One Poem Every Day, Poetry

No. 20 “Love Song” – 22/11/15

I want to write a love song to the ibis and the peach,

The flying and the flightless, and juice dripped on a beach.

I want to whirl crazily in a white dress on the sand,

I want to lift a thousand words and let them trickle through my hand.

My love song’s for the many who don’t know the simple pink,

Of a sun drowning in the ocean with one last golden wink.

Or who never ate a juicy peach, juice dripping on their chin,

Or listened to beloved grey rain, dripping down on tin.

If they cannot feel it let them listen to my song,

Made of all the best parts of this place where we belong.

-zu

One Poem Every Day 

 

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One Poem Every Day, Poetic Prose

No. 177 “None of this makes any sense” – 31/5/16

As I walk into the bathroom I am scared by the brown shower curtain rinsing in the abandoned bath water,

It looks like a giant sea monster, probably octopus, encased in resin,

So still and quiet, the bracken brown folds trapped in light blue water.

Later in the kitchen, my face is reflected awkwardly back from the shiny silver sauce pan,

That I have never made a sauce in.

I feel melancholy because I do not have any favourite words that bounce out of my mouth quietly fanning themselves into the world.

None of this makes sense, but maybe… when the clouds float apple green and sunshine turns to wispy marshmallow when it hits the ground.

Somewhere, sometime, this must make sense,

To have a sea monster in my bath, and a sauce pan that is used for soup.

But not here. Right here. Right now.

Here is a soft moment in the fabric of time, where it all seems to have rubbed thin,

And the universe is bottle blue, collecting momentum, as it rolls down a green hill towards a field of daisies,

Snapping the single thread,

That held this poem together.

-zu

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Ahem, yes, well. I seem to have given up in my idea of never posting a poem that wasn’t ‘good’. I have plenty of poems that, well, what makes a poem good anyway? This could be the best poem you’ve read all day (have you only read one poem today?) or the loudest, depending on how you read it. Art is subjective and poetry even more so (now I’m just trying to sound clever). I’m reminded of another poem, by Wendell Berry, a quote from it goes: 

Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.  

And on that note, goodnight! 

One Poem Every Day, Our Earth, Poetic Prose

No. 176 “Renewal (a stream of thoughts)” – 29/5/16

You have to open this one to read it, otherwise the formatting disappears and it’s not a poem 😉

Clothes
Wash
Hang
Fold
Wear
Wash
Hang
Etc.
Outside
Rain
Wash
Wind
Dry
Seeds
Sprout
Leaves
Die.
Renewal.
Inside
Dust
Polish
Vacuum
Mend.
Inside
Webs
Spun
Dust
Gathers
Walls
Crack
House
Tumbles
Grass
Grows
Seeds
Sprout
Vines
Invade
Nature
Takes over.
Renewal.
Bodies
Cat
Scratches
Leg
Breaks
Bodies
Heal
Scar
Tissue
Stays.
Hearts
Crack
Pain
Felt
Wait
A while
Time
Heals
Scars
Remain.
Beauty
In cracks
In scars
In renewal.
I wash
I hang
I fold
I wear
I watch
The earth
Turn.
The earth
Is beautiful.
We
Are
Beautiful.
Growth
Is a
Gift.
Unresisted
We
Will
Survive.
Wash
After
Wash
After
Wash.

-zu

Well that was an interesting poem…. Um, what can I say? Just a stream of thoughts, one after the other…. The last bit is from a washing powder advertisement, it seemed to fit. Haha 😂

One Poem Every Day 

Yesterdays poem: No. 175 “Escaping the Fire” 28/5/16

One Poem Every Day, Poetry

No. 175 “Escaping the Fire” 28/5/16

I know if the house was on fire, exactly how much I would weep,

As everything turned to ashes and the flames continued to leap.

They ask what you would reach for as you escaped the burning blaze,

And I’ve thought about it a lot, examined the different ways,

That I could keep all I loved safe, and this is what I think,

It’s my life I would save, like a drowning man saves breath as he starts to sink,

And I would be happy to stand outside as the flames rise higher and higher,

To be able to stand, catch my breath; life is what I’d snatch from the fire.

-zu

This question isn’t a new one, this is just my take on it. I would miss a lot of my things if my house burned down, but if I had a choice over my things or my life, the choice is obvious! This small poem doesn’t touch on other issues and topics that would take all night to discuss, it’s just me expressing a simple thought; that my life and the lives of my loved ones is so much more important than material things. ☺

One Poem Every Day 

Yesterdays poem: No. 174 “Questions” – 27/5/16

One Poem Every Day, Poetry

No. 174 “Questions” – 27/5/16

I want all the answers, I want to hold them in my hands,

And fit them firmly to their mysteries that are strewn through all the lands.

No more questions floating alone through the atmosphere,

And the quiet dread that things would always be so unclear.

It’s time to make peace with what questions remain,

Let them float across the sky with out asking them to explain.

For why should a question be answered when it’s happy to be all alone?

And any day now these questions above us may be blown off in a cyclone.

-zu

One Poem Every Day 

Yesterdays poem: No. 150 “Where I’d Rather Be” – 25/4/16  (opens in new tab ☺) 

 

One Poem Every Day, Poetry

No. 150 “Where I’d Rather Be” – 25/4/16

I put my boots on to wade through the marshes of my mind,

With sticky bracken and fresh gum leaves of a kind.

I know I should have stuck around, seen the party to its end,

But honestly I’d rather catch butterflies and the road beyond the bend.

I never found any treasure as I trod the muddy way,

But when I look around at where I am, I’m glad I didn’t stay.

For that one room sort of crowded me, and pushed me out of myself,

Besides I’d rather climb the raging hills, than sit safely on a shelf.

-zu

One Poem Every Day 

See yesterdays poem here! (opens in new tab ☺) 

One Poem Every Day, Poetry

No. 173 “Blueberry Cordial” – 25/5/16

Last night I dreamt that I could sing

A link of memory:
When I was 8 I thought the most beautiful colour in the world was the midnight blue oil pastel out of the box we were sometimes allowed to use.
It was deep and dark
And when you smeared it across the page,
It went from almost black
To blueberry cordial.

When I was little I never thought I could sing.
Now I think maybe
If I were trained by a world class singing instructor, with a beard down to his feet, high in the Peruvian Hills for seven months
In other words it’s never going to happen

But when I dream I can sing,
Hanging out of a castle window
The sky is midnight blue
With pinpricks of light dimly showing the courtyard below
And my voice is as sweet as blueberry cordial.

-zu

One Poem Every Day