15 - Safekeeping

#NaPoWriMo Day 15 and tonight I’ve been writing a sestina inspired by love and connection, after attending the gorgeous Fen Speak open mic (which I wasn’t going to, and then wonderful things happened, so I stayed).

Remember that, if you’re a subscriber to my Patreon, you can hear a recording of this piece (and the fourteen preceding it) there. The link to the relevant post is here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/safekeeping-155744689

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Tonight we are treated to treatises on love
and acceptance, cozied in glorious metaphor.
Tonight we dance under moonlight,
drifting in snow-powdered warmth,
daring to name family in new ways,
old ways, loud and soft together, clasping hands.

How wonderful, to span distances with hands
separated by miles and water, seeking love.
Battered by battling life, we find ways,
even now – especially now – for
bringing brilliance, by-product of warmth
to those in search of light.

It is nice to be reminded, to take flight,
lifted and steadied by multiple hands,
securely precipitous, glorying in the warmth
of spirits who, time and again, choose love,
doubling-down on every indicator
that shared humanity is more important, always.

I am tired, in too many ways,
but my veins fizz with light.
I am unclenching from a score
of near-misses, feeling returning to hands
that long to show my love
in more ways than words, to share warmth.

There are many types of fire building this warmth,
and it occurs to me that ‘nice’ can’t encompass the ways
we feel, the fights we are fuelled by, knowing that love
is summoned through filters across a spectrum of light,
and that this infinite diversity is perfect – ANDs
glittering in this coruscance of connections, the beauty of ORs.

And isn’t that what our perfectly illogical logic is for?
Logs given to the hearth around which we gather, warmth
a gift, shared, multiplying between many hands.
And we are careful to acknowledge all the ways
that flames this large cast long shadows, a twilight
in which we dismantle all the grim things to which we clove.

Take each other’s hands in the dance – it’s what they’re for –
step with purpose and wild abandonment, love and warmth
the inspiration for more ways to light the path, to say We’re Here.

Drawing by me, shamelessly reusing one of the sets of hands from Spectral, flame reference from Wikipedia

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Did I add a Star Trek reference in there? Why yes; yes, I did. Zero regrets. (See also the couple of cheat words I used that a sestina purist would probably scorn.) Am I satisfied with the drawing? Not yet, but, in the spirit of NaPoWriMo, I’m posting it anyway.

If you’d like to write your own sestina why not make use of my handy-dandy shareware spreadsheet that can help get you started? https://bit.ly/poemrep

2019.6 A List of Things

Things That Bring Smiles

You breeze through the door;
You rock sideways in your seat,
Bursting with rockets.

Things That Won’t Leave

That sparkly bath bomb;
Grand National 2010;
Hair dye fingerprints.

Things You Don’t Remember

How I take my tea;
Open crisps: invitation;
That Grand National.

Things That Wake Me Up

Slammed doors – car or house;
My name, a kind hand stroking;
You suppressing tears.

Things That Send Me To Sleep

A kind hand, stroking;
Your voice shares that well-loved book;
Crackling woodfire.

Things That Bring Tears 

Too much compassion;
Sister Act: that one high note;
July’s final gasp.

Things That Spark Poetry

Injustice; work stress;
Family; love; eavesdropping;
Pivoting seasons;
Memories of home; the sea;
At the right time: anything.

Already falling behind my self-imposed target of two per day for the rest of the month, but I continue to strive with this Pillow Book-style poem (thanks for the prompt, NaPoWriMo), done as six senryū stanzas and one tanka, because that seemed appropriate for the original material.

2018.5 Ursa Major

We are in the carpark, looking up;
The sky is smeared with city lights
And I remember a darker, brighter childhood,
Or maybe just sharper eyes.

I spot the Plough, point it out.
It is the only thing I know apart from
Out-of-season Orion.
It would be good to see Cassiopeia,
Caput Draconis, Böotes, remember again
How to nominate North, even to spot my own star sign,
For comedy effect, of course.

We neither of us seem keen to steer away;
Our drifting conversation moves at a
Night-long pace, a deceptively slow 600mph,
Full of distant glimmerings we do our best to
Capture with familiar names and tales of
Faithless lovers, vengeful mothers,
Heroes, followers, and monsters.

How will we navigate these waters?
Column of fire or column of smoke?
Parched and starving,
We drink each other’s laughter,
Eat stories, draw connections - point to point,
Perspectives drawing symbols in what feels like
Holy fire, tonight.

Hushhh, says the city, tires on tarmac,
Even now, even here.
And I want to take you with me to true dark,
Thronged with fox call, owl cry,
Wind aria and chorus of branches, grass, ivy,
Lively with the sky’s wildfire,
Sing songs together to the dark-bright lovers
Who have long-since died,
And grace us with their gasping light.

2017.30 - Conflagration

I ask you what to write about
You ponder, eyes crinkling;
“Write about a fire,” you say,
I smile, but do not ask: what type?

There have been so many:
The sparks whirling in the dark
Pinprick kisses hinting
The caress of greater heat…

The open, clay-cupped crackle
Of night-time conversations,
The unfurling barbecue scent
Of easy summer chatter…

The turfed-in glow of trust,
Banked to last for ages,
The open-throated roar
Of wildfire, raging, consuming…

The thin, flickering reconciliation
Of candlelight, breaths held,
The steady, everyday production
Of the forge’s rhythm…

And, central to our orbit,
The song and slumber of the hearth,
Breathing the miracle of home,
The warmth we’ve built together.


And that’s it, folks - the final poem of this year’s NaPoWriMo/ GloPoWriMo. Thanks for following along, hope you’ve had a good month, and I’ll see you next time!

#14 Daphnis

I've got some kind of viral infection that makes me dizzy and headachey, so no poem from my dry, fragile brain yesterday, but I snuck a look at some of the napowrimo prompts from the last couple of days, and was inspired by the suggestion for a wine-and-love song (Anacreontic is a particular form - I didn't have the wherewithal for a new form, so this is what you get):


It was never about wine
It makes us both sick
In different ways
Me in my chest
You in your head

It was sometimes about beer
Or whisky
But never too much
I felt you slip from my touch
Become imaginary

My hands would pass
Through each other
Over and over
And I felt the pressure
Of an empty mouth
And dissolving barriers
Between dark and light.

It had to stop being about beer
Or whisky
But sometimes the sticky fun
Of things with intricate names,
Interesting shapes
And expensive labels

And food
Lots of food.
I don't lose myself then
Can't swim in solids,
Drowning in the cave of ideals.

But I can run,
Sugar-fuelled,
In mad circles,
Singing to the moon.
"Diana! Give me your brother's
Bright arrows! Just tonight!"

But you stopped
The mouths of muses
With arrows of your own
And we, pierced,
Sank under each other's weight
A delicious, spiral swoon.

We found different ways
To be in our cups
And sometimes still,
Even alone
I sup love from the eyes
Of a trembling moon
And walk taller,
No longer stumbling.

#19 Wild Honey

And she tastes sweet,
Sweet as chocolate did
Before you started counting.
Now calories and plantations,
Percentages and guilt and pounds
Drop to the ground
All foundered by her sweetness.

She is the welcome slap
Of ocean air,
Daring you to take its caress
To everywhere you feel,
Clear down to the
Bottom of your lungs,
Tug freshness into every
Crevice, scream your acceptance
In new and unknown tongues.

And she lights your sky,
Your glittering guide at night,
The smile that wakes you
And takes you by the hand at dusk.
She is the musk of
Summer rose, the first
Full fall of snow,
And now she's all you'll ever know.

#14 Chatter

This one came out of nowhere and is broadly true except for the actual "fact"... :)

And I can talk all night
About the Big Things -
Life and Death,
Earth and Sky,
Sea and Fire and Why,
But if I try for the small
And intense - the dense,
The less unseeably immense,
Your guess is as good as mine
On how to describe them.
Like the time you finally
Told me that you loved me
Next to the bins at Tesco,
An al fresco statement
That just sits there -
Bereft of all attempts to
Get in, explode and analyse deftly
Except that its weft
Definitely anchored you
Truly to the warp my life is
The infinitesimal start
Of hearts as a
Still-frighteningly close weave
That leaves me breathless
When I reach out,
Look around to the train
That trails behind
And winds round corners,
See how much more is left
To be clattered together
Line by line...