Various joys and musings
NaPoWriMo #14: An afternoon’s creativity.

In the Autumn afternoon
we salvaged decaying treasures
from the forgotten sheds
behind our meager rented house.
We dusted off cans of paint,
cracked the lids to find- surprise!-
the colors hidden inside.
We sanded and painted,
bringing to life raised garden beds
and recycled works of art,
and with sunbeams and leaves falling around us,
we took what once was discarded
and gave it new life.

NaPoWriMo #13: Transparent.

What would Marilyn do?
Would she hide behind dark glasses,
a silk scarf tied around wayward platinum curls,
and slip into the back row of the theatre,
Would she sit silent,
nibble nervously on her bottom lip,
hands fighting themselves in her lap
as the enraptured audience
devoured her shimmering performance?
Would she know herself
under the makeup
through the costumes
past the dialogue?
Would she leave before the final scene
and hurry, head bowed,
back to her car
to be driven home to a house
but for the house keeper?
Would she climb into bed fully clothed,
makeup smearing across the pillow,
pull the phone up under her chin
and lie awake for hours,
waiting for someone
to call?
And in that deafening silence
would she wonder
when it was?
Would she struggle
to identify the moment
that she disappeared?

NaPoWriMo #12: Wordless.

Where is it that the words go
when they refuse to be pinned to my page?
Perhaps they move on
to a more dedicated poet-
someone who paid attention today,
someone who sat in observant contemplation
while I
took extra hot showers,
played politically incorrect board games
and laughed until my sides ached.
Oh well-
perhaps I shall catch some words
to pin down

NaPoWriMo #11- Paranoia Haiku.

My confidence fails
just when I thought I was safe
my demons sneak in

NaPoWriMo #10: The Conduit.

You coax melodies from the guitar in your lap
as easily as confessions from a child.
Out they spill, the notes trickling over themselves
into stories fully formed,
awaiting only the finality of your lyrics.
I sit silent and transfixed,
staring hard to try to glimpse the source,
as though this were some slight of hand
rather than the gift it is.
I strain to hear
the muse’s voice as she breathes
into your ear, but I hear no whispers;
still the melodies, they come.
Oh! To behold this private magic,
this transaction.
For it is you, who are the conduit.
You, who form the bridge
between inspiration
and the rest of us.

NaPoWriMo #9: Courting the Muses.

we are calling in the muses,
setting their stage-
wooing them with white wine
and red,
warming honey mead to placate them,
to soothe their fickle constitutions.
These long months past?
Our muses,
they have been courting,
(for they have years of collaboration ahead)
leaving us bereft of inspiration-
but tonight we lay in wait.
We are ready,
pens and guitars in hand,
to translate their gossamer whispers
Into poetry made real.

NaPoWriMo #8: Coming Home.

I came home today
to empty roads and silent streets
no one here to greet me
no banners held aloft

I came home today
found I couldn’t remember
which corner we used to haunt as kids
ghost-pale previews of ourselves

I came home today
their voices told me you were gone
looked at the ground as they spoke
like I couldn’t hear your death on the breeze

I came home today
my mother’s mouth it smiled at me
but her eyes drew their shutters tight
over something akin to pity

I used to dream of getting out
the world was wide and mine to find
I used to dream of getting out
but I came home today

NaPoWriMo #7: Pun Intended.

Your records play from only one speaker,

the DVD freezes two minutes before the film’s end.

An entire newsletter, created, polished, almost completed,

suddenly crashes.

Today we seem to have been thwarted

in every electronic endeavour upon which we have embarked.

I propose that tomorrow,

my love,

we open books

and drink wine

and watch sunsets

and leave technology to its own devices.

I will never, ever get tired of listening to this voice.

Ladies and gentlemen, Khristian Mizzi.

Find more of his music here.

NaPoWriMo #6: A Pensive Haiku.

Why need our present
be tethered always by the
shadows of our past?

NaPoWriMo #5: Into the Dark.

Sometimes a tiny fear takes hold in me-
not in my mind
but in the very deepest pit of my stomach-
a wayward thought that whispers
that there may just be too little innocence in the world
and too much darkness
and that sometimes,
no matter how we rail against it,
despite all our good intentions,
we end up delivering that purity
into the open arms of the dark.

NaPoWriMo #4: Radio Waves

I drive in manic bursts,
searching desperately
in this godforsaken technological era
for some old school radio frequency-
A piece of clear air
to better hear my lover’s voice
as it tumbles like magic
from my car stereo speakers.



Gosh I wish I made this. :)



Gosh I wish I made this. :)
NaPoWriMo #3: A charm to savour Autumn mornings.

Late sunrise dawnings on still, foggy mornings
grass glints and glistens with dew,
birds call as leaves fall; we two are snug tight, all
wrapped up in blankets for two.

NaPoWriMo #2: the Harvest.

We are surrounded
by endless fields of information.
The modern world is one giant answer,
awaiting only our questions.
We have access to every quiet corner
of human achievement.
We have the means
to banish ignorance
to the shadows of the past,
and yet-
Our breaking news is confined
to one hundred and forty characters,
our only history is our Facebook timeline,
the only reality we can see
is framed within the screens of our iPhones,
we are blinkered to any vista beyond.

It’s the intellectual equivalent
of being seated at a banquet table
covered by every conceivable delicacy-
thousands of years of the world’s finest cuisines
and instead
we choose
to eat at McDonald’s.

When did we cease to plant seeds of others’ discoveries
in the fertile soils of our minds,
to see which would take, and grow?
When did we stop tending
to the beautiful crop
of our collective wisdom?
It is as though the impossible ease of the harvest
has dulled our appetite
for nourishment.

Our minds grow fat with triviality
whilst we slowly starve:
by malnutrition.