January 20

This one is a simple abcedarian poem about a geocaching adventure.

Breakfast we leave the sulky
Cat to her own
Devices and
Edge our way around the
Fringes of a cemetery,
Guarding our secret
Hunt for treasure
In the
jurisdiction of the dead
Kicking up
Leaves and stones, we try not to
Miss anything
uNusual or
Pretty close to giving up the
Quest, we poke around the
Roots of an old tree and a
Severed finger shows itself,
Under leaves and inside, a tiny
Vial, and we sign at the bottom of a list of
Worldwide discoverers
Exhilarated by finding
Yellowing plastic digit, we
Zigzag our way back to the cat

Playing catch-up

I have missed a couple of days posting here, so here are a few little unrelated sketches.  A shadorma, and a couple of cinqkus – a new form for me.

Wind whipped hair
Clings to your face-paint
A man takes
a photo
In a flash the moment’s lost
As you hide your face

It swirls
And devours
Your fat fingers
Shrieking with glee – the bath

old signs
outlast the
farms that fed us
now swallowed by hungry

January 17

Today’s poetry challenge was personification. This sketch is my first attempt at rhyming for a very long time, and is a tribute of sorts to my old Ikea kitchen table.

Your little Bjursta

I’m completely wrong here, I know
Too dark, too small and too scratched
You really can’t blame me though
That the chairs you chose don’t match

Remember how happy you were
When you fitted me in your hatchback
Yes – there were others you preferred
You two-faced queen of the flat pack

But back then, I was dark and clean
And you used me to dine and play
The curries you spilt were obscene
But I didn’t mind the chardonnay

And then your children came along
with food I became encrusted
They beat and played me like a song
Hectic yes, but we adjusted

Quick fixes and the fancy meal
Laughter, tears and noisy chatter
Hosting the meaningful and real
You were all that really mattered

There she stands, I’m to be replaced
And you banish me down the stairs
Sulking in a corner, disgraced
But it’s her turn for mismatched chairs

January 13

I am not particularly inspired today. This sketch requires work, but I am posting it anyway, as the exercise of writing daily is about discipline rather than brilliance.

Old Age

Tears like rain
Slide down her cheeks
She does not
How her life has come to be
Defined by clocks and locked doors

January 12

Inspired by an afternoon at the pool with my children. A shadorma (Spanish form that is a little like a haiku).

Sparkly blue
mirroring the sun
At the pool
Rainbow clad
Children shimmer like minnows
Voices shrill with joy

Above them,
the plaintive cries of
open mouthed
wagtail chicks
Are barely noticed in the
wild cacophony