Old mold for a pot,
Vase never to be cast.
Waiting on a window sill
To be made?
No your day has gone,
You are part
Never to be one
And whole.
Broken, split
Your clay slip spilt.
When no longer useful
You become an ornament.
Tag: Rhyme
Day off doing…..
Anything,
I will not paint (I ache)
My neck aches, my eyes ache.
I’m hot, I feel like grot.
I’m resting, and waiting.
Thinking, and dozing.
I’m wobbling and dizzy.
Shoulders and hips hurt,
Head aches, body breaks.
Need an amalgam of gentle remedies.
Soften this agony,
Rest and recovery.
Shattered nerves sting.
Haiku Slam
We went to haiku slam this evening. Poets read one of their own works then had to read out haiku’s they had written. Eight poets split into four couples read out three haiku’s each. The best out of the two progressed to a semi final, and then two ended up in the final. It was actually quite dramatic. Some wise and some fun words were spoken.
I did not enter the main competition. I don’t have enough knowledge of the form and I only dabble in poetry. But they had a little poetry competition running along side the haiku. I decided to just join in that, so three of us read a poem out and then had to leave the room while people voted. I came second which was a surprise. Maybe I should try and do more funny poetry, I read a poem called ‘unexpected item in the bagging area’ about the frustrations of shopping that I wrote a while ago.
Books
Oh books, you tomes of wisdom,
your cracked pages full of age,
paperback and hardback,
album and autobiography.
You change my mind, change my thoughts,
help me to learn, help me to see.
Books hold knowledge, and deceit.
Not all knowledge is truth,
Sometimes it’s misinformed,
or misinformation.
But I’d rather have a book than a computer……
Books are analogue.
Cherries
Loads of ripe cherries
High in the tree
Out of reach of human hands
But not from beaks you see.
Blackbirds, pigeons and magpies
Each have their fill
Of sweet red cherries
They have the skill,
Of flying high above me
Pecking at the fruit
Eating all the ripe ones
In their aerial persuit.
Sweet red cherries
Small and round and neat.
I go without
And the birds get a treat!
Owl
Your wheel eyes stare
Soft feathers steady your body,
Feet reach forward
Toes and talons stretched
You swoop
Then up
Pushing down strong wingbeats
A small mammal caught,
Food for yourself or your fledglings.
Soft you whisper across the darkening landscape,
Home to the old barn.
Let me sniff your hand hooman.
I smell your hand hooman
It sniffs of coffee and paint
Of lavender and cut grass.
It smells of sausages and chips
Salt and vinegar.
Your hooman hand is warm
And soft.
Your hooman hand gives me
Food and water.
It strokes my belly
My nose and head.
You are my hooman
And I own you!
