poems

Intergenerational warfare

Photo by Henry Hustava on Unsplash

 

so I was thinking about

how the Millennials, Xennials, Xers

and whoever comes nexters

were fighting with the Boomers

or is that just in Australia

and I wondered if

it was a media beat-up

a political stunt

to distract

from the real issues of inequality

and then I thought

or

is it as old as time

for the younger gen

to fight

against the ancient ones

wanting to usurp and change?

Xennial warrior princess

 

the way we circled them

we

empowered women of the 90s

not spice girls, not riot grrls, just us

yet to realise our mistakes

our eyes

greedy for a piece

our price

success

were they ever afraid

did they even notice?

seducing

our prey

as we slipped through the net

of history

fishnet-clad wrists

slicing away

traces kicked over

bottles smashed

tracing an ankh – life!

into teenage behinds

in black

we didn’t know to be afraid

relieved or excited

only much later

thought of the danger

nothing bad happened

we got away

with…

(shhh)

 

Apparently we’re called Xennials now – us people born between 1977 and 1983. Seems to fit with the generation who would have watched a certain TV show about a feisty fighting princess …  Another friend called us the ‘last tactile generation’ – I kinda liked that.  

do you remember

Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash

 

Do you remember

do you remember

the minutiae of a world

in the cracks of a bluestone wall

where sparkling bits of gravel

and sand and tiny rocks

would nestle and we’d

trickle them through

our fingers carefully

arranging them in little piles

do you remember

the hollows in the ground behind

curves of tree roots and

small sticks and sandy soil,

leaves and pollen from

fallen flowers, the smell

of school recess

do you remember

our shared and sacred world

created together

our act of mutual dreaming

utter absorption of children

together in something

no one else would understand

but us two

do you remember

how we looked so closely

and loved

mundane sections of ground

or a cut down log,

the whorls in a tree and

scrubby clearings near

stiff iron-squared fences

a place where we conjured

our own folklore of

kids with dusty feet or

puddles when it rained and

slicked down gum leaves

fascinating, secret

but not hidden because

only our eyes could see

what we invented there

do you remember

do you remember?

Out of Rage – spoken word

 

When I think about it

I don’t want to think too long

or feel too hard

keep moving on

 

Snap judgements

First impressions

Status updates and

click bait

passive aggression

hold it in

keep moving on

outrage is a content-commodity to them

 

Wow – it’s been ages since I’ve had the mental / time bandwidth to record a poem. Hope you enjoy it.

Soundcloud link: https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/out-of-rage2

 

 

 

Mountain goats

the universe is a sly genie

granting your heart’s desire

unexpectedly

be careful

what you wish for because

the woman who prayed

for a release from exercise

lost the use of both ankles

while she

who despised uncertainty

was forced to choose change

as definite

finding out too late

there’s a sort of peace

in fate unknown

and before you know

that leap is made

like an

ungraceful newborn

a colt, a mustang, a mountain goat

with shuddering legs

sprays matter from the birth canal

over disgruntled onlookers

as she

scrambles up the other side

of life

triumphant

or, if not, well, anyway

the crevasse is too wide and

you see

we

smash the stones of our past lives into oblivion

on the way, so

you can’t

go back now

don’t even try

 

Photo: https://ichef-1.bbci.co.uk/news/720/cpsprodpb/EE3A/production/_87068906_thinkstockphotos-473747066.jpg

The Spinning Ones

Photo: http://bookdome.com/fiction/Grimms-Household-Tales/The-Three-Spinning-Fairies.html#.WQXN7PmGPIU

once again I rally them

my shining ones, my friends

she tells me that in twenty years

we’ll still be laughing til there’s tears

and magicking the world aright

like we did those moonlit nights

she says that I can let it go

permission to go slow

something I can’t grant for me

but when she speaks, I obey

she sometimes tells me I’m still Jerry

always missed, do not worry

invoke me with my name

on lips, in heart, the page…

and so we go around, around

casting spells and hauling found

fortunes, jokes and sparkling things

while endlessly the earth does spin

 

Today’s prompt was to write a poem about something that happens again and again (kind of like NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo). When I get down, my wonderful friends pull me up again tirelessly.

This is the last day of April and the final day of GloPoWriMo. I made it! I’m going to take a short break and get back to you shortly with a poetry-month wrap-up! 🙂

Photo: http://bookdome.com/fiction/Grimms-Household-Tales/The-Three-Spinning-Fairies.html#.WQXN7PmGPIU

Absolution

A woman on the street was circling, circling

her shoulder bag dropped down around her waist

she had spittle on her mouth

a frail and old person

scraggly white hair, a stained windcheater

broken,

and yet I was too afraid to help

bad possibilities zinging through my mind

of being hit, attacked, screeched at, misunderstood

at the heaviness of a human body collapsing on me in relief

the time it might suck from me

I walked by

with tears in my eyes.

doesn’t absolve anything

lazy coward me

she stopped circling, the spell broken

by me?

no way to know how the light gets in to a fissured mind

I told a friend later and got upset again

silly, scared me

still hoping for absolution

which she gave

‘you’re a kind person for even noticing. You wouldn’t be crying now if you didn’t mean well’

but I didn’t care enough

I could have given her a tissue to wipe her face

‘did you even have a tissue? I bet you didn’t even have one on you’

I just shook my head and sighed

the secret shame of soft, 3-ply folds in my bag,

putting me to the lie

knowing they were there all along

just like

the least I could have done

was

offer her one

 

Off-prompt for the penultimate day of NaPoWriMo! 

Photo: https://unsplash.com/@raffiklopes

Skeltonics in the closet

everything is shrinking

or is it just my thinking

something about drinking

haven’t got an inkling

maybe Skeltonic verse

is par for the course

guess we could do worse

don’t call the hearse

yet

that Hemingway cartoon

crashed like a lead balloon

did no one see

or do they all hate he?

but I got 320 followers

so could not be jollier

and

with two more days to go

in this NaPoWriMo

think I’ve done O (K)

and to finish will be yay!

 

Day 28’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem using Skeltonic verse. Don’t worry, there are no skeletons involved. Rather, Skeltonic verse gets its name from John Skelton, a fifteenth-century English poet who pioneered the use of short stanzas with irregular meter, but two strong stresses per line (otherwise know as “dipodic” or “two-footed” verse). The lines rhyme, but there’s not a rhyme scheme per se. The poet simply rhymes against one word until he or she gets bored and moves on to another. Here is a good explainer of the form, from which I have borrowed this excellent example:

Dipodic What?

Dipodic Verse
will be Terse.
Stress used just twice
to keep it nice,
short or long
a lilting song
or sounding gong
that won’t go wrong
if you adhere
to the rule here,
Now is that clear
My dear?

This year’s poetry month has felt like more of a challenge to get through than last year, with my other writing commitments bubbling away in the background, so I thought I’d just go for rather silly doggerel today.

Not actually sure if it’s skeltonic or not.
Think I usually write like that.
What-ever. 

The image is a detail from one of  Sir John Tenniel’s Alice in Wonderland illustrations I grabbed off the internet  … I think those pics are royalty-free these days anyway. ?