#Napowrimo 22

Space holding page for epic earth poem that will take longer than a day to put together – (yes I know that’s the point but I don’t care) anyhow, no spoilers … this is the prompt, iambic pentametre takes a bit of tme to get right and with it being Shakespear’s birthday tomorrow and St Georges day, there’s a lot to say about land use and immigration – William really would shake a spear at the way the world has turned … back to the word wrestling …

da dum da dum da dum da dum da dum … one soft, one hard, the words to march along.

Happy Earth Day, all, and happy twenty-second day of NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo!

Our featured participant today is Arash’s Poetry, where the overheard poem for Day 21 is a wonderful rendering of speech in a busy cafe.

Our interview today is with Kyle Dargan. Originally from New Jersey, Dargan now lives in Washington, DC, where he directs the creative writing program at American University. He is the author of four books of poetry that explore the intersection of the personal and the political, with a twist of science fiction. You can learn more about Dargan and find some of his poems here, and find an additional poem here.

Last but not least, here is our prompt for the day (optional, as always). In honor of Earth Day, I’d like to challenge you to write a georgic. The original georgic poem was written by Virgil, and while it was ostensibly a practical and instructional guide regarding agricultural concerns, it also offers political commentary on the use of land in the wake of war. The georgic was revived by British poets in the eighteenth century, when the use of land was changing both due to the increased use of enlightenment farming techniques and due to political realignments such as the union of England, Scotland, and Wales.

Your Georgic could be a simple set of instructions on how to grow or care for something, but it could also incorporate larger themes as to how land should be used (or not used), or for what purposes.

Happy writing!

Overheard at the White Spring – #Napowrimo 21

“Gerroff my leyline,”
he shouted
in a spectacular display
of anger.
He scared the tourists,
expectation
of sacred space crumbled,
dissolved
as chalk in water.
Wild
as a hedge monkey,
ready
to chase off the war drums,
yesterday
he hummed a sweet tune,
harmony
through cider rouged smiles,
happy
as a boar in springtime.
Today
he is protector of dragon lines,
he hates
the sacred space full
of ceremony and nakedness,
today
he is blessed, magnificent,
unbridled.
“Gerrof my leyline!”

Night, Fear and Fire – #NaPoWriMo 19

A man holds a bucket as he tries to extinguish a late night fire

Night, fear, and fire,
suffering and sin.
Creation myths
to keep us penned in.

Night, fear, and fire
in everyone’s mythology,
while we listen to the story,
do we see the symbology?

Suffering and sin
creates more of the same,
and we are bound to do it
in some god or other’s name.

Creation myths,
could push a sweeter story,
something more useful,
like finding grace and glory.

To keep us penned in,
words have been rewritten,
to shroud us in the bloodshed,
til we are totally sin-smitten.

Night, fear, and fire,
suffering and sin.
Creation myths
to keep us penned in.

Lisa Goodwin – April 19th 2017

People are Not a Commodity – #Napowrimo 18

Hello folks,

 

Last year, all the banks left Glastonbury High Street. Lloyds Bank, HSBC, Barclays, all abandoned the town. (‘Boo … or hooray!’ depending on your perspective.) A campaign by local residents and the Town Council, ‘The Last Bank Standing,’ did not convince the banks to stay, but it did attract the attention of Nationwide Building Society.

Personally, I think the local Credit Union is the best way to make money work for a community. However, Nationwide building society does not invest in war, nuclear, oil or gas, which is a bonus, and it makes them more ethical than the bag 6 Banks, and rather than investing in corporations, they invest in the community.

Divest from the big six and switch! That is something I can get behind.

Even better, Nationwide are supporting poetry with a ‘National Voices’ Campaign.  Hopefully, I will perform today’s poem – ‘People are not a Commodity’ in the Market Square on 27th April. Come down if you can, between midday and 4pm, some of the poets from the advert campaign will be there too. After the poetry takeaway event in Glastonbury, I will post the poem here.

Here it is …

People are Not a Commodity

Altogether, we are building society,
finding new ways to strengthen our community.
Common unity, with no rank or authority;
and while it seems like everybody
is competing in a competitive economy,
people are not a commodity.

Here, we are building bridges,
embracing so many faiths and religions.
and with all these different traditions,
we can’t afford to invest in divisions.
So it’s time to think about divesting,
and switching to something real,
something that we can believe in.

We are advocating unity in diversity,
but while we are celebrating this,
who is caring for the family,
who’s there for the young and the elderly?
Community despises isolation,
it comes alive with our participation.

Like birds of a feather,
it works when we all work together.
So let’s take part, let’s take the time
to meet one another, eye to eye
take a moment to share a smile,
and call on your mates once in a while.

We all need a place to belong,
a place where we don’t feel alone,
everyone wants a welcome home,
so let’s cheer one another on.
That’s how a community remains strong.

Nocturnal Nostalgia – #Napowrimo 17

This is really rough and will be reworked – The NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a nocturne.

I can’t sleep
at mother’s house
yet
light fades,
gives way to night.
Curtains cotton thin,
let the light in,
clock ticks too loud.
Time passes.

I come to visit,
shaded memories,
like a Pixar movie,
they come to life
when you go to bed.
There in the corner,
a wall of VHS,
dusted and grainy
a monumental waste,
a taste of remembrance
of shared time,
how fast
Time passes.

There in the shadow,
a dictionary
old words,
I used to search for
lost to us by now,
replaced with cyber references
you don’t understand.
Heavy gardening manuals,
decoupage and macrame books,
used before your fingers
were too artheritic
to tie knots.
Time passes.

That candlestick,
a Christmas gift,
the one I made
for you in 1986.
Azure glass glaze,
my fingerprints remain
forever in the clay
traces of a teenager,
in remembrance.
Time passes.

Remember when
I had that party
and the neighbor
grassed on me
You didn’t like her,
you miss her
now she’s gone.
Time passes.

Vinyl, you kept
only the best ones,
when grandma’s
sideboard got sold,
the best of Elvis,
Julio Iglesias and Demis Roussos,
A box of shot glasses,
wrapped in newspaper in 2001.
Time passes.

Souvenirs on souvenirs
surround you,
trinkets of a time
before old age
slowed you down.
Reminders of a time
when you
were strong
and had a sense
of belonging.
Time passes.