my mother's eyes my dad's demeanour not land, nor castles income from estates the staff, titles the homes, the jewels not the taxpayers cash interest on millions property worth billions no power to tweak laws before they're set not wealth passed on from a rich woman to her son an accident of birth no one chooses to get born the luck of the draw to be fit and strong isn't that enough with my mother's eyes my dad's demeanour
attack on suburbs a three year old child victim where remains safe now?
n.b. The bereaved motherthought the war was “far away” from their home on the outskirts of Dnipro, but sadly not, The Guardian reports this morning.
What, with killings like this and the forced deportation of children from occupied areas of Ukraine, the men in Moscow and their hand-maidens in the ministries, have clearly given up hope of any salvation under the terms of their Orthodox religion.
Wincing dull dawn Colourful If grey's your thing Does the sky reflect the sea or sea the sky? This performance Doesn't make it clear
The North-Easterly Plays its part well Gets in the head With a sinuous chill Reminiscent of Atonal violins That bring tears
A bit-part freighter bound for Hartlepool Sustains a rhythmic arcing Of symmetric bow-waves Silently pleasing Musical sensibilities As it ploughs the line Where that grey Meets this grey
Today the briny's Salt-sharp scent Fills the lungs An air that lifts The audience Of herring gulls Enjoying The string section Of promenade lights
Empty seats Are all I see From this end Of the pier What attractions Did I envisage Exciting enough To drag you here?
It's what passes For entertainment At this time of year Out on this pile Of rusting iron Planks of decking Spitting up spume On our shoes From breakers below
Admittedly Not everyone's flask Of lip-scalding tea But with a constant changing cast And subtle improvisations Oh! I do like to be beside You here I think it's worth the fare We'll have to pretend The mocking chorus Of immature gulls Don't disagree
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2023. Day 24 prompt: poetic reviewof the rarely reviewed.
Picture shows two people swimming in The North Sea a substantial period before the laughingly labelled, British Summer Time kicked in.
Kev looks across Calls me over There's a seat Free Beside him In the front row Grateful A great view
A player Jogs closer Pauses preparation Looks up seeking Familial faces Points a finger To the right Blows a kiss To someone
Squeezed in tight Beside her mum, She sees the man In the blue shirt Waving Then bursts out Brightly "That's My Daddy!"
Cuddling Her daughter Closer New baby boy On her knee She's touched By the joy Of her little girl With arms full she can only nod And smile Hides Anxiety Hopes he won't Get hurt Not lose Come home Happy
Hunched over Leaning On walking stick So old that The process of His gradual Shrinking Visible Even during The match He's here Excited At the prospect Relieved To be here Having been Revived By paramedics Who worked on him For three hours Just two weeks ago Frustrated That he missed Two matches Reassured That they were Pretty dull By all accounts
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2023. Day 23 prompt: Numerous numbered stanzas from various people’s perspectives at the same setting.
Her final month of summer Was all we feared that it might be Not her tender graciousness Left us in her wake, but that drive Drawn from the womb's well Fired her urgency Made her hunger pain
We wondered at their blindness When nothing was more plain As they quarried her stone heart Their stupidity no brighter Than a dullard's dull insolence It was life's force within her Not pleasure drove her on
I recall sitting on a stone wall in awe of Hale-Bopp trailing by it looked all upside down with tail splayed out above as the Earth span and that spectacle of cosmic light moved counter to the common stars I thought I could never see such beauty with my own eyes again until our orbits caused to coincide
I am sick of the sound of your voice You're always moaning Whingeing Complaining I'm sick of the sight Of you and your tears What do you know about it About anything You're stupid, pig thick Dumb Don't start Don't interrupt Oh, do be quiet Haven't you got anything new to say Hurry up Get on with it I haven't got all day Not now, later
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2023. Day 16 prompt. A negation poem. Sadly too many of us have been on the wrong end of negation. Maybe, it’s why some of us write.