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
Refreshed by spray on tanned gym-monkey torso vanity justified
Evacuation of Kabul stutters pending Minister's approval
Afghan allies require visas to escape Taliban's vengeful advance
Windsurfer gybes cock-sure of judgement power
Calls from ministry officials can wait their papers will be read later
Aircraft depart half-empty such precious equipment cannot be lost
Loyality to the democratic creed only flows one-way and can cost you everything
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2023. Day 20 prompt take an abstract noun from the list and write in short lines and brief stanzas.
News events here, the resignation of a bully from HM Government, brings to mind his appalling neglect of dutywhen the USA and British forces were told to flee from Afghanistan, as Taliban forces descended on Kabul.
The man, who was British Foreign Minister at the time of the crisis, refused to return from his holiday in Crete, so he might work closely with officials trying to evacuate translators and other Afghani people, who had worked closely with the UK military forces there.
It is known that the lack of leadership and subsequently poor coordination of resources within the Foreign Office led to the abandonment of men and women, who were later imprisoned, tortured and killed for having worked with the British, who had tried to support USA efforts to bring democracy to the war ravished country.
Quietly watching, Eva romanticised.
This youth, unshaven, insistent, optimistic.
Arising sexual desire formed
Jubilantly kindling Love’s
zany X-certificate variations
brought new meaning.
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2023. Day 18 prompt: Use the alphabet to write a poem. I went a bit Qwertywith this one.
Kumquat, as he was known
Worked each Saturday morning
In Fruit & Veg, it was said
And school holidays
When not playing cricket
Which was all winter
And much of the summer too
Given so much English weather
Is unsuited to chasing leather
Across a field freshly mown
In China the Kumquat’s known
As the golden orange fruit
Quite a thing to eat
Its thin skin and all
Unlike the cricket ball
Which were it to meet
Someone’s front teeth
Would provoke a ghastly moan