me away...

Tasty!

Today, we're challenged to write a poem that explores our sense of taste. Mmm...one of my favourite flavours (and smells) is citrus...

Liquid Sunshine

Citrus tastes like summer:

The tang of yellow sunshine on your tongue,

The sweet orange nectar of a summer breeze,

The cool lime liquid quenching your thirst

The Irish say that rain is liquid sunshine,

But I believe it's the juices of citrus

Bursting in your mouth,

Playing on the sweet and sour of your senses,

Dripping from your smiling summer face

Andrea Vermaak

 

 

Into the future...

Our challenge is to write a poem from a future archeologist's point of view, regarding a particular object or place familiar to us today. It is a challenge indeed, but I hope to make it a fun one!

What is this thing?

What is this thing,

This book-like thing?

It's larger than most most books!

And what is this?

It's cover is board

Covered in blue plastic.

Is it plastic?

It did not biodegrade!

And what's inside?

No pages bound together, no.

There are holes,

Two holes!

Holes in the middle of the left margin,

Of each page loose page;

Each page pierced through

With metal spikes!

The pages are held in place

With a...grip-like object;

If I press one side, it seems to widen

Two metal mechanisms,

Making it come away.

If I flick this switch up,

The spikes open;

Can these pages be removed?

To maim an ancient manuscript like that!

What sacrilege!

Only primitive beasts

Could place precious printed paper

In such a ghastly fashion!

Andrea Vermaak

 

Spaces

Today's challenge is to write a poem that "explores a small, defined space" that is meaningful to us. The first thing that came to mind, particularly because it holds so much meaning for me, is a window. No, not just any window. The common room window in a shared flat in Edinburgh...

The open space

The open space in the far wall

Could hold one person on its sill,

It looked down on the street below

And up at the castle on the hill

Mornings presented rabbits within its frame,

Sometimes mist over the castle,

But always fresh air,

And often rain

We'd leave it open on long summer nights;

I'd watch the people walk by,

Smile and wave at those who waved up at me,

Hear the stag nights' drunken songs

In August, I'd shed tears,

Listening to the lady sing in Gaelic at the Tattoo

I'd watch in awe as half-hidden fireworks lit up the sky

And the One o'clock Gun and a lonely bagpiper

Said farewell to the sun

Oh the memories, 

That an open space in a wall could hold;

If I dared,

I'd sit and gaze out of it forever.

Andrea Vermaak

Ekphrasis

Our challenge today is to write an ekphrasis inspired by the marginalia of medieval manuscripts. As I pretty much live and breathe anything medieval, the challenge is hereby accepted!

My inspiration derives from this rather bizarre image:

Montpellier, Bibliothèque interuniversitaire. Section Médecine, H 418, detail of f. 107v.
Institutes of Justinian (15th century)

The Snail Slayer

“Oh, woe is me!”

Cried the farmer out of key,

“My cabbages are doomed!”

He wiped his brow,

Before the king did bow,

But his voice was full of gloom

“A snail, giant snail,”

Did the poorest farmer wail,

“Hath eaten my crop full-grown”

A knight of the court,

A tall and gangly sort,

Stepped forward with sword drawn

“Show me the snail,

I’ll cut off his tail,

At the end of my sword he will groan!”

The farmer most grateful

Promised the knight a plateful

If the giant snail he could slay

The knight, most excited

Set out unaffrighted,

Giant snail would be his prey

Not far out of town

Did he look with a frown

On a giant slug with helm

He marched up to it

And upon it did quip,

“You’re the fattest slug in the realm!”

The snail did scoff,

“So, you think you’re a boff?

He laughed from his perch on the elm

The knight lifted his sword,

The snail screamed, “Oh my word!”

And begged the knight’s hand to stay

The mollusk looked sad

Rather than mad,

To the knight for his life he did pray

The knight lowered his sword,

He could utter no word,

His promise was chivalry

He made the snail promise

That he’d nay again upon us

If they ended the rivalry

The snail nay returned

Vegetables to overturn

And the knight retired to the armoury

Andrea Vermaak

An elevenie

Today's prompt is to write an elevenie. It sounds like fun, so I'll give it a try...

Writing

uses words

On white sheets

Of paper or screen

Endlessly

Andrea Vermaak

Happy Earth Day!

Our prompt today, inspired by Earth Day, is to write a georgic, or at least a georgic-like poem. Happy Earth Day! Let's all do our best to save our shared home!

There once were trees

There once were trees

Across the land,

As far as the eye could see

Some men came

And chopped them down

To build their homes, you see

Some more men came

And chopped more down

To learn and learned be

But though they learnt

And saw the bare land,

They did not care to see

That the animals and birds

Moved on 

And some were dead, not free

Soon, man could not breathe 

As well as he could before,

Soon, he too would not be

But it's not too late to fill that land

With more trees 

As far as we can see

Or would you like to tell your child,

As I tell you now,

"There once were trees here, 

but they're no more to be"?

Andrea Vermaak

Stories and memories

Today's prompt is to write a poem which incorporates overheard speech. Now, as I cannot think of anything significant I've overheard off the top of my head, I'm going to use a quote from my favourite television show. You guessed it: Doctor Who.

Stories

"Stories are where memories go when they're forgotten"

I heard the Doctor say

His words rang in my ears 

As I remembered the stories 

I've been told 

Of memories long passed

Stories of bicycles collapsing,

Of fritters burning thighs,

And of balls of fireflies rolling down a hill

What memories of mine will become stories?

I hope I remember 

So I may tell them.

Andrea Vermaak

My poems do pliés

Our challenge today is to write a poem which "incorporates the vocabulary and imagery of a specific sport or game."

As I am the least sporty person I know, I will take my chances and say that ballet (which I do know and understand) is a sport (though I dare say it is more an art form, as fit and toned as you have to be!).

Perhaps writing poetry is both art form and sport too: flexible mind, quick fingers...

 Poetry is ballet

 The mind stretches and pliés 

At the barre to warm up

Before it attempts to 

Glissade reluctantly across the keyboard

Fingers' ideas begin to frappé 

As words balancé

Across the page

All may seem as complicated

As a pirouette

Yet the poet attempts a finale

With a chassé, coupé
and grand jetté

Words assemblé and grande reverence

Andrea Vermaak

 

The creation of words

Today's prompt is to write a poem about a creation myth. It can be about the creation of anything. Because words are a poet's closest companion, I've taken inspiration from, well, words...

The creation of words

Simple words

fell

                from

the

                sky

A poet passing by

picked them up

one

by

one

She placed them in her heart

and from them grew

a bouquet of words and phrases and sentences and paragraphs

Volumes began to pour from her finger tips

Streams of beautiful, flowing dreams flowed,

Dampening paper with dark ink as wet as

The tears that flowed from her eyes

Some words were lost,

Drowned in those tears

But others took root, strengthened and grew

To the ends of the earth

Where other poets

picked them up

one

by

one

 Andrea Vermaak