Ink drawn down by a ball Tracking the shapes of symbols Forming letters, leaving words That flowed down the arm Impulses sparked from synapses Passed out of the cranium Onto a leaf of compressed tree Watched through the eyes Images impress on the retinas Checked back into the head Compared with the thoughts Originated in a jumble Memory, imagination, emotion Characters coughed up from a character
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2023, Day Twelve: Where’s it from, what’s it about, what’s the point? Or something like that.
On four separate pylons, one per corner The things to look for, Proper Lights Not strung out beads along the top of each stand
A symmetry of steel sentries attending the stadium Perspective rotating the shining pins As the train curves into town Or the main road breaks into capillaries Until proximity fixes the view
Neck craned I'd seek the service ladder Wondering who had nerves steady enough To climb, climb, climb, climb up Change a bulb, weather the descent
Would he need to count the rungs up to do his work And then again, count down until safely grounded To help concentrate on scaling each spire one hundred and thirty-four feet six inches high
Visible from the crest of Portsdown Hill Lights that marked my Home, Pompey Lights that turned Roker's terrace roofs silver Or from the M6, over Birmingham Lights arranged in two pairs A and V How bright they were at Aston Villa
The No 19 moving slow on the High Road Spilling passengers outside the ground Beneath the illumination of White Hart Lane
At Barnsley, the lights' glow drawing the crowd Into Oakwell over the gentle rise gantries emerging from below as we step closer through feeble snow
Easing into Crewe, Peterborough, Swindon, Ipswich Eyes fixed on the lattice work Head rotating to hold the sight To note the architectural twists to relive or dream
Another football ground for the lists Been there: won, draw, defeat, abandoned, postponed Not been there: next season if...or in the FA Cup
"I can see the lights" I'd shrill as a child And still, as a child when no more a child
n.b. The NaPoWriMo 2023, Day 7 prompt a list poem, that is not quite a list, but has list poem qualities.
I have two lists on the go and I am not the only one.
westerly pulling at loose coat hoods white horses whispering of rain turnstones picking through kelp gulls laughing from beachfront roofs wet sand slowly filling in footprints faint moon fading in morning azure Venus sinking with all our hopes