Saturday, May 6, 2017

My GloPoWriMo 2017 Favourites



'''
Photo Credit: maggy le saux Flickr via Compfight cc

My Grandmother, the Weaver of Rugs


She knew spells.
She talked to the stars and
they listened.
That's how she took my fever away.
Her fingers, like talons,
moving swiftly.
The red rug, my dowry, she said.
When she thought no one was watching,
she cried to herself about something.
Then she took off her scarf.
Her braided hair fell to the floor, still copper red.
I don't remember well what she looked like,
but sometimes I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror.
We are the same age now.
I have never tried to weave a rug or cast a spell,
but blood is thicker than water
and some things are passed on
as dowry.


GloPoWriMo Day 10






Assignment - Square
Photo Credit: barbaragaillewis Flickr via Compfight cc

A Button


Something was in the post today.
A plain blue envelope, no address.
Inside, a white button.
Maybe someone came undone on a bus.
Perhaps they were trying to reach home,
and the button didn't make it.
Maybe it happened in a dark alley,
or in an office after work.
Or it was one of those seedy hotels
and the husband never suspected.
Did the button come off willingly,
or was it forced off?
I don’t know why it was sent to me.
My eyes have grown weak.
I can't thread the needle any more.
I was never really good at sewing anyway.


GloPoWriMo Day 7



Uma Paladares
Photo Credit: _luizfelipe Flickr via Compfight cc


Umami


I don’t know what this is.
It is something foreign and mysterious.
The taste of mushrooms on a rainy day.
The taste of soil and smoke.
Salty like the sea and tart like buckwheat bread.
Stubborn like newly plucked nettles.
Something like Brie and red wine,
something like fresh beets, like aubergines in September.
That’s what they say it is.
And, though I like all those things,
I still don’t know what umami is.
It is something foreign and mysterious,
like wasabi and za’atar,
like harissa and garam masala,
like ras el hanout and saffron.
It must be something very expensive and hard to find
like truffles.



GloPoWriMo Day 27


-
Photo Credit: txmx 2 Flickr via Compfight cc

The Wrong Door


This is not where I should be.
I must have opened
the wrong door.

The pen wasn’t worth stealing.
Nothing comes out
when I shake it.

I didn't know I had a twin.
I thought it was me
writing this.


GloPoWriMo Day 9

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Until We Meet Again



Deep Throat
Photo Credit: cali.org Flickr via Compfight cc

Until We Meet Again


My cover has been blown.
I have to go underground for a while.
My work here is not done.
There will be signs and coded messages
with further instructions.



GloPoWriMo Day 30 

I am very proud of myself because I have managed to complete one more GloPoWriMo challenge. Including the "early bird prompt", I have written 31 poems in 31 days. It was hard, but rewarding. I am grateful to the GloPoWriMo community for their support and encouragement. 

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Time Merchants



time
Photo Credit: salvadorkatz Flickr via Compfight cc



Time Merchants


The clocks are going backwards again.
The pirates are in town.
Lock your doors.
Keep away from the windows.
Don’t let them whisper through the cracks in the wall.
Once you start listening, you are doomed.
They will take your family albums.
They will erase your laughter lines.
You will never cry again.
They will go through your wardrobe and change everything inside.
They will throw away
holiday souvenirs, cinema tickets and old posters
and those vinyls you keep hanging onto.
They will leave you sitting on your threshold,
beautiful and empty,
like a Grecian urn.



GloPoWriMo Day 29

Friday, April 28, 2017

Charlie



1973 Perfume Ad, Charlie Fragrance by Revlon

My local drugstore has a limited edition of Charlie. It is a new version, but still smells a lot like the original. Charlie was my first perfume. Just smelling it again brought tears to my eyes and then I felt compelled to explain to the shop assistant why I was crying. She said not to worry, another woman had already cried over Charlie earlier today.



Charlie 


It smells of hyacinths
and school uniforms.
It smells of
roses,
Rivers of Babylon and Summer Nights.
Of a heart broken for the first time,
of peach and lily-of-the-valley.
It is an old lover that has returned.
Still handsome, it brings back
its aroma of violets and carnations,
of hair gel and disco balls,
of lipstick and tears
and the first glass of wine.



GloPoWriMo Day 28

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Umami



Uma Paladares
Photo Credit: _luizfelipe Flickr via Compfight cc


Umami


I don’t know what this is.
It is something foreign and mysterious.
The taste of mushrooms on a rainy day.
The taste of soil and smoke.
Salty like the sea and tart like buckwheat bread.
Stubborn like newly plucked nettles.
Something like Brie and red wine,
something like fresh beets, like aubergines in September.
That’s what they say it is.
And, though I like all those things,
I still don’t know what umami is.
It is something foreign and mysterious,
like wasabi and za’atar,
like harissa and garam masala,
like ras el hanout and saffron.
It must be something very expensive and hard to find
like truffles.



GloPoWriMo Day 27

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Entropy



Desert Moon
Photo Credit: Martin_Heigan Flickr via Compfight cc


Entropy


There are signs that the world is coming to an end,
cracks on the staircase, mold on the trees.
The birds are getting nervous. They know something.
Apples have failed to bear fruit.
There is no defense from entropy.
You try to preserve the order by writing it all down, but
your handwriting is slurred and
some letters are missing.



GloPoWriMo Day 26

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Babushka



Paper Matryoshka Dolls
Photo Credit: fletcherjcm Flickr via Compfight cc

Babushka


No amount of psychoanalysis 
will help you get to the bottom of this.
Every time you peel a new layer
you will be greeted by the same
smiling face.


GloPoWriMo Day 25