artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
I didn't finish. Other things came up.

Sixteen poems in a month is still more than I've written in years, though. I'm glad I did what I did.

I discovered that I enjoy it, that sometimes I do have something to say that doesn't lend itself to prose.

I learned that I can still rhyme, though it is hard work for me to do so.

I've been reminded that I'm really terribly soppy. A quarter of the poems are love poems... oh dear!

I might write some more, from time to time.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
I've always loved lilacs,
but the sweetness of your smile
makes me wish they bloomed year-round
to please you.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
I would traverse mountains for you,
     cross countries and continents
     to start a new life at your side;
But you're nearby.

I could keep watch outside a castle,
     raise armies to defend you,
     vanquish every earthly foe.
But you live in an ordinary terraced house. It doesn't even have a moat. And you don't make enemies easily.

I long to capture the tears of the unicorn's cousin
     and mix them, according to ancient recipes, into an elixir
     tasting of lilacs and gin
     that cures all ills, heals all pains
     and present it to you.
But you'd only blush at the fuss and find someone who needed it more.

So I try to be sensible, and follow the world's rules in showing my clumsy affection.

I hope you understand.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
The high street bustles with traffic noise,
Cheap fruit, discounts, the odd car alarm.
But yet I have known no greater joys
Than seeing your smile, taking your arm.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
The train.

Dazzling strobe sunlight flashes
syncopate against
trundling on uneven rails.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
On my kitchen windowsill
sweet peas perform a
slow-motion life eruption.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
February, and how to survive it.

First, the socks. An extra pair
before leaving the house.
Don't forget!

Put your skates over one shoulder,
hanging by laces.
Walk to the rink.

Boots off. Skates on. Squeeze feet in.
Pull the laces tight -- no, tighter.
Take the guards off the blades, stash them in your boots. Wobble to the ice.

Then glide. Slide over fissures and bumps.
Push away from the edges, sail out to the centre of the rink
(mind you don't catch your toepicks in the rough patches).

All is freedom, motion, laughter, until the cold toes and cheeks are too much.

Then the unlacing; relief balanced by stiffness as circulation returns.

Fumble the blade guards back on with cold-slowed hands, skates over shoulder again, boots on.

Trudge home with your blisters and your memories.

If you're lucky, there'll be enough milk for hot chocolate.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
You warned me you were fickle.
You said friendship would fade.
And now I'm in pickle
When you won't accept my aid.

I tried to take it easy.
I tried to disconnect.
You didn't mean to tease me
And you don't mean to reject.

But still I love you fiercely,
I cannot help myself.
I don't show you how you pierce me
Now you favour someone else.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
She's safe now.
Life is going well:
Good job
Great friends
Generous, loving husband.
But remembering the shouting
The long hungry nights trying not to cry
She still hides food in her bedroom:
Just in case.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
I came to visit and say goodbye.
I'd gathered up the borrowed books,
And extra jumpers, by the by,
And tea, and mittens on a hook.
I brought some coins, one for each eye,
To pay the toll to cross the brook.
In spite of all this carry-on,
I came, and found that you had gone.

NaPoWriMo 7

Apr. 8th, 2013 09:59 am
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
You'd failed, abandoned us; you'd left.
Why should I think you could come back?
We struggled, lonely and bereft.
Your easy absence was our lack.

How to continue, left behind?
What good news could we truly tell?
And then, this weakness of the mind:
They said that you'd come back from Hell!

I can't accept it, won't conspire
To lie to people in their grief.
I need to see your wounds; require
A tactile witness for belief.

And yet, I thought I saw you wince
In love and care. And even though
It's been some twenty centuries since,
I've seen you bleeding here below.

You've picked me up, I've touched a welt;
Those scars are real, I will allow.
Mayhap I know how Thomas felt.
"My Lord, my God" -- I know you now.
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
I hear an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees,
Determined, in red vestments, behind them stand,
With coaxing words and kindly eyes, the charioteers.

They whisper at dawn their message of peace.
I rise from sleep and put the kettle on,
And try to rouse you from the duvet's crease:
"Awake! Awake! Breakfast, and then we may begin."

They come singing in warnin their freedom-song,
They come out of the sea and skip smiling on the shore.
My heart, have you not yearned thus to belong?
My love, my love, my love, why don't we join with them now?

NaPoWriMo 5

Apr. 5th, 2013 06:11 pm
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
The sun is swiftly setting;
Soon the night will fall.
There's no way of forgetting
The sun is swiftly setting.
My trembling hands are letting
Notes drop while winds squall.
The sun is swiftly setting;
Soon the night will fall.

NaPoWriMo 4

Apr. 5th, 2013 05:20 pm
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
My home,
The place I rest,
My refuge, my escape,
My heart, my dreams, will always be
With you.

NaPoWriMo 3

Apr. 4th, 2013 06:37 pm
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
There was a time
So long ago
When I could rhyme.

It wasn't mime:
I used to know --
there was a time.

The bells would chime
and stars would glow
When I could rhyme.

I could knead dough
Or say hello.
There was a time

I wasn't slow.
The words would grow
When I could rhyme.

Back in my prime
The seeds I'd sow.
There was a time
When I could rhyme.

NaPoWriMo2

Apr. 4th, 2013 04:53 pm
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
Harvest


Your words hang in the air,
warm, reassuring.
While you aren't looking
I gather them up,
folding their delicate tissue carefully,
and slip them quietly into my bag.

Safely home in kitchen-cum-laboratory
I compress your words
string the shining jewels they become
onto gossamer threads
to wear, daily, near my heart.

They will not return to you empty.

NaPoWriMo 1

Apr. 4th, 2013 04:23 pm
artsyhonker: a girl with glasses and purple shoulder-length hair (Default)
Sanctus


My heart turning
I wake again
to tinnitus, at first,
then brightening murmurs
rising hum of heavenly voices.

I bow, vision seared,
tongue burning -- hosanna in excelsis.

They've been here singing all along.

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