Category Archives: Sleep

don’t look back to

re~ember past

flames

re~member past

corpses

rem is a present

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haiku

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r.e.m

rapid eye movement state

of dreaming creating the

unlimited unbound~less

imagination~création thé

multidimensional the

unconditional the

impossible the

i’m~possible the

un~ruly the

theta state the

the the the

the the

the

t

h

e

lady of Avalon

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NaPoWriMo 2021 Button with black background

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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!

Loba

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NaPoWriMo 2021 Button with black background

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she moonlight-calls her to me and me to her

her fingers of soft-rough fur, here is utter dark

brings something of a growl ( not a purr ), ignites the spark

in a flash of lightning , a white thing, the shape of air

unutterable darkness shields a priestess

sexy as a mystery, saturates the senses

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do you hate me for the wildness

of my perfect pelt, the language of my brazen throat

you cannot understand, you cannot capture, don’t fret, don’t rest

the stricken faces of the night felt, the quickening of my breast

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do you prefer me as a acquiescent sheep

do you curse this form that disturbs your sleep

does the lightness of my lope, the meatiness of my breath

cause the whispers of the hair rise from your neck

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i check the mirror, front and back

lick the maws of my primal authentic voice

that calls my majestic spirit to rejoice

for i am rank-stink-inked

kicked alive again to bless

awaken this mess of flesh

i am bone and fang

i am woman and pack

i am wolf i am wolf i am wolf-woman-whispers

i am the madonna, the giver of moonlit rivers

i am grit- dirt-bearer of younger gifts

blood-howl of shape-changer, the angel-author

of older myths than now exist

do you know me now

do you fear my howl

for i am love , raw, pure, love

slipped from darkness’ glove

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not a haiku

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https://www.napowrimo.net

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NaPoWriMo day 8:-Today’s prompt comes to us from this list of “all-time favourite writing prompts.” It asks you to name your alter-ego, and then describe him/her in detail. Then write in your alter-ego’s voice. Maybe your alter-ego is a streetwise detective, or a superhero, or a very small goldfinch.

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.