I honestly can’t remember why or how I stumbled upon the Read Write Poem challenge, but I know know it was online and it’s quite likely it was through Twitter.
I started in earnest writing a poem a day and although I’ve written the odd poem now and again over the last two years, it was really refreshing to suddenly have a drive behind me to keep going and come up with new material. I thoroughly enjoyed following #NaPoWriMo on Twitter and getting into conversations with other poets who’d decided to get involved. I can also say that it’s been really enjoyable to read all the comments I’ve received over the 30 days.
Finding time to write the poems wasn’t tough at first as I was quite excited and buzzing on the idea of it. Perhaps predictably, as the month flew by, there were key points when factoring in a poem was tricky. When my sister was getting married for instance, there were two or three days when there were no poems appearing on this blog. On the flipside, the wedding was a great source of new inspiration for poems over the days that followed.
So how did this challenge more obviously impact the wider world? Well, for a start lots of my poems are about important people in my life. My siblings, close friends and the women I live with, for instance. As I’ve been sharing them, it’s been wonderful to hear feedback from people and my Dad said to me the other day: “I think you’re making some people feel happy.”
Another way its impacted the wider world, is that on a night out with a friend we found ourselves with about 45 minutes to kill waiting to head in to the cinema. Usually we might stand around wishing for the time to hurry by and chatting nonsense. On this occasion we ended up talking about poetry and sat brainstorming a bunch of ideas for my next submission. It was really fun and opened my mind to new approaches I hadn’t considered. It’s rare that I find opportunities to do anything so creative with friends.
There is something I’m slightly bemused by though, which is that the Read Write Poem web content on NaPoWriMo will disappear. I like the idea of online archives and even if it’s not a prominant part of the website, it’s sad to hear they’re just going to get rid. On the other hand, a new poetry community website has appeared called Big Tent Poetry. I was wondering how I might be able to maintain some of the enthusiasm I’ve developed in April and it looks like this website’s weekly prompts might be just the ticket.
Nothing could be predicted
A poetry challenge to get us all thinking
Placing words on a page, our spirits lifted
Only time would tell what could come from this
Writing ferociously, conscious of the process
Really learning about ourselves and those around us
Is it really over?
Must make more of this
On to the next challenge
Actions speak louder than your communications
In love and friendship and all manner of relations
Yet you persist with your well-meaning declarations
And I’m never sure if I’ve stumbled on revelations
So here’s my words to you
Call me your sweetie pie
Your darling
Tell me that I rock
That you think I’m amazing
Only when you heart and mind are working in tandem
Otherwise, to hear or read those words sends me flailing
My world turns upside down and everything seems hazy
I hope one day soon they’ll mean more than I feel now
It means a great deal when you stand strong for what’s real
I feel better when you put your self belief before me
Then we can both flourish, two pods with all our peas.
It started with Oasis’ Wonder Wall
Listening to you sing the lyrics, I was silly and envious too
At 13 years-old, I needed to catch up and be as cool as you,
Little did we know how winding the roads would be
You lent me Radio Head’s The Bends
I didn’t know who they were
I quickly learned to show off to my friends
No Surprises
Then the house music took over
I quickly got the hang of Hed Kandi
Erick Morillo blew me away
My World embraces dance music thanks to your sway
Now there’s more back and forth
Other friendships keep the tables turning
Creating a musical mix that gets our feet burning
Sending shivers right up our spines and letting the xx touch our skin
You, you just know, you just do.
Where have I lived for the last five years, the black and white form innocently asks
That’s a good question, one that takes a while to answer
And forces me to confront the memories of dwellings I don’t care to remember
Two years in one place, the longest I’ve bed down
For over ten years of flitting from one squashed life to another
Packing boxes I’ve no reason to even look inside once the keys are my own
One of these lodgings had homely potential
But what life is it coming home night after night dreading my feelings
Knowing there’s no easy access to friends or urban dealings
But it’s a wrench to leave someone you love
So I don’t like to remember too well the good times there
It’s bitter sweet and the what ifs might catch me in their snare
Other houses listed on this form are five in total
A perpetual flat mate enjoying what I can
Knowing deep down that I still really haven’t found a true home, a place to flatten the boxes for good
I’m still searching for the address I can inhabit for five whole years
One that I can write down the postcode for on black and white forms
All by itself.
A gentle fellow with caramel skin
freckled nose
frizzy dry hair sticking up
like a scarecrow.
Day in day out he swept and cleaned;
Stanley Ranch Camp would be ready
Each week the frenzied city kids’ arrival
He laughed and showed his crooked teeth.
The same flannel shirts, worn day in and day out
On sweltering days, even when the sweat was dripping to the ground
But those shirts kept wounds of bygone days protected
Out of judgmental, fearful, sight.
He slept in the cabin during those muggy summer nights
In a cramped room where Sleepy Dan, his lone friend slumped
Surrounded by mountains of giant cups from Ken’s fast food jaunts.
There was a lot we didn’t know about Ken
A lot we can’t explain now,
or even back then.
But I know this for sure
The tears rolled down his cheeks
As he stuttered the words:
“They called me the bbboogie man.”
Before disappearing for the hills.
I couldn’t help myself
The sadness at this sight was too much.
I shouted at the kids until they too cried
I didn’t care about their misplaced tears
I just cared about Ken.
A spray of perfume in a Covent Garden bar
This you’ll remember tomorrow my friends said the suave man
Even if you don’t like it
The following morning I catch a hint of the scent on my wrist…
Flashback to Shunil’s thoughts on Nepal and New York
Flashback to meeting Alex for the first time, the other Londoner in the crowd
Flashback to a conversations about U2 and Snow Patrol
Flashback to the boys’ master plan to crash hen-do’s in Bournemouth
Flashback to comments on Dia’s loveliness, a beauty to behold her smile will melt you
Flashback to Ashwin’s account of falling asleep during the play he’d just been to
Flashback to the comparison of two brothers, I look like my Mum, he looks like my Dad for sure
Flashback to the crowds at the bar with people pushing and sloppy cocktails poured
Flashback to our musings on platonic friendships between guys and girls
Flashback to leaving the bar
A girl runs away at the thought of dancing at a club out West. What an idiot, she could have at least stayed a while to reassure the rest.
If I must forgive you in all completeness
Then I musn’t forget everything between us that’s been done and said
For to remember is to understand
To see you as a human being with flaws
Especially those I gracefully accept
If I forgive and forget then I will be trapped
In a circle of regret
Chasing a reality that’s a figment in my head
When I deny all the traits that make you
The remarkable person I know and respect
I may sometimes forget
But love and forgiveness will only last
When my memory for the difficult times is blessed.
The fuzz came with pepper spray to break up the ruck
They saw a girl flinch
As screams came from the others’ mouths
The sounds were like a squawking crow; they will reverberate in her brain until tomorrow
It was a fierce confrontation
Unprovoked in the midst of a squall
Taking shelter under a tree
on a bench covered with rust
eating saffron rice leftovers
Just minding their own business
See how I’ve spread out the fresh words on the worktop to choose what we’ll make.
What an excellent variety; some solid nouns for our base, the essential half-rhyme and a sprinkling of verbs to spice-up the taste.
First we’ll dust the surface with flowery expressions and then we’ll take a pinch of personification combined with metaphors to be stirred and sifted until they resemble a crumbly composition
And there are our sprinkles of alliteration, to help mould in good measure so that it all clumps together
Ready to be rolled; we’ll knead in the beats briefly until it’s firm but not over-worked.
Now we’ll need to leave it, just for thirty minutes, to stop it shrinking during cooking.
Meanwhile, we’ll prepare the middle filling with some full-flavoured verse
Adding some hearty cuts of the finest lines placed in a large pot of churned up words.
Finally we’ll add stock to the stanzas ready to combine with the rest and bake till it’s golden
Time is ticking and we don’t want it to burn, so I’m ready with my hands padded by punctuation to lift our creation from the shelf.
Now stop and take in the sounds wafting from the stove. It’s going to be a taste sensation, a pie to eat slowly, savouring each sentence’s slice.
