poems written = 22
poems written per day = 2
poems remaining = 53
poems remaining = 53
required poems per day = 2.7895
11 November 2011
75PoWriMo - XXII
blot
small-child crafted
domestic rorschach test
a blob of blue tack
a splash of spilled yoghurt
a stain of mysterious provenance
i believe i see
resignation
small-child crafted
domestic rorschach test
a blob of blue tack
a splash of spilled yoghurt
a stain of mysterious provenance
i believe i see
resignation
75PoWriMo - XXI
truth will out
decorate your face with tears
for beauty shines when truth appears
punctuate your speech with sighs
to give respite from all the lies
you hang your head each time you nod
repeatedly betray your fraud
although you're clearly smiling hard
it causes cracks in your facade
75PoWriMo - XX
please keep your domestic domestic
the air becomes somehow viscous
even amid the bustle the silence
between them is an imposing clamour
she develops a new fascination
with the ingredients
of her chocolate breakfast
and each time she can no longer resist
shooting him loaded, angry glances
she tries to disguise this reflex
by pretending to be fussing with her hair
he cycles through a choreographed pattern
staring blankly at the dust
shaking his hanging head
in an approximation of disbelief
pleading silently for attention
trying to calculate how long it takes
to be forgiven
the air becomes somehow viscous
even amid the bustle the silence
between them is an imposing clamour
she develops a new fascination
with the ingredients
of her chocolate breakfast
and each time she can no longer resist
shooting him loaded, angry glances
she tries to disguise this reflex
by pretending to be fussing with her hair
he cycles through a choreographed pattern
staring blankly at the dust
shaking his hanging head
in an approximation of disbelief
pleading silently for attention
trying to calculate how long it takes
to be forgiven
75PoWriMo - XIX
a ight of fancy
there was a gerbil in a cage
who tired of running in a wheel
to burn off the impotent rage
imprisoned creatures always feel
with freedom in such short supply
determined he would learn to fly
but lacking opposable thumbs
and the required dexterity
to construct wings from chewing gum
and feathers (like mythology)
he realised that to increase his
odds he'd need telekinesis
trial one was to move some sawdust
a task that he achieved with ease
(though cynics argue it was more just
shifted sideways by a breeze
such killjoys are never impressed)
he moved on to a second test
concentrating all the steel
contained in his small rodent brain
he slowly raised that cursed wheel
and gently placed it down again
then raised it higher, swirled it round
and hurled it crashing to the ground
whilst clearly an impressive gift
and therapeutic to destroy
he couldn't work out how to lift
himself aloft whatever ploy
or scheme he'd dream up or propound
he couldn't get up off the ground
until he climbed the rusty bars
up to the ceiling of his prison
(which might to you not seem that far
but from his point of view he'd risen
higher than he'd been before)
he slowly opened up his paw
he gave a squeal, he held his breath
he braced for the impending pain
he strained each braincell he possessed
the dreaded impact never came
he simply hovered in midair
and wondered where to go from there
cautiously round his cage he flew
gained confidence as time went by
and once he'd done a lap or two
he started dreaming of the sky
though he lost some of zeal in
crashing hard into the ceiling
by practising it every day
the gerbil became quite adept
at flying but could find no way
to leave the cage where he was kept
no matter which way out he tried
he was enclosed on all six sides
you may well be wondering why
i told this tale, so i'll supply
the moral: never learn to fly
for even though i'm well aware
you may make a few people stare
it just won't get you anywhere
there was a gerbil in a cage
who tired of running in a wheel
to burn off the impotent rage
imprisoned creatures always feel
with freedom in such short supply
determined he would learn to fly
but lacking opposable thumbs
and the required dexterity
to construct wings from chewing gum
and feathers (like mythology)
he realised that to increase his
odds he'd need telekinesis
trial one was to move some sawdust
a task that he achieved with ease
(though cynics argue it was more just
shifted sideways by a breeze
such killjoys are never impressed)
he moved on to a second test
concentrating all the steel
contained in his small rodent brain
he slowly raised that cursed wheel
and gently placed it down again
then raised it higher, swirled it round
and hurled it crashing to the ground
whilst clearly an impressive gift
and therapeutic to destroy
he couldn't work out how to lift
himself aloft whatever ploy
or scheme he'd dream up or propound
he couldn't get up off the ground
until he climbed the rusty bars
up to the ceiling of his prison
(which might to you not seem that far
but from his point of view he'd risen
higher than he'd been before)
he slowly opened up his paw
he gave a squeal, he held his breath
he braced for the impending pain
he strained each braincell he possessed
the dreaded impact never came
he simply hovered in midair
and wondered where to go from there
cautiously round his cage he flew
gained confidence as time went by
and once he'd done a lap or two
he started dreaming of the sky
though he lost some of zeal in
crashing hard into the ceiling
by practising it every day
the gerbil became quite adept
at flying but could find no way
to leave the cage where he was kept
no matter which way out he tried
he was enclosed on all six sides
you may well be wondering why
i told this tale, so i'll supply
the moral: never learn to fly
for even though i'm well aware
you may make a few people stare
it just won't get you anywhere
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