2024 - day thirteen

 The prompt is to take ten words (five senses, three nouns and two verbs) and write in some form of rhyme.

Gazing to the far distant hills,

And tasting air like wine,

Feeling the winter wind chills

As shivers run down my spine.

The curlew's plaintive call,

And the scent of tangled tide,

I pause to embrace it all,

And stow the memory deep inside.

Blissful solitude, a storm's central eye

To gird me 'gainst the city's anguished cry.

(gazing, tasting, shovers, call, scent, curlew, tide, city, embrace, stow)

Day the twenty-third

Today the prompt is a poem about a letter.


What?

I will not say which
But will scrawl words
That will broadcast hints
To allow a looking body
An opportunity to work it out
In sunlight or rain.

Day the thirteenth

On this the the thirteenth day the prompt is a non-apology, the discourse so beloved of politicians and confidence tricksters . . .

I am (not) sorry

a thief I am, and I feel no regret,
whilst still I utter anodyne and
pointless phrases, my apology is
conditional for what have I done?

I stole the day and danced with the teasing breeze,
I stole the time to walk beside the taunting seas,
I stole the hours of rain to linger long,
I stole the moments in the wild birds' song.

For all these things I took and knew no shame,
For all these things I'd steal again and again.

Day the twelfth

Today the prompt is to write a triolet.

One day


This day was born in the silver grey of rain
And grew wise from the added soft of sun;
It danced to keening windsong over and again;
This day was born in the silver grey of rain
And battled man's insane tyranny of pain
And lived through all the hours 'til it was done;
This day was born in the silver grey of rain
And grew wise from the added soft of sun.

Day the third

Today the prompt suggested taking random words and, finding various rhymes for them, then use some in a poem. Some years ago I was told that one should NEVER use a word of more than 2 syllables in a poem - and as you can see I always heed that advice . . .

Invisible threat


The rain now makes it difficult to walk as
The damp underfoot means different shoes
And the intensification of the frustration of steps.
The rain makes the earthy smells stronger and richer
And the photographic excellence of the resultant
Picture presents a needed antidote to the pestilence
That besmirches our islands, that spreads
in soundless menace, wastelanded mainland
And island, consumed by a silent rapacious predator.