Flood Poems

Sketches and scribbles.
A poetic sandbox for play and words.

NaPoWriMo #24

Bear

smells of salmon

blood around lips

ruby claws

drunk

Ursine infidelity

NaPoWriMo #23

23


stars and moons on a dress

spoons were for stirring cakemix

cocoa into cream

bike ride into the sunshine

rubber heat, yellow eye

nothing can stop freewheeling

NaPoWriMo #22

Prompt again from Jo Bell: make a ‘To Do’ list of life ambitions.

 

Things To Do Before I Die

Go to New Zealand

breathe mountain air deep.

 

Run a marathon

sweat on back, sore ankles.

 

Write a book

publish and be damned.

 

Build a bookcase from scratch

pride is blood from an ill-placed nail.

 

Keep smiling,

keep caring,

keep fighting,

keep sharing,

keep loving,

keep breathing.

NaPoWriMo #20

Let Him Go


Hair smacks the face

tendrils like Medusa

bites into skin

softer than peach

yet as tan as coconut.

She let him go

her songs wove a ship

to carry him home.

Salt streaked muscles

rowing away, away.

As she sang, she sang.

She sang for safety

she sang for him

to make an impact.

To make him remember.

Kalypso, sing your song,

then let him go.

NaPoWriMo #19

My phone decided yesterday that it had been dropped onto hard surfaces too many times. It is now a blank, black screen. Useful only as a mirror, a paperweight, or a doorstop.

 

No Techno No

No desktop integration

no poking at the weather

no map information

no apps to tap.

 

Blank screen

blank look

blank technology

blank blink.

 

Black with a scrape

black with whiskers

black chipped translucent

black on black on black.

 

NaPoWriMo #18

Because beauty comes in all shapes and sizes.

 

Screw You, Samantha Brick

Give me a pie in the morning

give me a pie in the afternoon

give me a pie for tea.

 

Give me a pie of cheese,

give me a pie with peas,

give me a pie speckled with cinnamon.

 

Give me a pie in supplication,

give me a pie in moderation,

give me a pie - a pastry sensation.

 

Give me a pie - I’ll share it,

give me a pie -  we’ll carve it,

give me a pie - let’s eat it together.

joannechocolat:

All around the world, the library stands as one of the truest symbols of  a progressive civilization. That’s why, at times of political repression, religious intolerance, social regression and descent into barbarism, books have been burnt and censored and access to libraries denied.
This amazing picture from WW2, showing people using a half-demolished library, says everything that needs to be said.
And during the week in which a man who is closing all the libraries chose to spend  my money and yours on an extravagant funeral for the woman who said “there is no society”, to me this image of hope seems especially poignant.
The Nazis knew what they were doing when they bombed this library. But the public saved it. They saved it because they knew very well what a library represents.
Libraries are freedom.
Libraries are equality.
Libraries are society.
Libraries are understanding.
Libraries belong to all of us.
And they are still worth saving.

joannechocolat:

All around the world, the library stands as one of the truest symbols of  a progressive civilization. That’s why, at times of political repression, religious intolerance, social regression and descent into barbarism, books have been burnt and censored and access to libraries denied.

This amazing picture from WW2, showing people using a half-demolished library, says everything that needs to be said.

And during the week in which a man who is closing all the libraries chose to spend  my money and yours on an extravagant funeral for the woman who said “there is no society”, to me this image of hope seems especially poignant.

The Nazis knew what they were doing when they bombed this library. But the public saved it. They saved it because they knew very well what a library represents.

Libraries are freedom.

Libraries are equality.

Libraries are society.

Libraries are understanding.

Libraries belong to all of us.

And they are still worth saving.

NaPoWriMo #17

Saw Cannibals at the Royal Exchange Theatre this evening. It’s both astonishing and harrowing.  Feeling a bit drained mentally and creatively tonight.

Love. Home. Memory.

Freedom is work

love is being told that you’re loved.

(And guns reaffirm this.)

 

ты помнишь

Do you remember?

 

Travelling far

suspended in boxes,

in backs of lorries,

the taste of new towns.

Croissant, butter, milk.

 

Garish lights, laughter

inappropriate laughter.

Freedom is a yellow dress

and a gun.

NaPoWriMo #16

Turn your hands

around, around

with no sound.

Fleet footed

sure of yourself

you leap,

fly by.