NaPoWriMo #19: Sunshine Garden

The sunshine outside the window,
the trees growing new leaves,
the grass growing taller.

The puddle at the bottom
of the garden drying up,
sparrows and blackbirds

darting through the branches.
Somewhere in the distance
someone hammers nails

into a fence, the latest
apprentice carpenter
to appear in the village.

(Today's poem is inspired by the daily prompt from the NaPoWriMo website, which today was to write a paragraph describing a story, the scene outside your window or directions from place to place, and then either erase words to create a poem or use some of the words to form a new poem. I took this prompt and used it to describe what my garden in Frynwys looks like in the current weather.)

NaPoWriMo #21: Village Grapevine

It's been a while since I've taken up any of NaPoWriMo's daily prompts, but here we go. For my twenty first poem, I've followed NaPoWriMo's prompt to incorporate overhead speech, in this case overheard throughout my home village of Frynwys.

Village Grapevine

There's a lot of knotweed
down by the stream.

Is there really?
Better sort that out at some point.

Just moved up here from London,
getting my bearings you know?

Nice to meet you, don't worry,
this place is really quite small.

It's gone chilly all of a sudden,
it was sunny this morning.

You know what that is?
That's the cold front that is.

A blackbird chirps to a goldfinch.
I wish I knew what they were saying.

Oi, finch! Will you shut up?
You're doin' me head in and all!

NaPoWriMo #10: A Worm Wakes Up on a Monday Morning

Okay, so things may have taken a surreal turn on the blog. For the tenth NaPoWriMo poem, we have the familiar tale of a homeowner struggling to cope with noisy neighbours.

A Worm Wakes Up on a Monday Morning

Just under the grass
of a spring-drenched lawn
an earthworm rests
in his one room flat
next door to an ant nest.

His neighbours went out
the night before last,
and it had been quite a party
on the surface as the ants
gathered their crops.

The worm is still recovering
from that bombastic disturbance
when a spade caves in his ceiling
and baths him sunshine
while a blackbird eyes him from the trees.

NaPoWriMo #2: Home at the Dawn Chorus

For my second poem in this thirty day odyssey, I present a tale of the dawn chorus as seen from the perspective of an inebriated blackbird. Whoever said poetry needed to be about deep themes?

Home at the Dawn Chorus

A blackbird flutters back to his roost
after a night down the garden
dining on seeds
from an immaculate green feeder
with several perches
wallowing with other birds
in a stone bird bath
after which he clambers into his nest
to sleep off the gorging
and the guzzling
and the slurred singing of Wren of Harlech
only to hear the robin in the next tree
belting out a tenor solo
as the sun rises
and the blackbird curses
the chorus which greets his ears.