Poetry

Spice - lemon and herb, sun-dried. Chicken - half, skin crisp. Taste - Bliss, in a bowl. --- For the Day 12 Prompt at NaPoWriMo… Was always going to be about my favourite meal, and table 11. :)

[Image Source] You try to hide your fear behind a veneer of strength, try to put up a facade of calm but beyond the outer strength is the odd tear that slips, unguarded. You stand bewildered at the fork of the road. Left? Right? Blending into an instructable sameness, certainly uncertain of where your Redemption Days lie. To the confused, every coincidence is an omen, the whisper of God rustling the leaves one way, or another, but what if like lemmings one must jump? ...

John Sargent, A Dinner Table at Night (1884) Source A t first you ask to talk, but B urning deep within is the burden of words, a C acophony of voices in your head, D riving despair like a stake into wetted E arth, a haze that settles in and just won’t shift. You F ind a time and place to have the talk, you G o with the flow, tell it like it is, whilst H e squirms beneath the weight of I nnocence lost, guilt like a pall of smoke drifting in. He J okes about not meaning IT, but there is a K nowing that transcends the clarification of intent, that L ooms larger than any image words alone can paint; ...

Shed Tears; Let pain like a malevolent fiend- Draw blood. Let go; Let the waves of a melancholic nostalgia break you. Pressure makes you whole again. Blame Fear; Blame Pain, blame sorrow deep within- Still Sing. An old (anti-valentine) piece from 2010 re-broken for the Day Nine NaPoWriMo prompt… I’d let you decide what shape this calligram represents.. :)

For H - untitled, off prompt… I said I wouldn’t cry Wouldn’t let the quivering of my lips win, break me. I said I wouldn’t bend, Wouldn’t sag beneath this weight this unrelenting burden of grief A harsh wind clasps Me by my throbbing throat Enrobing me in the scales Of its cold, wintery fingers. Something’s stolen you From me, and all I have left Is hope, that when tomorrow comes The Sun will shine.

[ Image Source] For sixty six and three some quid, Éloi* would have my heart But I’ll be damned if I accede With nary a fulsome fight --- For the NaPoWriMo Prompt for Day 7, Money; a nod to my current love-hate relationship with work! * Éloi (or Eligius) is the patron saint of metalworkers, and by extension corrosion and materials engineers.:)

Sól’s halo kisses the quiescent sea, its morning shimmer her hello. --- For the Day Six prompt at NaPoWriMo. Not so much a love poem as a short celebration of morning…

Jacob Wrestling With The Angel, Rembrandt (1659) [ Source] A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard Till morning touching mountain And Jacob, waxing strong, The Angel begged permission To Breakfast – to return! Not so, said cunning Jacob! “I will not let thee go Except thou bless me” – Stranger! The which acceded to Light swung the silver fleeces “Peniel” Hills beyond, And the bewildered Gymnast Found he had worsted God! ...

[ Pixshark] I have your name etched on my skin, its lines and curves and slants edged in rich, deep black. I carry your face in my memory, nestled like a flash of bright white light saves the sameness of a dark spring night. Your name is a call and echo, one that I murmur like the repeating melody of a descant; the twang of a bow’s string reverberating in the stillness of the valley air, the thud of an arrow steered unerringly as it rips into a doe’s ribcage. ...

Forgive me if I disappear here, if like a dying Shooting star my flight expires in a flash of light, yielding To the encircling murk, this shroud that slowly stultifies. Forgive me if my quivering lips neglect to tell my tale Of broken shattered things and distant pains that still remain And this unyielding weight; of things quotidian and unseen. Why can’t skies have clouds and stars\* and enthralling moon light too? Why must a pilgrim find his way, on slippery pavements too? ...