Saturday, March 30, 2013

365 Poems in 365 Days: Gloomy Mcgloom

For the creative writing classwork five minute task for free verse we were told to write down some words to do with an emotion, then try to draw it into some free verse. As might be expected I was Gloomy Mcgloom and wrote this (Number 42):

The silence is empty
The frustration, deep
Cold darkness extends
Nothing will work.

My first attempt actually rhymed the 2nd and 4th lines ("Invades from my sleep") which is why I rewrote the fourth line into that disruptive early stop.

365 Poems in 365 Days: Easter Saturday

On Good Friday Our Saviour was killed
We have been promised that he will rise again
One day. Some day. Perhaps tomorrow.
But today is Saturday and god died yesterday.

I don't believe any more, and I'm no longer sure
How much I did when I did, whenever that was.
So to my lapsed theology every day is Easter Saturday
With a dead god and an unfulfilled promise of resurrection.



Poem 41 in this series.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

365 Poems in 365 Days: Bacon!

So here's the thing; when in doubt I write poetry about food. I don't know what more to say about that. Number 40, again rejected for the free verse homework for my class.

I like my bacon crisp, blackened even
And there's nothing wrong with a soft white loaf
But why not have bread you can taste and crunch?

While it cooks, why hold back?
Lettuce and mayonnaise
Or ketchup, brown sauce, mustard
And maybe tomatoes if they're going spare.


365 Poems in 365 Dasy: Tangerines

Poem 39 of 365. Not only is this a true story, but I could have written another one about a school trip involving radishes, which would otherwise be pretty much the same. I may even do that if I get short of ideas or wildly behind in this project, like only 39 poems on the 87th day of the year. Anyway this was a free verse I rejected for the creative writing class.

School Trip

I peel the tangerine
And I don’t need to listen
To all the voices
Squealing and yelling around me

The lunchroom on this school trip
Away from the public
Has heavy doors to keep the noise in
As well as the pupils

The orange melts away
In my mouth, a moment
Of refreshing peace
Amongst the loudly lunching kids

I pull a second tangerine out
And answer the question put to me
“I like tangerines.”
They look at me as though this is the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

365 Poems in 365 Days: Cop Show

Time to get back on track with number 38. We were given the homework for my creative writing class of writing a free verse poem, which I faux-naively describe as a poem where you don't have to bother about rhyming or meter[1]. Mine was the least formal, but of the nine people other than me there, four gave an opinion,  so by a margin of three to one, this is a free verse poem, which I call:

Police Procedural

Usually the show opens with the detectives arriving at the location of the body
But this week the body arrives at the detectives’ offices.


It’s a gimmick, a half-clever way to shake up the formula.
We already know there will be four or five events from the following list:


A car chase
A foot chase
A gunfight
A fistfight
A stakeout
A tense interrogation
A race against time


We watch every week, all the nonsensical twists to stop it being predictable
(The villain appears just after the first adverts)
But the real reason we watch is we love how these strange situations
Are dealt with by the cast of quirky characters:


The former astronaut, trying to make up for crashing a rocket
The tough as nails woman with the law degree, ambitious, driven
The old school officer with a moustache as big as his ego
The wisecracking, funk-music loving, forensics guy
The boss, a good cop with a bad attitude


I could go on all night
Or for seven years, each of twenty two episodes.


(175 words)


(Footnote included in poem I handed out) 

 I have no particular program in mind, but there’s a subgenre of (particularly) American cop shows I describe above. They hide their formula(s) with interesting villains and baroque crimes, but despite that I eventually figure out the show’s template and I’m still regularly watching at least one of them at any time.

[1] I'm assuming we all know better

Tuesday, March 05, 2013

365 Poems in 365 Days: More Dracula

Number 37. Something else jarred loose from my reading of Dracula.

A Comparative Reading of Vampire Literature

A madman is the only person in love with a vampire
Dracula spends his days lying on a byre
The women he likes are the ones he bites
I don't know why people say he ripped off Twilight.

365 poems in 365 Days: Dracula Detective

Number 36, which I call:

Detective Work in Dracula, by Bram Stoker

Lower class men* give information for drinks or coins to hoard
Middle class men roll over when they find the person asking is a lord
They talk because Dracula treats them all like servants to be ignored

* Women can only tell you, if you ask
Where their menfolk work at their task

Monday, March 04, 2013

365 Poems in 365 Days: Chips and Pregnancy Horror Stories

This, number 35 of 365, is a true story. No really.

I don't love chips, I just say that I do so they'll come home with me
Last time I went to the chip shop was close to closing for my Sunday tea
I had to wait for them to be cooked so the girl serving and I had a chat
I told her I had lots of pregnant friends so tried to avoid pregnancy horror stories and that
She told me about something she's seen on some TV show
About a woman who got pregnant and didn't want her family to know
So she hid it and when the time came refused to push and stopped the contractions
Then kept her secret for fifty seven years without adverse reaction
And then died, still carrying her dead unborn child... maybe I'd better stop.
But does anyone else have conversations like this when they go to the chip shop?

365 Poems in 365 Days: Silence

A friend put this up on Facebook. I didn't and explain why in this poem. Number 34.

A friend put something onto Facebook
A message and picture, when I looked,
Asking people to break silence on miscarriage.
I did nothing. I have both too much and too little baggage.

I know women who miscarried and dealt
With it in a variety of ways; rebuilt
Broken lives and strained relationships -
But these aren't my stories so my mouth stays zipped.

Not a woman, this can only effect me second hand.
It's a topic I shouldn't talk, only listen (and
I might upset my pregnant Facebook friends;
Like a coward that was my excuse in the end)

So here's the thing; this is not my silence to break.
I'm here to listen, speak up for pities sake.