Poetry - Day Seven Caught Up (for now)

Things That Should Be Hidden

Young girls' jiggly buttocks
that make men stop and stare,
exposed in stretched lycra.
'It's MY body.' Unaware.

The things that I am thinking
which can sometimes seem unkind.
I don't need people knowing
the dark secrets of my mind.

The details of your sex life
like how many times a day
or the number of orgasms
or the sort of games you play.

What you really think of me.
I truly do my best.
I can't help that I fail you, so
keep quiet when you're stressed.

The total sum of money
that I've spent on books this week,
but I've just finished studying
and I'm far too tired to speak.

Poetry - Day Six (losing count now!)

Fairy Tale Life

My external wolf

Outside I am the Grandma
of 'what a big mouth you've got' fame.
Disregard the teeth, worn out and wobbly.
Beware the mouth. That's cutting.
Outside I am the Grandma
but inside skips that little girl
with sugar, spice and cakes in the basket.
Beside me lopes my external wolf,
crossed eyes, big ears, arthritic knees.
We hobble down life's path, co-joined,
and, when we see you, we each silently
just lift one lip in Elvis-sneer
and carry on. The Grandma and her wolf.

Poetry - Day Five

Pyjamas


Saturday, black silk,
smoothly slithery against the skin,
coldly rubbing nipples erect,
sensuous thigh massage.
A river of promises
and memories. No sleep.

Sunday, pink snugglies.
Brushed cotton comfort
slightly stained with cocoa.
Warm, matching bedsocks
and a hockle bockle.
Dozing on the sofa.

Weekdays, stripy onesie
on a growly toddler,
bathnight damp and fragrant.
Tiger-taming bedtime story
then wrestle down to sleepy town,
your sleep a distant dream.

Poetry - Day Four

Picnic in the Sun

It should have been relaxing,
our picnic in the sun.
Instead it was a massacre,
'cos Granny brought her gun.

She tucked it in her knicker leg
where she could get at it with ease.
It helped that she wore granny pants
that ended at her knees.

She started at the traffic lights,
she wound the window down,
she fired two shots into the air
and cleared that end of town.

The car parking was easy too,
the news had quickly traveled
that today was Daly Picnic Day
and Granny had unraveled.

There were no flies on the sandwiches
'cos Granny shot one dead.
The others saw their splattered friend
and went elsewhere instead.

It ended as it always did
with cops at every corner.
They confiscated Granny's gun
and took her off to warn her.

Next year we'll search her, pat her down,
check all her nooks and crannies.
A sunny picnic's not the place
for pistol-packing grannies.

Poetry - Day Three

Prompt: think of a powerful emotion. Think of a time when you experienced that emotion. Choose an object from that scene and put it in a box. Open the box and describe the contents - weight, colour, smell. Write a poem.

May 3rd, 1971

Historically, nothing momentous occurred.
The world kept turning.
We went to school
and, though it was Monday,
we had lamb, peas and new potatoes
cooked for us by Dad.
I suppose he didn't go to work that day,
seeing as how Mum had died.
So, there were just four places laid,
four plates with soft, pink, bleeding
slices of someone's child;
grey, leaden lumps of vegetable
matter, hard to swallow;
the artificial Spring green
of peas, trying for optimism.
The taint of normalcy
as we sat in the wrong places,
spread out to camouflage the gap,
and chewed on the cold, hard facts.

Poetry - Day Two

Prompt: randomly pick a concrete noun from the dictionary. Look at its various definitions, and the words before and after it. Use it to write a poem.

Words: Heteroclite (noun): deviating from common form or rules; abnormal; somebody or something abnormal or unusual; a word that is irregular in inflexion or declension.

Heterodyne (adj): combining two similar radio frequencies to produce a lower frequency or beat.

I'd Rather Be

Rather than an oddball, I think that I might
have preferred to be called a heteroclite.

Whereas heterosexual's the standardised form,
a heteroclite deviates from the norm.

It holds on to 'hetero', upholds the illusion
that hetero is normal and there's the confusion.

Abnormal, unusual, with irregular inflexion,
I'm proud of my heterochromatic reflection.

Heteroclitic is a new word of mine,
and is used for a beat that is heterodyne.

Poetry - Day One

We have now finished the Creative Writing module. As we are waiting for our results, we are trying to write a poem a day throughout June. The prompts we are using are from Mslexia. 

Prompt: Randomly pick five titles of poems; work from them towards your own poem.

Titles: Where We Belong; a Duet.
          Snake.
          It was the Rainbow gave thee Birth.
          In Willesdon Churchyard.
          And Yet the Books. 

Enjoy my poem, then go and look up the others.


Duet
Born wrapped in a rainbow,
you chose to see the rain cloud.
The duet we danced,
a parody of pleasure.
I lift my rose-coloured glass
and toast the sunset.
You drop your eyes and mourn
the coming of the dark.
Our last waltz together
will be in Willesdon churchyard.
Once you've embraced despair,
I'll leave you there 
and I'll dance on alone
amongst the stones.