Tag: glopowrimo
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GloPoWriMo Day 10: Love & Taste
I.Once Once, right thereby the radio, which was on mostly in the morning for an hour, or when we left home so the house didn’t seem empty, and for most hours of the day, especially as old age set in, sleeping with sunlightpouring on her likea gentle massage, and right there,with a direct viewof the…
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GloPoWriMo Day 9: Nonet & Kimo
Two Poem Forms: Nonet and Kimo I.A Nonet Poem Hear night rain. You needn’t look, you knowits grey distance. You know laceworkthrough limbs. Twigs dripping armour.Dreams swept truant intosome occupied sky.Constellationsfrom elsewhere into soakednight. II. A Kimo Poem This morning’s air is empty of winterBird song pooling in my earsAnd green silkens the trees NaPoWriMo…
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GloPoWriMo Day 8: What They Never Tell You Could Fill a Book
What they Never Tell You Could Fill a Book (reading time: 00:01.14) It’s dawn.The moon laughs. My dogs are runningthrough the forest. For the lake.Gasping at air,chasing around chestnut trees.Around birch trees gleamingwhite in their own shadows. I play here.Climb trees.Feed magpies. Squirrels.Leave seeds for robins. AndI fall out of trees.Pretend to be a horse.Jump…
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Day 7 GloPoWriMo: I Feel Sunshine
The less you talk, the more you’re listened to ~ Pauline Phillips I Feel Sunshine – (reading time: 00:58:57) I was born after Mum ate an abundance of chilli, and then took a walk on the sand dunes. That’s when all the wailing began. Not Mum, the doc knocked her out cold, back then natural…
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GloPoWriMo: Day 6 Acrostic
From Blossoms in a Bag From April, had that frost not come,blossoms might’ve shouted out vernality, butcome not bees plumped and powdered bronze, this cold that strikes a slash, chews at fibresbrown to rotting limp and levelled low. Petalpaper seeping, nests empty, snail shells vacated. Bag up the remnants of this broken spring,of this brittle…
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GloPoWriMo: Day 5 – Mythical
Hey Mum, My Name Is Icarus I said the sun was too far away,and I ran like a stag, head down, and fast as scenery flashing bywhen you sit in a car, and stareunblinkingly into a forest whileDad speeds along the dirt track, and I jumped off the brick wall,my arms feathered in pillowcases, and…
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Glo/NaPoWriMo: Day 4, A Prompt
For Old Women Who Find Their Wings You wake up, and leave the curtains closed. What will the neighbours think: a. you’re still sleeping, b. you died in your sleep. Listen to the weather. Give it a colour. Sit on the edge of the bed, feel your weight. Give your weight a colour that clashes…
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GloPoWriMo Day 3: A Glosa Poem
A Glosa poem form in response to a quatrain from Old Man Throwing a Ball, by David Baker “dodders out, she’s old as the sky, wheeling her green tank with its sweet vein, breath. She tips down the path he’s made for…
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GloPoWriMo: Day 2
An Old Woman Full of Light Her man wanted a roomwithout light. A cube ofdimness, and colours dark as bark. He’d whisper in her ear“Are you asleep?” andshe’d fall into a deepened still. She told me she’d not seen a dawn,a rising sun, a glisking lightnever entered that room that held his plague,prophecy, and sleepless…
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Glo/NaPoWriMo: Day 1
Written as prose: The Fall When old women fall, they lose their voice. Their legs go funny angles, all catawampus like Bambi on that frozen lake. And when they call for help, their voice shrinks, an echo in their porous bones, a wobble sound that no one hears . . . . . h.h.h.help. And…
It's Still Life 