Sunday, 13 May 2012

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

Monday, 30 April 2012

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.) 

Sunday, 29 April 2012

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)

Saturday, 28 April 2012

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 4th 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)

Friday, 27 April 2012

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) 

Thursday, 26 April 2012

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) 

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

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.

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!