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.

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! 

Tuesday 24 April 2012

Progress (Day 24)










Back when I wore shorts
And was always laid up in bed
With all kinds of vicious colds
I used to frequently hear my father
Cussing

and swearing

imagining he was Hoplong Cassidy
when he took out flies and ants.

Now I am as old
as he was back then
And ill yet again,

I can hear my partner
running around


With similar cans
Like they are pistols
Screaming and swearing
Why won’t the stay dead.

Why won’t they stop jumping
Up and down
like they are backing dancers
for Lady GaGa?

Why won’t they stop dancing
like they are in three legged races
and stop teasing you
like at the Chicken on
the other side of the road.   

I think you will be proud
to see the progress I’ve not made.

(Today's challenge at NaPoWriMo asked us for
'Today’s prompt is a bit of a doozy . . . so if you feel like you don’t have it in you, feel free, as always, to take a pass! Today’s challenge is a lipogram/Beautiful Outlaw/Beautiful In-Law. A lipogram is a poem that explicitly refrains from using certain letters. The most classic letter to swear off, at least for English speakers, is “e.” A Beautiful Outlaw is a variation on a lipogram, wherein you refrain from using any of the letters in a certain name. For example, if you chose the name Sarah, then you could not use s, a, r, or h. A Beautiful In-Law is another variant, wherein you only use the letters in a certain name (better pick a long name!)'.. Sadly owning to stress at work and also ill health, I wrote the above which went on about my weekend where i was recently ill.. Enjoy!) 

Monday 23 April 2012

Last Acting Job (Day 23)

















All I have to do
is to start telling you
and I am back there again
head in my hands
looking blankly at the floor.

Listening to the audience
as they laugh and hoot
before the lights swoops over
them like a intergution light
on a tranced voyage.

Listening to the rain
move like footprints
and the course giggling
of Frank as he whispered
'Are you ready yet?'

Of course I wasn't
but I couldn't tell him that.

I couldn't tell him
why my head felt like
an out-take of the Scream
and why my wig never
felt level
and my eye liner
and make up
felt like disscolving acid.

I couldn't tell you
about my broken finger nails
and ripped out eyelashes
as well as my worn out boots.

You saw the half drunk bottle
of Whiskey thou.




(Day 23 of NaPoWriMo asked for 'oday, I challenge you to write an ekphrastic poem — that is, a poem that responds to or is otherwise inspired by a work of art. Probably the most famous ekphrastic poem in English is Keats’ Ode on a Grecian Urn, but there is no lack of modern ekphrastic work. Take Auden’s Musee de Beaux Arts or Robert Lowell’s For the Union Dead. So go forth and find a painting, sculpture, photograph, or even a piece of music, and use it to inform your poem for today. Art creates art — it’s so efficient!' I err.. reflected on the reason I packed
in being a actor many years - enjoy - lol) 

Sunday 22 April 2012

The good, the bad and the brush off (Day 22)


















Looking up from my plate
After finishing my tea
While hearing your pots
Crash like cars beeping
In the distance
I see the ghost of your
Little cat’s smile.

I see her eyes move
Up and down
In a sudden interest
As she follows my hands
Then my head
As I stood up.

I see her nose twitch
In the air
Like a bloodhound
Assisting Sherlock Holmes
Hunting the hound
Of the Baskerville.

I see her nose sniff
Like Lassie in hunt
For treasure
Before then been
Taken over by Black Beauty
Running wildly
Over the hills.

I see her nose
Twitch like Skippy
As she threatened
To start hopping
All over the place
Before stretching her
Paws towards my food
Like a Cheetach
From the Tarzan films.

She reached over
With giant paws
Moving slowly
And quietly
To get to my plate
Before I realised.

She reached over
Like a silent cheetah
Mixed with a Chameleon
Moving slowly

Slowly

Slowly

Slowly

Across the side of the chair

Then the edge of the couch
Like she was crossing
The savannah

Slowly

Slowly

Slowly

Only to find I ate all of my tea

But I gave her something extra
Anyhow.


(Day 22 of NaPoWriMo asked for a poem about a plant.

However as I was out, I mis-read it as about a animal and wrote another

poem about my partner's younger cat who was very keen to get

at my Cheese and Onion Sandwich the other night)

Saturday 21 April 2012

Three short hay(na)ku for Cathym (Day 21)















(I)

Face
kisses face
in morning rain.

(II)

Loving
You is
More than truth.

(III)

I
Love you
I love you.



(Day 21 of http://www.napowrimo.net/ asked for 'Our prompt today comes to us from Vince Gotera, who suggests that we try out hands at hay(na)ku. This is a verse form similar to the haiku, invented by Eileen Tabios, and which Vince named! For more on the history of hay(na)ku, take a look here.
The hay(na)ku form is pretty easy. Each hay(na)ku contains three lines. The first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words. You can chain hay(na)ku together into multi-verse poems.
Here’s a simple (and admittedly not very good!) example:
Do
you like
writing poems? Yes!
Unlike the haiku, hay(na)ku have no syllable restrictions, so your words can be as long or short as you please. Happy writing!'.. Although I have wrote haiku before, this was a totally new form for me and therefore been the case, it made sense my first three attempts at this were wrote for my partner and although are fairly simple maybe were fun to write) 

Friday 20 April 2012

Journey (Day 20)














Our train froze down a tunnel
Sucking sweets
Before spitting them back out
And crunching them across the tracks
So it sounded like broken conkers.

Our train disappeared
With stiffened red curtains
Blowing in the darkness
Like a door minus it’s hinges

And the air smelling pepper
Before choking out soot
And down our walls
Like it was holding onto the sky

Asking you to wait behind the line
While dancing on diamonds

As the journey home
Never felt more far away.  

Thursday 19 April 2012

The End (Day 19)















Looking back what you were thinking
When we climbed into your nana’s attic
And you kicked the ladder out
From underneath our feet.

Looking back you said
That was the point
And we should have
Somewhere more private.

Somewhere where the dust
Felt more than a apologsy
For being forgotten in time.

Somewhere where the fragmented sun
Would feel like it
Was permanently blinking.

Somewhere interesting
Where we could dribble coke
Over the top of the world,

Crunch biscuits
Into its spine

And sugar plum cakes
At it’s heart

As we celebrated the end
Of our childhood.   

Wednesday 18 April 2012

Sleeping Lullaby (Day 18)














Rest your sleeping head, my love
And count a wistful goodbye
As the dawn blows a wet handle
Against the walls of our tent.

Rest your sleeping head, my love
And kiss the winds of dawn
So your blanket becomes a wall
and the wind sounds like Jazz.

Rest your sleeping head, my love
And climb each cloud
Swimming through colours
Splashing up to our necks.

Rest your sleeping head, my love
And listen to the grass swaying
As the dawn blows a wet handle
Against the walls of our tent,
Watched by constant love.


 (Day 18 off http://www.napowrimo.net/ asked us to write a lullaby.. 'Soothing, short, repetitive and usually rhyming . . . lullabies exist in every culture. Perhaps you could write a special lullaby for poets? “Hush little poet, lay down your pen/Momma’s gonna buy you the complete Dickinson.” The rhyme’s a little slant, and the meter a bit wobbly, but it will do! Happy writing.' The piece I wrote here for is another of my sleeping poems to my other half done in a lullaby style (ish).