30 poems download

Well all;

Somewhat later that it should have been - I have bound all of the 30 poems here into a little collection.

You can buy them here.

See you next year hopefully.

Andy N

Last Sunset (Day 30)

Just as you thought the skies had changed

And that moment would disappear

Like coins in the fountain

You remember how things were different.

You remember how familiar you were

With some of the chapters

But never the full manscript. 

You remember only hints

And get some of the chatpers

Back to front,

While letting some of the scenes

Trudge into the sunset,

The perfect illusion

To where-ever your words take you next

stepping over the edge of the page 

far away from the end of the book

but never the end of the story. 

(The last day of NaPoWriMo asked for a poem with at least

3 'I remember's in - well I did it as three 'You remember'

just to change it round slightly.) 

Space between us (Day 29)

The space that existed between us

Was further away than the moon

All the way down from the old ship canal

And followed us back home.

It rattled away harder than the wind

That kicked its way through the sunset

Like an enchanted obession

Before settling on a awakard silence.

The space that existed between us

Moaned harder than the wind

That jumped over the sunset

Like an enchanted obsession.

It was more than a swelled silence

That visited through the prickly blue mist

Across your curtains every morning

Before it is like a dot in the dark

And a snapshot of the past

Which stills reaches out to our love

Even now.


(Day 29 off NaPoWriMo asked for 'Today’s prompt is to write either a clerihew or a double dactyl. These are brief, usually satirical poems. The clerihew is a four-line biographical poem, with an ABAB (whoops, make that AABB — sorry!) rhyme scheme and no regular meter. Here is an example:

Sir Humphry Davy
Was not fond of gravy.
He lived in the odium
Of having discovered sodium.

Double-dactyls are a bit longer and harder, with an extremely rigid rhyme/meter. A double dactyl consists of two four-line stanzas. The fourth lines of each stanza rhyme. But the meter is where it gets complicated: The first through third lines of each stanza must be six syllables, in the form of double dactyls (Stressed syllable followed by two unstressed syllables). The fourth line of each stanza is only four syllables long, with no particular meter requirements.' Sadly I was too involved  in space poems after yesterday's Space Prompt so wrote another space poem)

Favourite Memory (Day 28)

My favourite memory of you

was waving that spindle of blank DVDS

you had just brought inside

the middle of the Market Hall

near Moor Lane Bus station

like a prize trophy

instead of the golden medal

you had just won for school.

My favourite memory of you
was stood outside the Canteen
near the old Chadwick Campus
when you broke into
a totally off the cuff version
of Leonard Cohen’s Hallijah
only for the heavens to explode
during the 4^th line.

 My favourite memory of you

was getting barred from

the Gypsies Tent,

the Hen and Chickens

the Sweet Green Tavern

and the Blue Boar

in a little over two hours

the night before your wedding. 

My favourite memory of you

Was the one of you

with tears in your eyes

Which crawled over

The bridge next to

The general into the river

Like two half cut emerald jewels

An hour after your wife gave birth.

My favourite memory of you

Was at your daughter’s wedding

When you thought you had time

To nip to the pub up the road

For a quick bitter

And were still there two hours later

When she had called the Police out

Thinking you’d had a accident.

My favourite memory of you

was waving that spindle of blank DVDS

you had just brought inside

the middle of the Market Hall

near Moor Lane Bus station

like a prize trophy

instead of the golden medal

you had just won for school.,

and the way you moaned

when I found her in a corner

scratching in the dark with a stick

as the wind reached hurricane force

before pulling away sharply

and we simply held onto each other.

(Day 28 of NaPoWriMo asked for 'And now, the prompt! In 1958, Gaston Bachelard published The Poetics of Space. In some ways, it was a book about architecture. But Bachelard’s book wasn’t about angles and sight lines and how to make sure your roof stays on straight. It was about the experience of spaces, their psychological and perceptive implications. The high vaulted ceilings of the cathedral, the low, cozy beamed roof of the cottage. Drawers, closets, the insides of seashells — all of these reflect and expand on shelter, on our thoughts, memories and feelings. A box that opens, a box that closes — the sense of space revealed and concealed has a powerful emotional core.

Today’s challenge is to write a poem of space. Perhaps you could write about the contrast between the snug confines of a shell and the airy majesty of opera houses. What about a cavern? — it is both airy and oppressive — a vast pocket deep underground! Or you could write about the spaces of your memories — the space formed under the table with its big tablecloth, which was your playhouse and fort when you were a child. (I myself spent happy hours in the space formed beneath two large bushes in the backyard). Thinking about the emotional aspects of space give me the same kind of feeling of inversion and surprise as looking at an optical illusion — here I was, not noticing all of these currents of feeling, but wow! There they are.' This led to this piece for me which was about memories which is something I have been writing about more and more recently)

Longing to escape (Day 27)

Is it really you

Looking down at your shoes

With your heels

Flying off into the air

Like dortothy

From the Wizard of Oz,

Before laying across the table

With a half cut smile

And a sodium glow

From the nearby lamp

Clearly flickering

Fucking hell.

Was it really you

Stood in the rain

As I walked out

Of the station

Smiling at me

Like a ghost,

Before pulling up

Your hood

And a blue flame

Shot out of your mouth

With an almost

Dragon breath.

 Was it ever  really you

In this so called

endured happiness

Before the storm

That followed the rain

Wiped everything away

Or did you just bend over

To put everything away

Without really thinking

Like a abandoned martyr

With a imaginary car

Closing in behind,

Longing to escape.

(Day 27 off NaPoWriMo asked for 'Today, I challenge you to write a nursery rhyme or clapping rhyme. Most nursery and clapping rhymes have strong rhythms, use rhyme and repetition extensively, and aren’t overly concerned with makingsense. If you’re having trouble getting started, you might start with an existing nursery or clapping rhyme and play with its form, substituting words. Hopefully, this will make for a fun and easy way to end your work-week!'. Sadly this would have taken more time than possible during to work, so I wrote something totally different) 

Half arsed elegy (Day 26)

Whispers reach out like hands
Totally failing to hold you still
As a picture of him naked
Pause around the gallery.

Each breathe shivering

In a moment of peace

Before the whispering

Imprints itself like footsteps,

Footsteps that slowly

Hang itself in

In a patient fury

Of a half arsed elegy.

Footsteps like the pattern

Of broken wallpaper

Covering the embarrassment

While standing on one leg

Footsteps covering

Up to your chins

Before the tutting

Leaves to a period of reflection,

As you explain it was

Only Art.

(Day 26 of napowrimo asked us to write an elegy.

This came out in response to it) 

Approaching 40 (Day 25)

Now I am nearly 40
I am beginning to see myself
In my dreams
Going past myself
On endless train journeys.

On the opposite one
I can see myself with my head
Buried in a newspaper
Laughing out loud
At a dirty joke
I had just been told.

I can see a shirt
That an ex spilled paint
On in revenge
After we split
And a coat I’ve still got
But haven’t worn in years.

I can see an old Mp3 player
Ruined after been dropped
Down the toilet
And a watch
I can’t remember what
Happened to.

I see blonde hair
Before it turned grey
And headlines
Which reminded me
Of vanished friends.

Dodgy earrings
And bracelets
Which still
Are a mystery to me
Even now.

Half-cut
Paperback eyes
After a few too many drinks.

And I know I wouldn’t
Change a thing. 




(Day 25 of NaPoWrimo asked us to write a poem about 'Back on Day Ten, I challenged you to start a poem with a line from another poem. Today, let’s go a bit further in our theft and write centos — poems made up entirely of lines from other poems. You could write a new sonnet out of lines from Shakespeare, or just troll about in an anthology for likely lines.

Try to create a cento of at least ten lines. For inspiration, here’s an example. Happy writing!' Sadly as I was having a dreadful, dreadful day in work - this didn't happen and I wrote about something else in the back of my mind - the slight fear of turning 40!