Archive for the ‘3030 poetry challenge’ Category
Ahead of time, I give you day 18 of the challenge,
the prompt: cheap earrings
We laughed as we walked
through the streets,
boys calling out,
We got lost,
found our way, by asking
‘dove il Duomo?’
working back from there.
We tired of statues of David,
laughed some more,
arm in arm through the Uffizi,
then stopped as we caught sight of the real one,
illuminated by sunlight,
at the far end of the gallery.
In a street behind Santa Croce,
I bought those earrings,
brass crescent moons,
cost me 6000 lira.
I lost them years ago,
and then the other,
but I still have the copy of A Room With a View.
Maybe we should go back,
now we’re old ladies,
see who calls out
this is getting harder and harder. Whether that is because the prompts aren’t prompting anything or because maintaining the momentum is hard, I’m not sure. I know when I started I was off work and staying in Cornwall, right by the sea, just me and my youngest, plus dog. Maybe it’s harder because I’m trying to cram this in between all the usual domestic stuff and day job and poetry job. Well here goes for Day 14…
Prompt for April 14th: Trickle Down
A girl stood on the stage,
or rather, a raised platform installed for this event.
Back straight, hands held by her sides, head high.
The sun cast its light across her hair,
which was reddish-blond.
The room was silent.
Once the scene of balls and parties,
now host to civic meetings
and these few weeks,
a festival of culture.
We gathered to share our skills,
compete for silver cups engraved with names of former winners.
I never hoped that I might be one,
but somehow it was expected,
that we should show up and do our thing,
receive a certificate, a critique.
Here I learned the word ‘adjudication’.
And so she stood,
the girl with golden hair,
and took a breath to start her recitation.
She faltered, stopped.
We watched and saw a pool of golden liquid gather at her feet.
except a gasp from one on our adjudication panel.
The girl cried out and ran the length of the glittering room,
up the aisle between the seats,
the faces of the parents and the teachers and the children.
Each of us then,
performing our set piece,
slightly off centre on the stage,
to avoid the remains of her embarrassment.
I remembered not so many years before, when I,
sat cross legged with the big kids on PE mats at the front of class,
too scared to raise my hand and ask to ‘be excused,’
allowed the rush of warmth to leave me,
sat in it till it was cold.
Played alone all afternoon,
for fear someone would know
the damp patch on the mat,
was made by me.
Prompt for April 7th
She was from the valleys.
That made her small town
but she had big ideas.
Trouble is, when you’re born in the valleys,
it’s tough to shake it off.
She never really made of her life
what she had wished for so hard.
When I moved away,
to a warm Mediterranean island,
I learned that here,
‘the valleys’ translated as ‘village’ .
‘She’s so village,’ they might whisper
about a less popular girl,
including me in their precious clique.
‘But so am I,’ I thought,
at my roots.
Because however high
my grandmother climbed,
she was very village too.
Prompt for April 6 –
things people say
“I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own tastes.”
― Marcel Duchamp
“I don’t give a damn what people say!”
But of course, she did.
She gave a very big damn,
huge and over-flowing.
But, she would bear what they said,
rather than fold herself into an awkward shape,
to fit the space they had made.
Prompt for April 4 –
sometimes you have to walk away
“My future starts when I wake up every morning. Every day I find something creative to do with my life.”
― Miles Davis
Sometimes you have to walk away, she says.
Shakes her head like she is wise.
Wise old she-elephant.
Slow and deliberate, jowls flapping,
that amber pendant of hers shifting across her chest,
chain catching across remnants of salmon-en-croute
in asparagus sauce,
on the front of her blouse.
The one we bought her when we came visiting last year.
I wonder if she wears it to show that she remembers,
or if she pulled it out of the drawer by chance.
Or is it all she has to make a show of dressing up
for a family occasion?
We do not visit as often as…
We do visit,
based on a complex algebraic formula
calculated via emotional osmosis.
Hope and hurt replacing integers,
x = trust and y = disappointment
But running away is all I’ve ever seen her do.
This time I’ll take the advice.
Sometimes you have to walk away.
Prompt for April 3 – out of luck
“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.”
― Maya Angelou
Out of Luck
You were born out of luck.
By which I mean,
not that you have none left,
but that, through luck,
because of luck,
you were born.
My bad luck.
Bad time, bad man.
But luck turned to good.
They say the more you use your creativity,
the more creativity you possess…
and that is true for me,
because in you I find a melting pot
of all the things my procreation has produced before,
Prompt: On the Couch.
“Every child is an artist, the problem is staying an artist when you grow up.” Pablo Picasso.
Stanley is an etching,
you hardly notice him at first ,
but when you take the time,
you will find fine lines that make up light and shade,
cross hatching that defines his mood.
He is clear and clean.
Rachel is a watercolour,
some people think her dull,
but she has subtlety of tone.
Her colouring can take you to hazy meadows or Italian cities.
She is older than she looks.
If you give her space she glows,
move in close and you will find secrets that other people miss.
Sarah is an Impressionist painting.
Her presence caresses the eye.
Soft textures and swathes of light and colour.
‘Most everybody’s taste,
and yet with that comes a loneliness.
Nobody takes their time to look up close
and see the brush strokes that create that sense of ease.
Robin’s a Pollock
First glance you think he’s loud and brash
but up close you’ll find a peace between the splats and sparks.
And my girl?
It is an acquired taste that finds beauty
in two eyes where one should be,
one open, one half-closed,
nose off-set and rather elongated,
ears that could be violins,
skin splashed with, not strawberries and cream,
but aubergine left too long in the heat
and a smile like a half eaten pomegranate,
a smile nevertheless,
and one reserved for those that see.
I have signed up for the Wordxword Festival April 1-30 poetry challenge where we are sent a prompt a day for 30 days and are challenged to write a poem. Here is day 1 -, bit of a rush as I spent most of yesterday driving to Cornwall.
Prompt for April 1 – -from start to finish
“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.”
― Kurt Vonnegut
I was born with wings
But nobody encouraged me to use them.
Instead, rather politely
We were to shuffle along ledges
our plumage catching the sunlight.
Mine did, somedays when I hadn’t even stretched.
One day I was pushed.
I found I could not fly,
I had forgotten I had wings at all,
But I could glide.
And that’s what saved me.