Napowrimo day 8 – daring to rewrite… the famous W H Auden

Australian gardenofhopeI get the feeling that W H Auden might be turning in his grave. Or, maybe he’d forgive me for learning using his work. Who knows.

The loss of maternal protection

Make it all stop, send the internet down
Keep the dog from howling, pet the cuddly clown.
Silence the radio and arrange the lilys right,
Bring out the coffin don’t let the kiddies fight.

The porch holds the flowers, brings attention to this day
Neighbours pay respects in their own private way
The men wear their best and polish up their shoes
The women a splash of colour as she always beat the blues

His mum, my friend, her mum, your aunt
Our days off sick your birthday charm
Holidays away and nights we had at home
Your love a constant shelter: now I’m alone.

Give up the fight now, surrender everyone
Let your ambition slide and admit that your done
Pour away your hopes and flush your dreams away
For meaning can’t be found in the cold light of today.

Funeral blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good. By W H Auden

Napowrimo day 7 – Poem about love.

You take a while to warm up.

I try not to hold it against you, but sometimes I feel dejected.

But my mum, she sought you out, and her opinion always counts.

I need you too.

I’ve tried nights without you, but I don’t feel safe.

And when you warm up, I know you’ll comfort me well.

I’ll be enveloped in your softness.

And my friends will comment on how good you look.

And I’ll sleep soundly.

And you’ll be filled with love.

duvet

Napowrimo day 6 – Take a look outside

Poetry for a suburbanite

I dread the poem that forces me to drink in my suburban landscape.

The one that asks me to take inspiration from my neighbours’ flashing alarm system, its alien green lights glaring at me like a festive display. Gone garishly wrong.

The one that pushes me to open the window wide, to feel chills down my neck and spine, to listen out for traffic or the sound of the wind blowing. What makes that sound?

I dread the poem that asks me to get romantic about a street lamp.

But yes it does remind me of Narnia. And I never really noticed it is at the prettiest point in the quaint alley way. Why so orange?

The one that asks me to find shapes in the clouds, like the giant grey mountain – actually darker than the night sky itself. Seeing shapes in clouds actually never gets old.

I dread the poem that draws attention to the bleak train station building. Inexplicably tall, and boxy and bold. Although from a distance, you’d never know it’s a station. And when you walk in through the main entrance, you never notice it’s tall.

But I love the poem that reminds me to look up at the half moon. And ponder its brightness right before it dissolves.

#Napowrimo Day 5 – Carol Ann Duffy

This poem takes the form of a ‘Golden Shovel‘ The second poem woven into mine is Drone – by Carol Ann Duffy from The Bees

Anticipating a party, an

Epic journey crossing country heading upward

Trying to take time, and not rush

Yet so tired from work on

Arrival she tripped down the stairs

Not noticing one foot in front of

the other, flying through the air

Landing hard on the bottom step to

Crack head hard and sink into the

unpredicted bliss

of 

nowhere.

Our anxiety levels never higher

Woken at twilight into

Hellish way of living 

We clung onto her jewel

From a hand uncharateristically warm

Stuck in the red danger zone, begging for amber

Watching her

Living hour by hour to

Avoid dark fantasies of what might be 

Refusing to accept she might be the 

one

who

would 

die 

there