18 - Snowflake

#NaPoWriMo Day 18 (technically 19) and today I’ve been writing a pantoum inspired by too many conversations that I suspect many of you will find… familiar…

Remember that, if you’re a subscriber to my Patreon, you can hear a recording of this piece (and the seventeen preceding it) there. The link to the relevant post is here: [Patreon post]

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I ask him not to use that phrase;
I am polite, I do not shout.
He tells me that it’s just his ways,
I don’t know what I’m on about.

I am polite, I do not shout;
we must be careful to be safe.
I don’t know what I’m on about:
his arrogance begins to chafe.

We must be careful to stay safe,
and not upset the "normal" folk.
His arrogance begins to chafe…
of course: I cannot take a joke.

Please don't upset the Normal Folk.
(He tells me that it’s just his ways…
of course: I cannot take a joke.)
I ask him not to use that phrase…

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

2021.2 Garrafad

The Day 2 prompt was: go to page 37 of the nearest non-poetry book and write something inspired by it. With most of my books still boxed, I pounced on my copy of “Discovering Skye” by Jonathan MacDonald, bought in Spring 2002, from memory. Page 37 reveals the relatively modern, very polite legend of Garrafad (*see below), and why the Kilmartin cemetery was not built there… I went with a pantoum, for some reason, though messed with the format a bit.

I don’t mind; I rarely mind
to hold these stones is all I ask.
I’m not the growling, hurting kind,
but most don’t see beneath my mask

To hold these stones is all I ask –
rain and wind and sky and fish –
but most can’t see beneath my mask…
some quiet – that’s my only wish.

Rain and wind and sky and fish…
I’d frankly rather sleep alone;
some quiet – that’s my only wish!
Downstream is better for your stone.

I’d frankly rather sleep alone;
I’m not the growling, hurting kind
downstream is better for their stones;
I rarely mind; tonight I mind.

2020.13 Season of the Lych

(If you'd like to tackle pantoums and other repeating forms, I've made a spreadsheet for them (obviously!): http://bit.ly/poetryrepforms)

So this must be the Spring of our discontent.
Our grumblings now barely touch the weather;
While some of us will struggle to make rent,
Still others are just spending, hell for leather.

Our grumblings now barely touch the weather;
While some urge all us sinners to repent,
Still others are just spending, hell for leather,
And in the dark, conspiracies foment.

While some urge all us sinners to repent,
The rest explore the length and strength of tethers,
And in the dark, conspiracies foment;
To break the fragile piece takes one more feather.

The rest explore the length and strength of tethers,
While some of us will struggle to make rent.
To break the fragile peace takes one more feather,
And this must be the spring of our discontent.

Lychgate at the Parish Church of St Mary & St Giles, facing the High Street, Stony Stratford
Source: Geograph.com, © Copyright Malcolm Campbell

2017.26 - Degrees

“There’s always seasonal work…” you say
Gazing through the window to the world beneath
“The year’s come round like a big circle thing.”
It’s hard to bite your lip and smile

Gazing through the window to the world beneath
I wonder what to say to you
It’s hard to bite your lip and smile
The window mostly gives me back myself

I wonder what to say to you
Waiting for the connection to resolve
The window mostly gives me back myself
I ask you what you’re doing now

Waiting for the connection to resolve
(The year’s come round like a big circle thing.)
I ask you what you’re doing now
“There’s always seasonal work…” you say.


Trying out a pantoum for the first time, yet again spending longer on untangling the explanations (and making a spreadsheet to do some of the heavy lifting for me) than on writing the poem. In case you’re wondering: the quotes in the first (and, therefore, final) stanza are genuine things a recruitment agent said to me while looking out of the fifth floor window after I was made redundant from a teaching post. It’s made a pleasing refrain and repeated (not always entirely sweet) in-joke in the intervening years, and seemed to suit the form.