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AprPAD Day 12.1 A Lament
It’s National Poetry Writing Month, which explains the surge in activity. I’m following three different sites generating daily prompts. Writers’ Digest Poetic Asides, the National Poetry Writing Month website (NaPoWriMo) and my old friend, Walt, over at Gnomes. All of these pieces are drafts. < p style=”text-align:justify;”>
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AprPAD Day 12 – A Haibun
12 April: The rain stopped about mid-morning. We jumped in the car for a drive. On a country road. On the South Downs near Beachy Head. Past the Jack and Jill windmills. Views straight toward France. The wind off the sea here strips the chalk hills bare, bald as a golf ball, except for…
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AprPAD Day 11
The Future is Sunny I’m geared for Thursday. Sunny, says the weatherman. Bright as primroses. Just get me past noon, I say. Past this dirge of rain that sops the bark on trees, and drips like a toddler’s nose. Sun at noon, beams the weatherman. What a joker, wearing sunglasses. I see that our…
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Twiglet #71
Aaaaaah. Tea. Tea in a mug with milk, and a wedge of bread with jam. It’s a thick slice of life. for Twiglet #71: A thick slice
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AprPAD Day 10
Viva la Vida He’s pointing across the street, leaving his forensics all over the windowpane that I cleaned until my shoulder disowned me. Up there. Can’t you see it? He’s jabbing at the window. Look, up on Bob’s roof. Right by the TV aerial. I should be able to see it, the trees are…
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dVerse Quadrille #52
And There Was Room to Grow This is the portrait of a parka with a broken zip, with pockets deep enough to hold my hands, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, and a red apple, and that was just in one pocket. for dVerse Quadrille…
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AprPAD Day 9
She Believes in Battle’s End But she doesn’t believe in monsters in shadows. She believes that heaven’s rain can cleanse a soul. Her life is tread with care and led in contemplative prayer. And her crucifix, that sterling shape, for safety’s sake, is her key to heaven. And I still wonder, is it wrong…
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AprPAD Day 8
Badder and Badder She drowned in a floral-scented bath, my broad-smiling, drunk auntie who loved to dance – her little feet were as light as popped corn, but my broad-smiling, drunk auntie was drawn to ugly old men with their callused-hand glances. The bad ones, she said, just get badder and badder. Note:…
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AprPAD Day 7
Internalising Even the sun shines blind. I live inside clouds, some days. Embrace the mist and blur, but you can shine in the dark if you stick to basics. Don’t overthink. I inhale the deep woods. Wild garlic. Pluck at a violin string. Try. Listen to your internal quiet. I can’t always take in…
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AprPAD Day 6.2
II. for NaPoWriMo “working with line breaks” Bread Knives Should Be Air-Dried I dried Mum’s old silver with the Moselle River. Dried her crystal with Chartres. The Loire Valley has a hole in it — my husband dried the bread knife with that one. I collect tea towels — dishtowels. From our holidays. I collect…
It's Still Life 