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Archive for April, 2015


We’re on the cusp of summer and spring is painting the trees with its’ special green brush strokes. Fragile and luminescent, a new season with all its’ colours stand before us. Tonight the fires of cleansing will be lit, burning away the sins of a long dark winter. When the ashes cool tomorrow a new generation will feel entitled to the world and a future they won’t think anyone else ever imagined. All hail to the young!

Me? Well, I’m old and tired. In quite a few ways I’m far less than a spent ink cartridge, only filling in half the letters on the page you’ve tried to print. The one you sigh at on a Friday and vow to have replaced by Monday. And I watch the world turning, once again…

Another year gone… Another thirty or so poems exorcised… Another lot of ‘crap, I didn’t get around to reading all of their poems today, will they still read mine?’ or ‘are we all not just going around in one big circle of patting each other on the back…?’. Another few days of ‘no, I can’t write anything today, I have nothing left to give!’ and a few ‘I just have to stop writing now and go to bed… But just one more!’.

The world is green with fresh leaves, with fresh wonders and annoying kids with their sense of entitlement, but the only promise I can make for the upcoming twelve months – as the choirs around the country are singing ‘The winter rushes down from our hillsides’ – is that I’ll try to enjoy the moments I have. And I’ll try to be here again, maybe even before next April?

I’ll try to stay alive. For some of us, that’s really all you can ask.

Hardly a poem, and as it’s not written to prompt I doubt many will read it, but that’s OK. It’s April 30 and the last day of NaPoWriMo 2015. It’s also Walpurgis Night in Sweden, and in about an hour bonfires will be lit to burn winter away in the tradition of spring and drunk teenagers. I have a few regrets over the past month. Poems I didn’t get to read. Poems I read and couldn’t get myself to comment on. Poems I outright didn’t like and the ever-present thought of ‘why can’t people just read what I write because they like it?’. And I shouldn’t have thought that.

I want to thank everyone who’s been around to read and comment over the past month, as well as the websites I’ve used for inspiration, mainly Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Magpie Tales, but also The Sunday Whirligig and of course NaPoWriMo. I don’t know if I’ll be back tomorrow or if I’ll be back next year. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back. But I want to thank all of those people who’ve actually spent time reading my scribbles and commenting. I’m sorry if I haven’t returned all the favours…

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Riddarsporre (in Swedish)

This isn’t fair, it’s really not, this poetic prompt of yours!
I speak the language, but am mute when it comes to the outdoors!
Converse and write, yes I can, read and dream as well
but when it comes to flower names it’s pure linguistic hell!

OK, I don’t know most of them in my own language either.
Before you ask me, yes it does mark me as an outsider.
I love to watch them bloom and grow, I love to take their pictures
but wouldn’t know a larkspur’s name… That’s how it is, go figure!

Today’s beautiful prompt (a poem in itself, actually) over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, called Frog Cups in New York City challenged us to write a short poem about either a flower that took its’ name from an animal, or a bird that took its’ name from a flower. Well… English is my second language, and though I consider myself more or less fluent in it (at least I used to be), anyone who isn’t a keen gardener or flower-freak will probably tell you that the names of flowers (and possibly words like haberdashery and hearth) aren’t exactly up there with the things you learn, use and retain in language you don’t immerse yourself in constantly… So this is my rant on that topic. Didn’t feel like I could allow myself to miss two days in a row when I’ve almost completed the NaPoWriMo 2015 challenge.

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Photo by CC Champagne

Photo by CC Champagne

Fragile
green buds
heralds of spring

Life
bursting forth
as it begins.

Autumn’s
remnant leaves
protecting verdant blades

soon
raked away
under sun’s cascade.

Winter
memories fade
as summer reappears.

Hibernate
no more
new season’s here.

This is an attempt at a series of hay(na)ku, as suggested by the optional NaPoWriMo 2015 prompt for Day 27. A hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza where each line increases by one word from the previous (1/2/3) without any determined rhyme or syllable count. I am high on spring right now… 

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The highest mountains all around
unstable ground, unstable ground
There is no refuge to be found
unstable ground, unstable ground
Feel the rumbling, hear the sound
unstable ground, unstable ground
Fear is mighty, death abounds
unstable ground, unstable ground.
Highest mountains all around
yet we walk unstable ground.

Volcanoes in South America,
earthquakes in Nepal
Mother Earth’s fury
has no bounds at all.

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A dash of madness
a smidgeon of hope
mix it carefully
in a bowl.
Two pinches of crazy
three drops of pain
Boil together
and mix it again.
Crush some ups and downs
with some whimsy and wine.
Some fast-food and illusions,
some naughtiness and grime!
Bake in an oven
as hot as you can.
Sprinkle with disorders
and here I am!

Some of this fits, some of it is pure make-believe… In any case, this – very quick – scribble is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and the It’s Not Just About Food challenge. 

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Image from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

What do we see, we tiny men,
when heaven-bound we gaze at night?
In stars that twinkle shining white
expelling light, time and again.

Are they not angels in the sky
colliding hearts in fireworks?
Is it not love to be disbursed?
Of angels hearts that meet up high?

When angels love a bell rings out
vibrates across the evening skies
and stars that twinkle become fires
The brush strokes of celestial art.

And here we stand, we tiny men
with science and astronomy
a world filled with hypocrisy
and empty hearts that no one mends.

I am, and have always been, terrible with meter… This is supposed to be iambic tetrameter in an envelope quatrain, as per Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and the Play it Again, Toads! #16, which asks us to revisit old form challenges. I was also inspired by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie‘s Writing Prompt #10 – Rorschach Test Take 2. Since I’ve actually done what I was supposed to be doing today and therefore don’t have time to write to optional NaPoWriMo 2015 prompts, I will also add this as my Day 26 entry.

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(from Wikimedia Commons)

It wasn’t nothing
it was a lump.
A malignant growth.
An intruder.
It was quick – not without pain.
I’ll never know why.
A church funeral
Everyone was there.
And everything was pink.
Lilies, carnations and roses.
So many roses.
I don’t like roses anymore.
It wasn’t nothing,
it was cancer.

———————

Goodbye love
spread your wings to heaven
and soar free.
No more pain!
I wear my pink ribbon now
every single day.

(In April)
Your grave lies shrouded
with pink cherry blossoms.

Let me start out by saying I have been fortunate enough to not lose anyone to cancer. This scribble is a figment of my imagination, and I hope no one is offended in any way by me presuming to understand the pain.

Over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, today’s prompt was Turning Pink, asking us to be inspired by the colour pink. When doing some research I stumbled upon breast cancer awareness’ pink ribbon… From there the poem evolved as I combined this premise (or attempted to) with Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie‘s prompt today, B&P’s Shadorma and Beyond – Cincuenta, which asks us to write a poem in only 50 words (a Cincuenta) or a Shadorma (3/5/3/3/7/5). I decided to do both.

Correction: A cincuenta is a poem in only 50 characters… This is not a cincuenta. The addition, marked in red, should be a cincuenta. The first line of this is optional (if characters mean spaces as well the two lines alone are 50 characters, if we don’t count spaces, then the addition of the first line should make 50).

Also making this my NaPoWriMo Day 25 entry, since I’m too exhausted to try to write something else now.

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