it is your choice to go but if you don't go you can't leave your home and if you leave your home you will get fined. are you still not going? that is fine you will just lose your job 'cause you can't leave your home. you probably should go but it's up to you after all it is your choice.
Calling something voluntary and then issuing threats, sanctions and penalties when one doesn’t comply is not voluntary.
Theoretical Laboratory
Brilliant of pathetic? Neither? Both?
Humans, just figures in headlights and rear-view mirrors:
targets, possessions, poisons.
Trading familiarity for quantity,
no purpose, no own route,
no added aroma.
Weighted down, heave and hard as metal.
…….
Design the new cycle –
Job? Serve, embrace, listen.
___
This is what I call fun! Although I ended up with a rather dystopian poem.
I would love to do this in the proper cut-words-our-of-newspapars way but I don’t have any at hand. Instead I used a book (no scissors were called into action). I bought this book about three years ago and is still pristine as the day it came home with me. It is called ‘Periodic Tales: The Curious Lives of the Elements‘ by Hugh Aldersay-Williams. And I have no idea why I haven’t read it yet. I don’t have an explanation.
I dream about you at night –
about your secrets and treasures and lies
I spy on you, I plan.
The day I touched you,
caressed you, probed you the very first time –
the overwhelming desire to posses you
has consumed my mined.
You act as nothing happened, unmoved
hiding behind walls and locks.
Your silence mocking my efforts –
no squeak, no creak, not even whine
to my desperate break-in tries.
My knees are chaffed, my fingers bleed
Oh how I wish to know where is your key.
––––
Phew…I was really struggling with this one.
The earth is soft, dark and damp
ants clim over my mountainous fingers
I feel a bite – I’m trespassing.
I brush the soil, gently first,
but I can’t resist the urge.
My fist intrudes the cradle of life –
cold, kissed by the morning dew,
dirt hides behind my fingernails.
I dig deeper but the earth is fighting back
my fingers sting and burn and
I can’t stand the pain anymore.
I withdraw.
My hand is red and black, the hand
that disturbs the earth.
Earth is fighting back.
___
I was very torn whether or not to include a comment on this poem or not. Especially because instead of talking about the environmental crisis we are in and which I’ve tried to express in my poem – I actually wanted to mention fingers as tools for communication. I did a writing course few year back and there was a girl (whose name I don’t remember and it is driving me absolutely crazy) who was and I guess still is a puppeteer. She also was and I hope still is an amazingly talented poet. I loved her poems. I will never forget a line she wrote ‘my hand is a naked puppet’ and it was the first thing that popped in my head when I read the assignment for today. I’m sure you know someone who ‘talks with their hands’, use them to emphasise emotion and when you are in different country and don’t speak the language – how many times have you used the pointing technique? Fingers have their own voice – whether it is the official sign language or one that we use without even realising.
I jumped on the busy train to Brighton Gatwick airport – finally got seat Mildly lost my way to hostel But not too lost to hurt my feet
The bunk bed squeaked with every turn
Scared to move, just wished for sleep
My bed fellow’s and mine ears burned
Both nervous about - BEEP BEEP BEEP
I was up at six, pretty ready if you ask Changed into my running gear Mind focussed to task Made my porridge and my tea
The morning was frosty but sunny And the Brighton beach serene Crowds started to gather quickly Soon the pens resembled sardines
Ten, nine, eight and so on till start The elite sprinted - we not so much Four minutes when we finally crossed the start Off we went with James, our 2hours pacers lad
First mile, damn it’s crowded -
kept following the purple flag
Mile two and the ascend started
And didn’t finish till 4 and half
Narrow routes and elbows fights Everyone wanted to go downhill fast I said good bye to the pacer group found a gap and zigzagged past
I chose my pace and stuck to it Mile five, the gel was out Mile six – almost half way there Seventh came and went
I chose my pace and stuck to it Except when the cold wind bit My wind jacket's bound too tight Round my waist, had to stop to clear the mess
Mile eight I felt bit bored
Water station after ninth
Sipped and sucked another gel
Blackcurrant! What was I thinking?
Mile ten, just three too go Mile eleven, almost home Mile twelve when I saw the purple flag So I sped up
Mile thirteen and my lugs now hurt I could see the finish line Few more steps and I’ll have my medal Here I go - my first sub 2 half!
__
Ok, I admit I lost the ballad-y feel pretty early on and I am very much distracted and happy about my first sub two hours half marathon – that was yesterday 1:58:42 in Brighton so please forgive me 🙂
This is happy me 🙂
I seek the sadness in the crowd of seven faces I'm surprised by so many.
As a child I prayed every night I asked God for forgiveness that only I could give - but how do you forgive fear?
I stand inside this dead house sheltering my heart colder than the frigid limbs hidden in the coffin Maybe one day I will forgive but not today. The dead body will not change it. Then I remember.
You are still alive.
––––
I’m having so much fun attending this writing class – I’m looking forward to the weekend just to read some of the other poems and meet new people. I have only managed a fraction so far and I am impressed by the talent that is here. Well done you folks!
You make me laugh! Thursday, the new
Friday? Oh, hun that is so last centu
ry. Monday is the new Sund
ay and Tuesday is the
warm up to
the we
ek
en
d!
D
in
ne
r, glass of wine or two
_
gets you ready for the date
night – Wednesday if you
must ask – love hidden in
a cocktail bar. Thursday’s
when the real fun starts;
office meeting in a pub e
nding in the 80’s bar. Fri
day? Who cares my dear
? Friday doesn’t count.
No one remembers it
anyway!Wake up w
hen the sun goes do
wn greeting Saturd
ay’s night – and
greet it all nigh
t long! There
‘s no other w
ay! Kicked
out of the
club? S
top for
Sun
da
yr
oa
st
an
dn
ev
er
le
av
eb
ef
or
et
he game is lost. Or won. In
which case we just go on!
_
Oh sweetie, Thursday, the new Friday? That is so last century.
___
This was exhausting! I’m going to bed.
Past shining within permanent darkness
Astronauts floating in a metal cage
Strong bonds we trust in to hold them.
Trouble spotters glued to their monitors in Houston
Routine day in the office –
Out in the past linking the present.
Utilising theories, hypothesis and knowledge to
Till anti-matter with our curiosity,
Illustrious men and women
Lusting to reach the big bang.
Us, trusting the science.
____
Space fascinates and terrifies me in equal measures. I admire everyone who has dedicated their lives to studying and exploring the universe and the courage of the individuals who go out there pretty much alone for months, living and working in confined quarters, without real food or gravity. I’d love to visit a space rocket/vessel/ship (because who wouldn’t) but it would have to be safely parked here on this lovely planet.
As for the form – acrostic – I’m not entirely sure if I fit in with this poem or not but I am most certainly playing with the letters. I have taken second, third and fourth letter of the first word in the line and started a new world/line with these three letters, and I did this for all the lines.
Past -> Astronaut
Astronaut -> Strong etc
Only exception being Illustrious -> Lusting where I ignored the double L.
For a more straightforward acrostic poem, let me allow to refer you to one of my older posts – where I didn’t even know that this is a form and it has a name. I can be very ignorant.
Training, running, getting ready for a race
Learning to keep levelled, steady pace
I ran the forest path
It was made of mud
Foot flopped and I fell, ended up with filthy face
–––
Running inspired limerick. I indeed went for a run in the woods at the weekend but managed to keep my face mud-free. The trainers not so much.
Panic! Fear. Save me!
Muscles spasming, lungs like peas.
My first winter swim.
–––
I have been thinking about testing and stretching my poetic muscles for a while now and as if Universe somehow new about these plans of mine, there comes Writing 201: Poetry! So for next couple of weeks or so (as I can’t promise I’ll keep the prescribed schedule), I will be posting my attempts of poems according to the given assignments.
Poetry, Photography, haiku, Life, word play, puns, free verse
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
A bit of this, a bit of that, the meandering thoughts of a dreamer.
It’s just D.I.Y. What could go wrong 😈
Fiction authors and their shorts
the writings, musings, and photography of a dream smith
Poems & Photos by DM Shepherd
Paranormal Romance
The greatest WordPress.com site in all the land!
Inspiring & fueling veggie athletes
The ordinary is the magic.
My words will either attract a strong mind or offend a weak one.
Smidgens
Turning Tears and Laughter into Words
Small Scale Fabricated Photography, Toy Photography History, Art Creation Musings
mixed-media artist
Together we can give the nineteenth century a voice in the twenty-first century.
where chaos gives birth to poetic expression
thoughts and images from my perspective
Eva Marasca 