Summer is a Coming – #Napowrimo 9

As maidens washed their faces in the dew,
at dawn the darling buds of may did grin.
To start the morning bright and fresh and new,
make ready for the coming of the Summer King
and celebrate the summer coming in.
We frolicked in the woods all through the night,
until the early morning birds did sing,
we danced and played and sang til it was light,
to welcome in the summer, bold and bright.

Note from the Author. National Poetry Writing Month is a challenge to write 30 poems in 30 days. It takes place each April and is a great way to get creative with wordplay and throw around some ideas. These poems are put together in such a short time, they are pretty much raw and unedited, and may well be reworked at a later date.

Here is our prompt for 9th April (optional, as always). Because today is the ninth day of NaPoWriMo, I’d like to challenge you to write a nine-line poem. Although the fourteen-line sonnet is often considered the “baseline” form of verse in English, Sir Edmund Spenser wrote The Faerie Queene using a nine-line form of his own devising, and poetry in other languages (French, most particularly) has always taken advantage of nine-line forms. You can find information of various ways of organizing rhyme schemes, meters, etcetera for nine-line works here. And of course, you can always eschew such conventions entirely, and opt to be a free-verse nine-line poet.


When Baphomet Sally – #Napowrimo 8

red baphomet

When Baphomet Sally,
it was obvious they weren’t ever going to have sex,
the whole idea of it caused distress.
I mean what would the world be if a diabolic entity
of misunderstood androgyny
could have such a relationship with a human ally.

When Baphomet Sally,
it wasn’t just his horns that got in the way,
nor her devilish good looks,
not his bare buxom breasts,
or the beard on her face.
I mean all of that was confusing,
and it led to a gross misunderstanding
from the rest of the human race.

When Baphomet Sally,
there were all kinds of other issues, like
the interpretation of duality
and the binary nature of a goat-headed entity
worshiped by the Templar Knights, allegedly.

When Baphomet Sally,
King Philip of France would get involved
in a desire to erase his historic debt,
fearing that their relationship could pose a threat,
and his ancient right to govern meant
he could have them burned, accused of heresy.

When Baphomet Sally
Priests and Kings would destroy the hermaphrodite
they would organise disorder to dispell the dualistic power.
A singular union of opposites disbanded by the papacy
and turned into a stand in for satan, obviously!

When Baphomet Sally
To prove his dedication
Baphomet went and got an impressive tattoo,
not a cliche, like an anchor, or a skull, or a heart.
Forever marked in Latin on the Sabbatic Goat’s arms,
Destined forever to join together and take apart.

When Baphomet Sally
they had such different ideas of relationship,
Sally didn’t think she would be able to fake it.
Surely if they got together it would mean that
anyone could have what she was having.

A Place for Everything – #Napowrimo 7

Way to go – One week of National Poetry writing month, that’s seven poems. I hope you enjoy this one, A fortuitous poem! The challenge is posted at the end, why not give it a go?

A Place for Everything

Exquisite river pearls,
imperfect in perfection,
to make beauty of irritation,
shining with moonlit grace.
With the hairbands
on my bedside table.

A crystal twisted ring,
hand made of copper wire,
lost – found by it’s maker
beneath an oak tree,
restored and returned with love.
With the silver teaspoon,
in the drawer of random things.

A tiny golden goblin,
won from a man of ill-repute,
lost and found in the ocean,
a charm that served me well,
lost forever in the mud.
With all the odd socks,
down the rabbit hole.

Our prompt for the day (optional as always) comes to us from Elizabeth Boquet of Oaks to Acorns. In keeping with the fact that it’s the seventh day of NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo, Elizabeth and I challenge you to write a poem about luck and fortuitousness. For inspiration, take a look at Charles Simic’s “The Betrothal” and Stephen Dunn’s “The Arm”. Need something more? Perhaps these instructions from Elizabeth will get you going!

Create the following lists:

1. List 1 – 3 random objects. (Smaller tends to be better.)
2. List 1 – 3 random but specific locations. (Think in the cookie jar, or under my seat…)
3. List 1 – 2 objects you’ve lost and a few notes on their back-story.
4. List 1- 2 objects you’ve found and few notes on their back-story.

Now, choosing an object from List 1, a location from List 2, and connect them in a poem with ideas from Lists 3 & 4 and Voilà! A fortuitous poem! As an example of a finished “fortuitous” poem, here is Elizabeth’s own “State of Grace”.

Exceptional Circumstances – #Napowrimo 6

“Absence Will Only be Authorised in Exceptional Circumstances”
There is still no clarity on what exceptional is, so I made a list.

Unusual, like a family death or serious illness
Not typical, like dawn at Stonehenge on Summer Solstice
Uncommon, like a parental access visit abroad
Atypical, like going to a famous fairy ball

Extraordinary, like a child who is autistic
Out of the ordinary, like a trip on a spaceship
Unprecedented, at the discretion of the parents
Unexpected, mental distress under a Tory government

Exceptional, disability, distress or fright
Outstanding, disorder or the need for respite
Rare, like winning a holiday as a prize
Peculiar, like living on the Isle of Wight
(I’m serious, in tourism you can’t take holidays
during school holidays)

Bizarre, like a close to home bereavement
Inconsistent, work requirements of parents,
Odd, Family Fund makes awards for holidays
Weird, the amount won’t cover peak season holidays.

Non-standard, a school trusting a parent’s judgement
Freaky, working travellers and showmen
Divergent, experience of family culture and heritage
Last chance, visiting an old or sick relative

Irregular, like family weddings, christenings, and funerals
Strange, term dates different for children in different schools
Deviant, parents in charge of their children, not the state
Surprising, like the chance to join a thrilling pirate raid

Of course, this list is exceptional, we are living in exceptional times,
It’s unusual, not typical, to allow enough time for family time.
“Absence Will Only be Authorised in Exceptional Circumstances”
How many of you would go AWOL for circumstances such as these?

Water – #Napowrimo 5

Water has memory.
I thought it would remember me.
But why should it?
My insignificant brevity
in dedication to its purity
is just a drop in its millennial flow.

People come and go,
filling their bottles,
quenching their thirst,
tying their clooties so well.
In my memory,
sacred space,
a temple,
‘For the Love of It’
I remember it well.

Swift flows of remembrance
when ‘Welcome home,’
trembles through the bones
because well, here you are!

People come and go,
filling their bottles,
quenching their thirst,
tying their clooties so well.
sharing a story,
a prayer,
a ritual,
or worse,
loud angsty rants.
I remember it well.

Velvet strips of remembrance
a swift tease by candlelight
reflecting times passing
where stone trembles
with tribal shouts of grieving.

People come and go,
filling their bottles,
quenching their thirst,
tying their clooties so well.
riding through history
a chance
to heal
a miracle cure.
I remember it well.

1539, when the Last Abbot was done in,
and the Abbey dismembered,
here they cleaned the bloody tools,
that’s worth remembering.

1751, a gentleman’s magazine states,
‘ten thousand people drink for healing.’
The Mayor of Glastonbury reports,
Matt Chancellor endorses the healing waters.
And so increases its fame.

1872, George Wright writes
of pretty caverns clothed with moss,
fairy dropping wells on Well House Lane
before the Wellhouse was built to contain the water
and pump into town the cure for cholera.
And what was Glastonbury like then?
I remember it well.

Still, the flow keeps flowing
and people keep showing up
with their love for the gift
that pure water gives.
Feeling uplifted,
many lives lived, many lives taken.
promises made,
broken and unbroken,
rites of passage softly spoken,
misunderstood intentions,
machinations and inventions,
and mistaken prophecies,
does it remember all of these?

Does it rise up in remembrance of every story?
If you froze one drop for a moment
and magnified it a million times,
would it form into symmetrical shapes of love
or twist around in agony?
Surely it remembers both sides of the story.
It doesn’t remember me,
it just goes with the flow while
people come and go,
filling their bottles,
quenching their thirst and
tying their clooties so well.

Magnificat – #Napowrimo 4

Today is actually day 5, (shhh … I will post that soon).

So the prompt on the website was to write a riddle kind of poem, where the subject of the poem is not mentioned. I tried but didn’t like what I got. So left it to stew for a day.

In the meantime, I read ‘Autobiography‘ by Lawrence Ferlenghetti and it reminded me of Taliesin’s Rhapsody, so I used the template of that to write about A Magnificat who was buried this morning at the end of our garden under a beautiful night jasmine plant.

Primary chief familiar
Am I to the Goodwins.
And my native country
Is Glastonbury.
Max the Wizard
Called me Alfie,
But all future humans
Shall call me Magnificat.
I was nine full months
In the alleyways of Axminster.
Before that I was Charlie,
But now I am Magnificat.
I was a rider
of the Wirral Hill dragon
When the Holy Thorn fell
To chainsaw.
I carried the rabbit
Before Gingerninja.
I know the names of the stones
From the dragon hill to the River Brue.
I was in the bender
When Kath was staying.
I was on the lap
Before the birth of Lyla.

I was destroyer
To the slow worm.
I shall be a curl of smoke
around your legs.
I was patriarch
To kittens and kittens.
Before I was snipped.
I was there at the destruction
Of the neighbour’s wild garden.
I was in Roman Way
Before the moving to town.
I came here
To the remnant of Bere Lane.
I rolled around
In the manger cleaning my ass.
I swirled leaves
Through water in a puddle.
I was at the crossroads
With the bards.
I was the muse,
From Lisa’s cauldron.
I was stretched out in the sun
in nonchalant mindfulness.
I shall be as the Night Jasmine
On the face of the fence.
I sat on the bardic chair.
I have crossed the perilous road
To the Abbey.
I shall continue to revolve
Between the three black dots on my nose.bardicat

Always forever – #Napowrimo Day 3

So here is day 3 – late. Yesterday’s prompt on the website was to write a eulogy. Well, I didn’t fancy that. Fortunately there are plenty of places to find prompts, so I checked out the NaPoWriMo facebook page where the prompt was to write a poem starting with I will always …. so here it is.

Always Forever

I will always
avoid saying always
and never
say never.
For these promises,
not for keeping,
are far too long.
never lasts.
There is always
something else
to say
to soothe
an anxious mind.