NaPoWriMo #18 | Motorised Chaos

This new poem on the eighteenth day of NaPoWriMo may seem peculiar, but it's really the best I could do at such short notice.

Motorised Chaos

A road on a moor,
empty of all but
the falling of rain.

A snail makes his way
across the tarmac, so
slowly it's painful.

Lights, a horn blast,
thundering of tyres.

NaPoWriMo #17 | Kingfisher

As we move into the second half of NaPoWriMo, the days are getting longer and warmer. The rise in temperature has brought with it signs of summer, and I've been seeing a lot of birds in my garden recently. On that note, this poem is about a certain bird I saw in my neighbour's garden a few years ago.

Kingfisher

The fish in the pond
next door are still
and unperturbed.

A loud splash,
a flash of orange,
blue and white.

The kingfisher perches
on a branch, holding
its catch, a small sliver
of shimmering silver.

NaPoWriMo #16 | Basking Frog

Ever since I started this challenge, my NaPoWriMo poetry has mostly consisted of animals. This one is no different, inspired by a frog sculpture I have at home. Also 'Eyes of the Forest' is now up on my YouTube channel in video form: (https://youtu.be/aBHoYd2TVWw)

Basking Frog

A green frog, dotted
with red splotches,
thought the pond-side
was the best place
to sun-lounge alone.

Eyes unblinking,
moth agape,
he spots a large next
approaching. Seems
this is a popular pond.

NaPoWriMo #15 | Eyes of the Forest

So I've reached the halfway point in my NaPoWriMo odyssey. To celebrate, I've written another India poem, this time about gray langur monkeys. These monkeys are found right across Indian, from the forests of Madhya Pradesh to the foothills of the Himalayas. Hope you enjoy.

Eyes of the Forest

A gray langur relaxes
on the highest branch
of a slender sal tree.

A grey mane of fur
around her black face,
with unblinking eyes.

A baby huddles against
its mother as she watches
the silent forest floor.

A younger langur lounges
on a spindly branch.
He barks, stirring the others.

The troop takes up the call
as a spotted shadow slinks
through the undergrowth below.

The leopard retreats into
the greenery, and the mother
and her baby can relax again.

NaPoWriMo #14 | Backfiring Stapler

Okay, now it's starting to get serious. You know day fourteen of NaPoWriMo is going to be good when the best poem you can write is one about a broken stapler.

Backfiring Stapler

One staple goes flying
through the air.
Misses the target.

Another staple,
followed by two more,
then three and four.

Before long, the walls
are dotted with staples,
and the stapler is empty.

NaPoWriMo #13 | Paper Swan

And so we return to the ever-present theme of animals for poem number thirteen of NaPoWriMo. This one is based off a great piece of art I saw on my travels once.

Paper Swan

Wings made out of forty
folded triangles, shaped
like the spires of some
enormous white temple.

A circle of spikes for feet,
a short tail of three white
feathers, a curved neck
and an arrow-shaped,
eyeless head.

NaPoWriMo #12 | Terraced Puzzles

Another short poem for NaPoWriMo today. This one was inspired by a sight I saw in the valleys. It was a row of terraced houses on a road with their roofs forming a straight gradient.

Terraced Puzzles

Houses on a hill
arrange in a line,
somehow in order
with diagonal roofs,
roofs which usually
form steps up
the mountainside.
To solve the puzzle,
one must break
the diagonal grade.

NaPoWriMo #11 | Journey Home

Day eleven of NaPoWriMo and I'm still going. To be honest, if I'm still posting after the halfway point I'll be more than surprised. This one is another short one.

Journey Home

A buzzard soars on winds
high above the sun-bathed
mountains north of the River
Usk's mud-brown waters.

Two crows shadow the lonesome
predator in their midst.
The buzzard's flight to her nest
will see many more of them.

NaPoWriMo #10 | How to Make a Cup of Tea

I've taken another prompt from the NaPoWriMo site for poem number ten. This time it's an abecedarian poem, or a poem structured according to the alphabet, combined with the ancient art of tea-brewing. I think I might've gotten a bit carried away with this one.

How to Make a Cup of Tea

Ask me how to make a cup of tea,
because I have no idea why
certain skills such as boiling a kettle
don't get used as often as they should.

Enough of the constant coffee I say,
forget all that mocha and espresso nonsense
good old home-brewed tea is in order.
How to make it is really simple,

I know because I do it more than enough.
Just use a single teabag and a small
kettle, and you'll be on your way to
lots of boiling and brewing in the future.

Most cups of tea need three minutes,
not fifteen as some experts suggest.
One way is to use a teapot, or if you
prefer, brew it in the cup. It's really

quite good once it's done, producing a
ravishing taste which even the best
second rate coffee machine couldn't match.
Teabag removal with a spoon is ideal,

unless you have a fork at hand, which is
vexing at the best of times, but still,
when the rain pours like the sound of a
xylophone, there's always the residual
zest to make a stirring cup of tea.

NaPoWriMo #9 | Kaiju Symphony

Hi everyone. A slightly longer poem than usual for NaPoWriMo today. This one is about my fascination with the Kajiu genre of film, otherwise known as giant monster films. Hope you like it.

Kaiju Symphony

They rose from the sea,
from depths unfathomable,
into dreams and nightmares.
Some spawned in the wake
of a blossoming mushroom cloud,
others out of worlds isolated
and long since forgotten.

They towered above cities,
above man's greatest works,
demolishing them with greater
wrath than any hurricane.
Every projectile man could
throw at them ricocheted
off their impervious hides.

That's what a young boy saw
on his television screen,
plagued by bursts of static,
marvelling at their ferocity,
their enormity, their majesty.
Such wonders endure
far beyond the screen.

NaPoWriMo #8 | Witch's Pool

Another short poem for day eight of this increasingly difficult NaPoWriMo. This one is about a small pool hidden in the Brecon Beacons, used historically to try and drown witches. Such a cheery subject, isn't it?

Witch's Pool

Hidden by the trees,
a small brown pool
fed by the flow
of a tumbling waterfall.

The surface hides memories,
last moments of those
claimed by the water
for the sin of sorcery.

NaPoWriMo #7 | Gold Stripes

It's been a while since I last did one of these, but a new tiger poem has arrived. This one is a bit different in that it's about the long reported but rarely seen black tiger. There have been sightings dating back to the 1700s, but no one has ever confirmed their existence.

Gold Stripes

Hidden in a thicket,
in a clump of bamboo,
a tigress stares out
from her green lair.

The remnants of a chital,
killed on the lakeshore,
strewn across the den,
gnawed to the bone.

Her three cubs sleep
under her watch.
One with gold stripes
and fur as dark as ink.

NaPoWriMo #6 | Monday Catharsis

A little change for poem number six of NaPoWriMo. This one was inspired by a prompt from the NaPoWriMo website, which was to write an aubade, or a morning poem. The prompt said to write one about a Monday morning, hardly anyone's favourite morning. The result looks a bit flimsy, but I think there's something in it. We'll see.

Monday Catharsis

When the sun rises on Monday
it might as well set again.
Better off starting on Tuesday,
or you might prefer to send
a note to work. Monday's arrived
and imprisoned you in your
own home. It seems to have derived
its talents from being a right bore.

A better idea would be to sleep
or to tell the sun to go away.
Never have we got to keep
the mistake which is Monday.
Fill it with dynamite to burst
to go off before the dawn
and save us from the Monday curse,
from the grip of its tedious thorns.

NaPoWriMo #5 | The Plot Thickens

Just a small poem for day five of NaPoWriMo. However, this is more of a personal poem than usual as it's inspired by a sign I see every time I go into uni for the day. Hope it's not too bad.

The Plot Thickens

In a glass bus shelter,
a sign adorns the window.
Everyone sees it,
those arriving for work
and those leaving for home.
Small, square, neon green.

NaPoWriMo #4 | Racing Green

It's day four of NaPoWriMo, and I'm already struggling to keep up with the work schedule. Today's poem is a small one, but I think it could be quite good if I chose to work on it in the future. I could try and explain the context, but I feel the title is fairly self explanatory.

Racing Green

On a road in Ireland
lined by hedges and fields
stretching to the hills,
the sound of chugging
engines reverberates.

Cars barrel down the road,
one red, one blue,
and one black.
Yet in amongst them,
a new livery is born.

A square grill,
a long bonnet slashed
with vents, and bearing
the number five,
all painted green.

NaPoWriMo #3 | Slow Worm

On to poem number three of NaPoWriMo. This one is slightly less surreal than the last two, so I'm hoping it can viewed as an attempt at natural realism. It probably isn't, but that's okay.

Slow Worm

A hill covered in bracken,
dew-soaked and shrouded
in fog. A forest huddled in
the valley below.

Under the faded leaves,
a flow worm, with dull
copper scales, burrows
through the moist earth.

Every grassy tussock
in between the ferns
is a slow worm's fortress,
protected by mangled roots.

Slugs and spiders don't dare
cross the slow worm's porch.
It stares out at the world
with gleaming red irises.

Adders, foxes and badgers
will come searching, but
it will hide in the deepest
chambers until they pass.

NaPoWriMo #2 | The Sun with Sunglasses

The second poem of NaPoWriMo and I think I've gone about as a surreal as it's possible to go. Maybe it's the hectic work schedule, maybe it's from the lack of sunshine in Frynwys at the moment. I don't know, but I hope you find this somewhat entertaining.

The Sun with Sunglasses

Should there ever be a time
when the sun finds it too bright,
it might suffer if it looks
at itself too long.
A visit to the opticians is in order.

The only glasses made for
flaming orange stars can be found
in the desert, made by the
ever efficient dung beetles.
They sell for fifty grains of sand.

Now the sun can stare at itself
and the earth for as long as it likes,
safe in the knowledge that its
retinas are protected by
everlasting celestial aviators.

NaPoWriMo #1 | Robin on the Fence

Here it is, the first poem of my NaPoWriMo odyssey. Hope it's not too bad. There will be another one tomorrow, hopefully at an earlier time. Watch this space.

Robin on the Fence

My word, the bird feeder
looks a bit empty today.
I guess the magpies
and jackdaws ate their fill.

There's a worm down there,
just poked his head up.
He won't have time
to wish he hadn't.