Category Archives: limbs

lady of Avalon

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i dream i’m drowning

it’s an old one

but it no longer owns me

now i’ve come home to avalon

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thoughts of rain awake me

the lady comes again for me

from across the levels blurred in

a banging of silver bangles

a breathing womb of grass and apples

a trembling of limbs still stuck in the suck

of muck-moist land that’s been drained for ages

until it rains; and it rains

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she is ages older than me, yet young

she speaks an older tongue, voice

fizzy with dialects of scrumpy cider and musky crusts of ancient cheddar

echoes dance from dank chalk caves

wassail wassail wassail

and so it was

and so it is

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i dream her lovely face

etched upon a sorrow of cloud

heavy as half a pound of moonlight

light as a fragrance of lemoncakes

i dream her silken garments

and steely armaments

reflected in the ancient lakes of this summer land

do you see me, she rasps

swirling me in underwater loves

she drags me to her breast where i rest

kisses the stone of my bones

unheeding of the summons of Merlin

defiantly ungifting trinkets to the kings

the legend of the lady

awaits a feminist twist

shhhh, she whispers, coming

and i dream myself asleep

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not a haiku

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ps

I moved the the isle of ancient avalon last year. Do you know where that is? Quite simply, Somerset in the West Country of the UK, near Glastonbury. I felt a pull to come here and so here am i. Still dreaming…

https://www.napowrimo.net

NaPoWriMo day 25

prompt is based on the aisling, a poetic form that developed in Ireland. An aisling recounts a dream or vision featuring a woman who represents the land or country on/in which the poet lives, and who speaks to the poet about it. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a dream or vision, and in which a woman appears who represents or reflects the area in which you live. Perhaps she will be the Madonna of the Traffic Lights, or the Mysterious Spirit of Bus Stops. Or maybe you will be addressed by the Lost Lady of the Stony Coves. Whatever form your dream-visitor takes, happy writing!

fall for me, sweetness

Give me —

five fists full of summer grass

without uprooting anything at all

Offer me —

six swift licks of your herby skies

including denuded scented rainflies

Pick the —

arch of your mouth out of the earth

pulling up a brace of this yellow birds —

you know are my favourite treats

give them a sprinkle of rose water and thyme twists to enliven them

Release breezes —

of them to me, sweetness

Christen my skin

with unbearable brightness

i can bear

and i shall

climb the concrete of your seven towers

my limbs shedding strips of your shaggy shapes

that coat you like smoke

as i go

to kiss the gossamer of your scars

as i bestow

upon you the broths of my belly

cover you in my darkest berries

catch you falling in

the parachute of my hair

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not a haiku

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https://www.napowrimo.net/

NaPoWriMo prompt April 19:-

write a poem that starts with a command. It could be as uncomplicated as “Look,” as plaintive as “Come back,” or as silly as “Don’t you even think about putting that hot sauce in your hair.” Whatever command you choose, I hope you have fun ordering your readers around.

insistent joy — pouring

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pale-green tea in a delicate cup

unceremonious —

koi in a pond swimming up

miniscule coal glowing in foaming

waterfall in my infinite chest

autumnal tumble spring expressed

palms pressed, lips open

to happiness —

to all things beckoning

recognising every small thing as tasting

fortuitous —

that stuff of thankfulness 

.

oh, that soft embrace from — you know who

you are — rhymes of mint thyme coriander sage i

planted in a riot of wild flowers and trees i

will never see the shade of

oh, and that kiss — you know who

you are — amber and a thousand stars

stammer

in a pond swimming in

your mouth making the sound of

my name secure

murmur 

oh, and that caress — you know who

you are — a sacrament of butterflies, thunder

rising on a summer breeze — a whole summer

lain in front of us to pray in 

cascades made of holy gifts sipped to my infinite limbs

in the pond swimming around 

winter hours shining in burnt orange glints

oh, and that gaze — you know who

you are — tiny tremors that become exquisite

shivers on a fresh blanched page

oh, and that hand in mine — you know who

you are —

oh,

you are

in

bubble-wrap pops

copper-blue eggs

nut-brown arms

cornflower silks

twitterings of little tits

snatches of salt-sharp winds

silver pepper-pot twists

dapples of yellow apples

white-linen billows

black-chocolate pebbles

thick-cream envelopes 

effervescent-cobalt soaps

ecetera eceteras

sent to my infinite heart

insistent persistent gift

oh, joy — you know who

you are

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not a haiku

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NaPoWriMo day 13.-

….in honour of the potential luckiness of the number 13, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that, like the example poem here, joyfully states that “Everything is Going to Be Amazing.” Sometimes, good fortune can seem impossibly distant, but even if you can’t drum up the enthusiasm to write yourself a riotous pep-talk, perhaps you can muse on the possibility of good things coming down the track. As they say, “the sun will come up tomorrow,” and if nothing else, this world offers us the persistent possibility of surprise.

https://www.napowrimo.net

breakfast love

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like a river i hold close in my arms, my body

your run through me — a quiver

of arrows and slings stroke my limbs, my mind

like stars plucked for your eyes to startle me

a name stammered and chimed — a sound

surrounds — a kind of grace escapes

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i’ve lain down in moonlit thoughts of you

awoke to the sun of your skin and fingers

taunting the morning with stolen scents —

of your breath as breakfast, love

of murmurs of bees stirring my hair

a dapple of flowers gathering

over a slither of summer heather

over darkened hills, a moan, a chill

a gasp of lemon-dazzle glints blackening

the shiny stones of you blinding

me to other

worlds

other landscapes

other loves

drowned out

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this is my sorrow, my secret, my dove

the rain in my mouth announces it

no other

hears it

as happiness

swallows

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not a haiku

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NapoWriMo day 10 :- write a love poem

https://www.napowrimo.net

aziz

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Attempted Glosa ( see below )

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cassiopeia tree-heads nod from your skies

to mine though cloud divides muted eyes

i blink through sheaves of sand-gulls screeching

‘criss ink-stained papers, tears leeching

an unknown alphabet-net of dumb faces

i’m hung from tooth and skeins of white spaces

indentations where my head has lain

inventing fabrics of your pillow in vain

no matter, no stuff where dreams are hooked

i go to bed, as you are getting up

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momentary glitch flashes ‘tween lashes

freckles of luminous liquid silences

i rise from these crumpled sheets

still littered with fragile sighs replete

in bellies unmet, limbs hung with longing

a wood-burner bright in my breast, sunset songings

in dull light, my white night dress soaked

in unspoke couplets, threads drift afloat

on twigs rigged with cloud-down as you curl

aziz, on the other side of the world

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water over stones over stretched

connects the dots of lights over ledges

eastwards ascendant scents falling

into premonitions of your gift-intentions

seared on darknesses, stitched in tocsins

i loosen my dream-throat to catch at

from whence you are, lost, dust and ash

notes acriss my midnight coverlet where

aziz, you have scattered the stars

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you go about your day vertically

i go about my night horizontally

wallow-wandering, thought of by me

you think as i think and dream muddily

plucking unstrung pearls you cast emergent

from whence you’ve sent as sacréments

glistening on pregnant sleeping lips

awake, i drink them in intrinsic sips

your water voice falls wild, aziz

towards me here, like seeds

.

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n.b

tocsin: single long note or alarm bell

aziz: beloved

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My lines are chosen from a poem by Carol Ann Duffy

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World

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I go to bed, as you are getting up

in the other side of the world

You have scattered the stars

toward me here, like seeds

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napowrimo.net

NaPoWriMo day 3 : This one is a bit complex, so I saved it for a Sunday. It’s a Spanish form called a “glosa” – literally a poem that glosses, or explains, or in some way responds to another poem. The idea is to take a quatrain from a poem that you like, and then write a four-stanza poem that explains or responds to each line of the quatrain, with each of the quatrain’s four lines in turn forming the last line of each stanza. Traditionally, each stanza has ten lines, but don’t feel obligated to hold yourself to that! Here’s a nice summary of the glosa form to help you get started.