Napowrimo Day 8 – A new morning

I did write this on the 8th April…has just been sitting on my desk top.

Make way for a new morning
One where you smile at your commuter chums
Offer a kind word or a compliment
Take notice of everyone

Make way for a new morning
One with no pushing or impolite huffs
Avoid vile news from the metro
Read something that makes you laugh

Make way for a new morning
One where you feel full of purpose and pride
Imagine the great day ahead of you
Don’t let frets or frowns break your stride.

Day 5 – Napowrimo Tight ball of stress

This wretched energy is ravaging me
It’s stuck in my jaw, my forid, in my fists
It comes out in a primal scream
No punches, just venom from my mouth

Free flow feels impossible
So tightly wound
Paralysed by frustration
By unfamiliar despair

Everything I’ve ever done wrong
Surrounds me like a swarm of wasps
I’m so raw and exposed
Waiting for the inevitable sting

And for a few minutes I think I’m alright
And then the rage again builds inside
The irrational tension that controls me
Pushing to destroy what’s right.

Napowrimo Day 4 – Memory threads

The leather jacket wears like new
The scarves with zebra and moose
Clothes that I carry close

The fake fur is falling apart
But I will keep it still
And remember you at St Pancras.

The polka dot dress is us
In Sloane Square
Laughing, getting on well

I’m scared to let the moisturiser run out
It’s Christmas
It’s your soft skin

The pyjamas were cheap
From a long weekend in Bruges
Out of the charity bag again

I keep going back for more
Especially your socks
Your comfort as I walk

 

 

 

Napowrimo day 3 – Elegy for a first love

Your bright white teeth, not as straight as Jo’s
Skewed quiff and doubt in your eyes
The puddle of mud, on a CD case
The Hagrid impression at my mum’s friends place.

Your dance moves, to funky house
The scar on your nose, from Sadie dog.
The unused guitar, gathering dust at college
The lava lamp that I had and you copied.
The red wine that let your emotion show.

Piece by piece the memories
are slipping away – growing shorter
More fleeting
Buried – like you told me that day.

Napowrimo 2017 Day Sixteen

She spent all of her time wanting to be older. To be with older men, to go to clubs and parties she was too young for. She loved to dance and she copied the ABBA routine from Murials wedding. She wore makeup that made her look like a ghost. She drank way too much. She was studious, but didn’t know what she loved.

Dear sixteen year old

Why don’t you like yourself more?

You could be quite good.

 

When the tears dried up

Sitting on the fourth step,
Facing the front door
Sobbing because her teenage daughter
Cursed and slammed the door

Tears trickling down her cheeks
When not invited out with friends
Crying over spilt milk
Dad’s shaved head
Split ends.

Wailing with frustration
Fretting over dinner
Blubbing at Coronation Street
Enjoying the release it would bring her

Roaring at injustice
Weeping down the phone
Puffy eyed when others died
The tears would flow and flow

Then when her own death drew near
I looked for water in her eyes
Instead I was met with something else
A new gaze had materialised

Her hazel grey eyes blazed with intensity
They met mine with resign
A new sorrow shared with me
Regret and love combined

And I longed for her to cry with me
But I think I was missing the point
The tears dried up when there was nothing to resolve
Her heart stopping with a jolt.