A Month In Verse - Inktober 2018 Day 31 part 2!

A Month in Verse 

A month of spinning words 

Had passed by in a blur.

Through stages and stories

And guests and gigs

And crushing rushes

And the unending crush of life

I struggle to know what I’ve learned. 

I think I’ve learned to write in strange places 

Cramped corners and car seats,

Cold fire escapes and snatched seconds from weeks of unending tricks and treats.

I’ve learned to write from strange places.

Corners of my mind that hide,

Words that wait and bide their time,

I’ve learned to pick them like bitter fruit from friends trees, 

Pluck them and them and simmer them to something sweet. 

I’ve learned that I love this

And discovered I hate it.

But I will keep it, and crush it,

And hold it and make it.

My pen will not rest,

But unless under duress, 

I may not write tomorrow, 

I may not write my best. 

The Answer - Inktober 2018 day 31 part 1

The Answer 

What’s that knocking on the door? 

Don’t answer dear,

Don’t answer. 

But what do they knock for?

Don’t answer dear,

Don’t answer.

What’s that tapping on the glass?

Don’t answer, dove.

Don’t answer.

But they’re tapping oh so fast.

Don’t answer, dove.

Don’t answer. 

Why do you beg to leave?

Don’t answer, sweet.

Don’t answer.

Do you fret on All Hallows’ Eve?

Don’t answer, sweet.

Don’t answer.

Who’s that creeping on the stair?

I can’t answer, heart.

I can’t answer.

Why did you tell me to beware?

I can’t answer, heart.

I can’t answer.

Why have you left me, so alone?

Because you answered, love.

You answered. 

Why does your tortured soul roam?

Because you answered, love. 

You answered. 

A Poet Passes With Gentle Hands - Inktober 2018 Day 30

A Poet Passes With Gentle Hands 

I closed my eyes as midnight struck, 

It’s almost morning now.

I’d hoped he’d be on time,

I’d hoped he’d come to take me,

I spent my whole life writing rhymes,

Now it’s done I’d hoped he’d come personally.

I had believed,

But my body is cold now.

I had believed,

But I’ve grown so old now,

I wasn’t sure he’d come.

Just as I lost all hope,

A booming voice spoke to me,

Then he gently took my hand

And said: “THIS WAY PLEASE.

SORRY I’M SO LATE,

MY HORSE, HE HAD TO EAT. 

BUT I HAVE ARRIVED AT LAST,

AND I’M AFRAID IT’S TIME TO LEAVE.”

He took me across the desert sand,

In a dark and starless night,

He took me home, the long way round,

Past mirrors, past my life.

He told me: “MANY PASS WITH FROWNS,

AND SOME FOLK PASS WITH GLEE,

BUT POETS PASS WITH GENTLE HANDS, 

THOUGH IT’S ALL THE SAME TO ME.”

I asked this death, this Reaper Man, 

What made this world suffice?

He left a gentle pause, then answered:

“CATS. CATS ARE NICE.”.

For Darker Times - Inktober 2018 day 29

For Darker Times 

We will hold your hand.

When it’s dark and you’re afraid,

When it seems your fate is made,

When it feels like no one else could understand,

We will hold your hand.

We’ll stand together.

When your president is vile,

When you’re scared, all the while,

When every forecast is dark and stormy weather,

We’ll stand together.

We’re by your side.

When you’re drowning in the hate,

When you’re reviled by the state,

When all you want to do is run and hide,

We’re by your side.

Know we love you.

When there’s bitter roads ahead,

When the twisted hate is fed,

When it feels some cursed sword hangs above you,

Please know we love you.

Sweet Doll Feelings - Inktober 2018 day 28

Sweet Doll Feelings 

So much organised periphery 

Planning ahead to pop to the pub,

To the loo,

For a pee,

Before we jump in the queue,

And we’ll shake,

And we’ll shiver,

And stutter,

While we wait for the doors,

And we wait to get started.

There’s all this rush,

And flutter and hurry, 

As we scurry to the front,

Get in our places,

Stake claim in this space. 

Then we finally breathe,

Make time to let anticipation set in,

And we’re finally waiting,

Breath quickening,

Staring at keyboard and drum kit,

And adrenaline sits in the pit of my stomach,

‘Til they’re there.

Right in front,

Living and breathing,

Hammering, screaming,

Loving and loving so alive, 

And I’m screaming their words right back,

In an infinite loop of regression,

And bleeding a possession of each other,

So deep and I’m reeling,

And the drum hits so quick 

And so hard that it’s shaking me,

Hitting my heart so hard,

Overtaking me,

Drowned in drumbeats,

And Dolls out of Dresden,

And drips and beer spray,

And I could do this all damned day.

Every single minute,

Soaked in the perfect fit,

Of a space where they love you,

And fit like a glove.

But we leave, at the end, 

Sticking to floors 

And picking through cups, 

To coat checks and chicken shops,

And “What the hell did I just watch?”.

And we found a quick home,

In the place where sounds of our youth

Ripped us to shreds with a sliver of truth,

And it’s fed us sweet feeling,

That leaves us reeling til bed,

With sweet dreaming of dolls in our head.

Singing Nights and Faery Rings - Inktober 2018 day 27

Singing Nights and Faery Rings

Come to a place where the night can sing

Where they dance 

And delight 

Come through the ring 

Through that place in the wood 

To the world where wings like glittered lampshades take flight

Bring your heart, 

Your love and life and lust, 

Give it to the fae you’d most like to trust 

Only start your journey,

Just come to the wood,

Through the trees in a ring

Where they always never stood. 

If you’re good, they will keep you, 

Hold you like treasure 

And gift you all pleasures, 

Cling to you tightly for ever and ever, 

They’ll spin you sweet dreams,

They’ll keep you from leaving.

They’ll hold your heart through all of the seasons.

If you’re not kept, they’ll eat you. 

Devour you slowly,

Leave you so lonely, 

Take you apart so calmly and coldly.

They’ll rip you a nightmare,

They’ll burn out your seasons

They’ll take you apart for their sinister reasons. 

So come to the place in the dark in the wood,

Come to the place where the ring never stood.

Come see the fae with their broken glass smiles,

Watch them glitter and gather a while, 

Bring them your heart and bring them your life,

Come to them on a singing night,

But watch for the smiles that cut like a knife. 

Tastes - Inktober 2018 day 26

Tastes

You were every flavour I had never tried 

Bitter marmalade

Clever caramels 

Until I could taste you 

Then you became vanilla 

I put you on a pedestal of tastes on my tongue 

Turned you into something marvellous 

Something clever

Some inconceivable gastronomic delight 

But you were so bland,

So poorly seasoned.

I imagined you as a feast 

Of mismatched salt and sweet

Something harsh and cracking 

But you were so lacking.

I am sorry to strip you of your flavour,

Now you’ve fallen out of favour.

But I pictured you so perfect,

‘Til you deserted,

Dissolved to nothing on my tongue,

And it is bittersweet 

To know this meal is done. 

With a Song - Inktober 2018 day 25

With a Song 

I’ve spilled words everywhere 

I’ll mop them up

With another song. 

They’re all over the place,

Scattering on stage and page,

And I’ll admit that I’ve gone wrong.

I see derision in your double chins,

And I won’t listen.

I can see the jerked-back neck,

The way you’ve taken double.

I can feel sweat glisten,

But I soldier on,

Mopping words up with a song.

I will paint you a life,

One anecdote at a time.

A picture of stories told in rhyme.

I will spill my words upon you,

And I will get this wrong,

But I will write for you regardless,

And mop it all up with a song.

One Starry Night in the Pit - Inktober 2018 day 24

One Starry Night in the Pit 

There was a night of cloudless air, 

With stars the sky did fill,

We went on an adventure there 

While lying fully still.

With dampened grass against our backs,

Immune to evenings cold.

We needed no provision sacks,

There were wonders to behold.

While prone in place, our hearts did race,

At the world laid out before us.

Enchantment danced on a tear-stained face,

And a passerby ignored us.

It was there, in a world we made,

An adventure, light and languid, 

We spin our dreams and watched them fade,

Took time out to be candid.

From this simple, magic night,

I’ve wrote you clever rhymes.

So if your stupid soul takes fright,

You’ll remember sweeter times.

Once Per Day - Inktober 2018 day 23

Once Per Day

Prescription: one emotion per day.

No more,

No less. 

To be felt as convenient, 

And appropriate for time and place. 

Then, of course, a rest.

Perhaps you’ll take one hit of rage.

Will that fire in your belly

Soothe the ache of what’s I felt?

Will righteous indignation

Make the icy indifference melt?

Or maybe simple joy,

A smile at things unsaid.

It’s possible this shiny toy of feeling

Could take up in your head.

Will a lilt of laughter,

Or dreams of happy ever after 

Be your feeling for the day?

(Could you keep this one, always?)

Maybe take relief.

Take time to sigh, time for belief

That this is done, 

That that’s enough. 

You don’t need to feel this stuff.

You can thrive on just one of these,

‘Til the day is done. 

No overwhelming, intricate agonies.

Just a simple dose of one. 

Libraries - Inktober 2018 day 22

Libraries 

There is love here in the libraries,

There is luck and there is laughter,

And there are worlds,

Whole glittering galaxies,

Locked in pages,

And librarians hold the keys.

Keys to kingdoms,

Keys to worlds and wars,

And tiny rusted keys,

To tiny wooden doors,

The ones you find in oak trees

In the corner of the wood,

That place you always go to,

Though mum said you never should.

There are wonders in these libraries,

There is ink and page and paper,

You can find the inspiration for a character,

And make her. 

You can find a place of safety,

A home away from home.

You can find everything in libraries,

And we cannot let them go. 

So love all these librarians,

Love these spaces and support them,

Love this magic made of paper,

Whispers of wanders to visit again and again,

Love it,

Use it,

Never lose it,

Because the library is your friend. 

Strange Miracles - Inktober 2018 day 21

Strange Miracles 

Once upon a sinking boat,

There were believers of a martyr.

They were pilgrims,

They were searching,

They kept holy places in their heart.

Until, one day so dreary,

So well-travelled and weary,

When on the sea and sinking,

They made promises and prayers,

And in their panicked thinking they said:

“Give us your coins,

Give us your bread,

Give us this for Edmund!

Support our holy shrine at home,

We swear this boat will mend.”

They begged and begged, 

These pilgrims said that

Edmund would not let them sink,

This headless saint,

This sacred martyr,

Would save them from the brink.

These pilgrims made it to the shore,

Their pockets full,

Their fellows poor.

Their patron saint had seen them through,

He may have saved them,

And he may just save you.

Sorry - Inktober 2018 day 20

Sorry 

Sorry this is short and sweet,

But life still rushes forwards.

I made promises I’ve yet to keep,

I promised all these words. 

I know I owe them to you,

I know they’re yet to come,

But today the minutes I have are few,

Today my words are done. 

Monochrome Monotony - Inktober 2018 day 19

Monochrome Monotony 

There’s an impressive monotony

To your cacophony of comments 

Your hackneyed cliches 

And the way you say art should be made 

But you did not make this

And you cannot take this

This is not a glistening display case 

A beautiful array of donuts to take 

This is our blood, sweat, tears and aches

This is the culmination of years of mistakes

Days of scrawling and erasing and making,

And sparks left from dreams forgotten on waking.

But you enter this space and you take and you take, 

As if you’re entitled to the things we create,

And you say you adore them,

But the results? We abhor them.

So no, you can’t have this,

And don’t you dare take it. 

This aching homage is a monochrome monotony,

Your entitled advice is not a monopoly of knowledge about this business of art,

So no, you can’t have this.

Not when you can’t ask. 

The Old Ways - Inktober 2018 day 18

The Old Ways 

There were streets and roads and rivers here,

Now gone to dust and embers.

Though we don’t mind them through the years,

The sat-nav still remembers.

These devices hold old folk-memories, 

The ones that we’ve forgotten,

They lurk on phones, they spark on screens, 

On sat-navs when maps go rotten. 

Round unknown corners on the straightest roads, 

These strange old memories take you. 

Devices haunted by old streets and stone,

Hold the old ways tight and true. 

So never doubt this confused tech,

When it takes an eldritch way, 

It’s holding memories of roads long-wrecked,

It remembers where they lay.