I did. I even posted it here briefly, and I hope no-one saw it. I re-read it and realised it was the most awful melodrama! Maybe I'll manage another; otherwise you'll just have to take my word for it. :)
30 April 2008
April Challenge 28 - Pass
April Challenge 28 was to write a sestina: a complex form involving a pattern of line-ending words.
Not an April Challenge
Spotted this at a friend's blog on MySpace and couldn't resist!
Write a poem including all of the following words: branch, flew or flu, humble, orange, steel or steal, jazz, flood, extra, jerusalem. Include at least one of the following actions: shoveling, rowing, falling or falling down, collecting, and one or both of the following phrases: "the best part", "if you didn't care".
Please note, my effort is fictional!
I Never Knew Why
I never knew why they were called
jerusalem artichokes. The best part
was all that oozy butter collecting
in the bumps and hollows, a flood
of yellow. My Dad sipping and slurping,
me shovelling the soft white flesh
into my throat. It would be a Sunday
and he'd be listening to a jazz trumpet
on the wooden wireless, he'd be
standing against the mantelpiece
to listen better, leaning one elbow on it.
If you didn't care for jazz, that was just
too bad, because Sunday morning was
for treats and feasting. He'd have worked
extra hours at the branch, and this now
was his time. Before he got falling down drunk
late in the afternoon, before him and Mum
started rowing, before the sun flew
too fast through the afternoon, too soon
turning to orange in the wintry sky…. Later
when he was old, he used to mention
"the humble artichoke" as a very good
vegetable, much underrated.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
29 April 2008
Half a Phone Call
April Challenge 27: Today's prompt is to write a poem that is only one-half of a two-person conversation, or the "one side of a phone line" poem.
He came to see me, you know.
Knocked on the door one day.
I was in bed with the worst flu.
I dragged myself to the door.
I was pleased to see him,
I really was. But my legs ached.
I had to go back to bed
and talk to him from there.
No, he wouldn't mention that;
too wrapped up in himself.
I had to bribe Amy to see him.
'Find out if he's changed,' I said.
She didn't seem to think he had,
but I don’t know what they said.
Oh he did? We like it; otherwise
we would have done something else.
Yes, he does that. He tried
to do it to us too. I don't know
how to say this, but he's the most
manipulative person I ever met.
He's quite ruthless. I wonder who
he learned that from? It's as if he went
and trained in those techniques. Where
do you study brainwashing, though?
Do you think he's crazy? No,
I don't see you that way. I think he's
more autistic than you – the lack
of compassion. You're not like that.
He's like a sort of cult leader. Oh dear,
I hope he never gets any power
over people's minds! He's also very good
at making people love him.
Don't get me wrong, it was really nice
to see him, for a while. I was glad
he came, and I was glad when he went.
I feel deep affection for him.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
29/4/08
He came to see me, you know.
Knocked on the door one day.
I was in bed with the worst flu.
I dragged myself to the door.
I was pleased to see him,
I really was. But my legs ached.
I had to go back to bed
and talk to him from there.
No, he wouldn't mention that;
too wrapped up in himself.
I had to bribe Amy to see him.
'Find out if he's changed,' I said.
She didn't seem to think he had,
but I don’t know what they said.
Oh he did? We like it; otherwise
we would have done something else.
Yes, he does that. He tried
to do it to us too. I don't know
how to say this, but he's the most
manipulative person I ever met.
He's quite ruthless. I wonder who
he learned that from? It's as if he went
and trained in those techniques. Where
do you study brainwashing, though?
Do you think he's crazy? No,
I don't see you that way. I think he's
more autistic than you – the lack
of compassion. You're not like that.
He's like a sort of cult leader. Oh dear,
I hope he never gets any power
over people's minds! He's also very good
at making people love him.
Don't get me wrong, it was really nice
to see him, for a while. I was glad
he came, and I was glad when he went.
I feel deep affection for him.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
29/4/08
28 April 2008
I'm so over ... (April Challenge 26)
Prompt: Write a poem with the title, "I'm so over (..............)"I'm so over being improved!
And yes it's true what you say:
I like the people who like me
the way I am. You tell me
I should lose the red hair,
it looks like I'm trying too hard.
I check with my hairdresser.
"It's OK to be eccentric,"
she says, only slightly defensive.
Good, I'll keep it then.
You think I should stop
making poems. It's not as if
my poetry's all that good,
you kindly point out. And not
as if it makes me happy. Well!
Luckily there are those who like
reading all these inferior
verses I love to write. I don't
in any case know how to not.
I need to get a new husband,
the one I've got's getting old.
He never did suit me anyway,
you say. Funny that all those friends
who've known us over the long haul
disagree. "You're so united!"
"You're such a team!" Our lives
are dull and empty, you insist.
They: "You're so engaged with life!"
I ought to get rid of my books,
take down all my pictures,
sell my computer,
replace my defective friends.
My beliefs are all wrong
and so are my dreams;
my memories are outright lies.
Well, I can see one change
that's overdue. Goodbye!
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
28/4/08
And yes it's true what you say:
I like the people who like me
the way I am. You tell me
I should lose the red hair,
it looks like I'm trying too hard.
I check with my hairdresser.
"It's OK to be eccentric,"
she says, only slightly defensive.
Good, I'll keep it then.
You think I should stop
making poems. It's not as if
my poetry's all that good,
you kindly point out. And not
as if it makes me happy. Well!
Luckily there are those who like
reading all these inferior
verses I love to write. I don't
in any case know how to not.
I need to get a new husband,
the one I've got's getting old.
He never did suit me anyway,
you say. Funny that all those friends
who've known us over the long haul
disagree. "You're so united!"
"You're such a team!" Our lives
are dull and empty, you insist.
They: "You're so engaged with life!"
I ought to get rid of my books,
take down all my pictures,
sell my computer,
replace my defective friends.
My beliefs are all wrong
and so are my dreams;
my memories are outright lies.
Well, I can see one change
that's overdue. Goodbye!
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
28/4/08
The Psychic Reader
I sit in Murwillumbah Market.
It's cold in the big pavilion
though people tell us
it's already hot outside.
We've had the free cup of coffee
that only this market provides.
We've eaten our second breakfast –
a packed lunch scoffed early
before the customers come.
On a good day I'll be too busy
for any more mouthfuls after 10.
Andrew's been and bought
our supply of organic veggies.
Patsy, who always sees me here,
has had her reading early, as she does.
She brought us each a gardenia.
Mine's on my table, to the side;
the scent wafts up to me. Patsy said,
"It'll keep you happy all day," and it does.
My crystal ball is filled with
inclusions and patches of rainbows.
As big as a baby's head,
it sits on a silk scarf in a basket.
"You can't read with that!" a passer-by
says loudly, "It isn't clear."
I only smile. "You mean that you can't,"
I think but don't bother to say.
I find my chocolate biscuit.
It's 10 to 10; the customers begin.
Two and a half hours later
there's a lull. The autumn sun
is clear and bright in the doors and windows
of the pavilion. The crowds thin
and we are left with big empty spaces
all down the middle of the stalls.
A sudden breeze blows my sign over.
I put my watch back on and start to pack.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
27/4/08
It's cold in the big pavilion
though people tell us
it's already hot outside.
We've had the free cup of coffee
that only this market provides.
We've eaten our second breakfast –
a packed lunch scoffed early
before the customers come.
On a good day I'll be too busy
for any more mouthfuls after 10.
Andrew's been and bought
our supply of organic veggies.
Patsy, who always sees me here,
has had her reading early, as she does.
She brought us each a gardenia.
Mine's on my table, to the side;
the scent wafts up to me. Patsy said,
"It'll keep you happy all day," and it does.
My crystal ball is filled with
inclusions and patches of rainbows.
As big as a baby's head,
it sits on a silk scarf in a basket.
"You can't read with that!" a passer-by
says loudly, "It isn't clear."
I only smile. "You mean that you can't,"
I think but don't bother to say.
I find my chocolate biscuit.
It's 10 to 10; the customers begin.
Two and a half hours later
there's a lull. The autumn sun
is clear and bright in the doors and windows
of the pavilion. The crowds thin
and we are left with big empty spaces
all down the middle of the stalls.
A sudden breeze blows my sign over.
I put my watch back on and start to pack.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
27/4/08
27 April 2008
Serendipity
April Challenge 24: Use a photo to create a poem.
He comforts me, this little dog
in the picture, big ears cocked
(the sort of ears you need
if you're mostly wolf)
and his eyes fixed on me
quizzical, knowing.
He sits by a set of drums
on the floor of a desert –
white sand and stones,
pale, tangly scrub –
and waits for a word
from his human comrade.
I've had a wild five months!
Old friends ill or troubled,
my marriage uncertain,
my cousin dead. And all that
trouble with my son. I'm glad when
this dog pops up on my desktop.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
27/4/08
He comforts me, this little dog
in the picture, big ears cocked
(the sort of ears you need
if you're mostly wolf)
and his eyes fixed on me
quizzical, knowing.
He sits by a set of drums
on the floor of a desert –
white sand and stones,
pale, tangly scrub –
and waits for a word
from his human comrade.
I've had a wild five months!
Old friends ill or troubled,
my marriage uncertain,
my cousin dead. And all that
trouble with my son. I'm glad when
this dog pops up on my desktop.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
27/4/08
The Pleasures of the Elderly
April Challenge 23: A poem about getting older.
The Prodigal Son and the Second Stepson
have both done their holiday visits and gone.
Finally it's just we two again,
enjoying indulgences they never saw
though they could have done.
"Behind closed doors," accused the Prodigal.
But no, it's just that each slept late
and the guestroom door was the one kept shut.
At breakfast time we feed the cats
then bring our own meal back to bed.
We lean on layers of pillows
and read to each other from "Conversations With God".
The bedroom door's wide open.
The cats come in and jump on the bed.
They snuggle up and smooch, they purr and settle.
When you're 40, this probably isn't exciting.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
27/4/08
The Prodigal Son and the Second Stepson
have both done their holiday visits and gone.
Finally it's just we two again,
enjoying indulgences they never saw
though they could have done.
"Behind closed doors," accused the Prodigal.
But no, it's just that each slept late
and the guestroom door was the one kept shut.
At breakfast time we feed the cats
then bring our own meal back to bed.
We lean on layers of pillows
and read to each other from "Conversations With God".
The bedroom door's wide open.
The cats come in and jump on the bed.
They snuggle up and smooch, they purr and settle.
When you're 40, this probably isn't exciting.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
27/4/08
26 April 2008
From Tamar to Tweed
April Challenge 22 (for Earth Day): 1. Write a nature poem. 2. Write an industrial poem. I'm combining them.
Note: The Tamar and Ben Lomond in this poem are in Tasmania, and this Tweed is in northern NSW – namesakes of the originals in England and Scotland.
Looking through pale new willow leaves
lettuce-green, at the silver river,
Ben Lomond purple on the skyline behind,
she never dreamed a future
so far north of there,
with still a mountain,
a strange-shaped mountain,
three peaks: two humped, one pointed
and another silver river
wide to the tropical sky.
News comes from the island
home of her childhood,
about a mill to be built
on that swift silver river
to turn the tall trees
to pulp for paper.
It will taint the sweet water,
small creatures will die.
She remembers swimming
there in a time that's over.
Now she swims in one of the coastal creeks
and walks the beach to gaze at the ocean.
There's a mill here too, built long ago.
It processes sugar.
Gradually over the years
the operation has become cleaner.
The smoke nowadays is white
that used to be black.
She likes sugar
and paper. But.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
23-6/4/08
Note: The Tamar and Ben Lomond in this poem are in Tasmania, and this Tweed is in northern NSW – namesakes of the originals in England and Scotland.
Looking through pale new willow leaves
lettuce-green, at the silver river,
Ben Lomond purple on the skyline behind,
she never dreamed a future
so far north of there,
with still a mountain,
a strange-shaped mountain,
three peaks: two humped, one pointed
and another silver river
wide to the tropical sky.
News comes from the island
home of her childhood,
about a mill to be built
on that swift silver river
to turn the tall trees
to pulp for paper.
It will taint the sweet water,
small creatures will die.
She remembers swimming
there in a time that's over.
Now she swims in one of the coastal creeks
and walks the beach to gaze at the ocean.
There's a mill here too, built long ago.
It processes sugar.
Gradually over the years
the operation has become cleaner.
The smoke nowadays is white
that used to be black.
She likes sugar
and paper. But.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
23-6/4/08
25 April 2008
Sunlight suddenly: haiku and things for April 2008
4/4/08:
On the empty beach
a single line of footprints.
Now the sky darkens.
11/4/08:
Morning is sudden.
Floods of sunshine fill the room.
There's no sound of rain.
18/4/08:
After the rain-storm
a forest of tiny birds
singing and singing.
25/4/08:
The sea eagle dives
repeatedly after prey
straight, swift and sudden.
**************************
Through forests and crags
we drive and drive the steep bends
to the mountain top.
From Mt Tamborine
the Gold Coast is just a line
of tall, spindly sticks.
Sunlight suddenly
breaks through the trees on the hill
just for a moment.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
On the empty beach
a single line of footprints.
Now the sky darkens.
11/4/08:
Morning is sudden.
Floods of sunshine fill the room.
There's no sound of rain.
18/4/08:
After the rain-storm
a forest of tiny birds
singing and singing.
25/4/08:
The sea eagle dives
repeatedly after prey
straight, swift and sudden.
**************************
Through forests and crags
we drive and drive the steep bends
to the mountain top.
From Mt Tamborine
the Gold Coast is just a line
of tall, spindly sticks.
Sunlight suddenly
breaks through the trees on the hill
just for a moment.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
23 April 2008
A Conversation
April Challenge 21: A "snooping" poem that incorporates a bit of overheard dialogue (can be in real life or off the television) or even a quote taken from a news story online (if you happen to be a hermit).
It's a library. Voices are low.
We set up in the children's section.
Andrew has his briefcase of books
and his funny storytelling hat.
I'm in my purple Goddess gown,
a fairy costume on this occasion.
Our chairs face a bunch of beanbags
pushed together, brightly patched.
We're early, no audience yet,
but in one beanbag two boys
cluster together. One's little,
maybe five. His brother, about 11,
reads to him very quietly
from a big flat book they both hold.
I can see from here it's mostly pictures,
colours sprawling all over the pages.
This conversation is not in words,
though words are being spoken.
It's in the older boy's tenderness,
cradling the little brother who cuddles up
into his curved side under the sheltering arm.
It's in the younger one's trust
as he wriggles himself into place
then rests in the warm, safe moment.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
23/4/08
It's a library. Voices are low.
We set up in the children's section.
Andrew has his briefcase of books
and his funny storytelling hat.
I'm in my purple Goddess gown,
a fairy costume on this occasion.
Our chairs face a bunch of beanbags
pushed together, brightly patched.
We're early, no audience yet,
but in one beanbag two boys
cluster together. One's little,
maybe five. His brother, about 11,
reads to him very quietly
from a big flat book they both hold.
I can see from here it's mostly pictures,
colours sprawling all over the pages.
This conversation is not in words,
though words are being spoken.
It's in the older boy's tenderness,
cradling the little brother who cuddles up
into his curved side under the sheltering arm.
It's in the younger one's trust
as he wriggles himself into place
then rests in the warm, safe moment.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
23/4/08
22 April 2008
A Day for Love Poems, But
April Challenge 20: Write a love poem with capital-L. Not the greatest timing for me!
It was a day for writing love poems, but
I was too busy
praying for peace and weeping
asking the Great Mother
to take and resolve my dilemmas
with husband and son
defending family members
one from another
and keeping my own place with all
a day for being romantic but
I was helping one rehearse a talk for tomorrow
listening to another's daily dreams
and looking at a photo of my dead cousin
smiling as only she could
radiant in spite of pain
and somewhere behind my mind
I was asking how one might journey
to become pure spirit, an orb of light.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
It was a day for writing love poems, but
I was too busy
praying for peace and weeping
asking the Great Mother
to take and resolve my dilemmas
with husband and son
defending family members
one from another
and keeping my own place with all
a day for being romantic but
I was helping one rehearse a talk for tomorrow
listening to another's daily dreams
and looking at a photo of my dead cousin
smiling as only she could
radiant in spite of pain
and somewhere behind my mind
I was asking how one might journey
to become pure spirit, an orb of light.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
22/4/08
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