Being Poor Is Too Expensive

Being poor is not enough

being poor is not enough…continued

and continued and continued;

you get into the way of it.

Frugal becomes the norm.

Being poor is temporary

being poor is waiting

and the waiting goes on a long time.

What are we waiting for?

We are waiting not to be poor.

Being poor is becoming trendy
being poor is an interesting experience

for a while — then it just becomes dreary

and you’d like things like luxury

and self-indulgence. You get sick of poor.

Being poor is that it deprives people of their dreams

being poor is the tragic song that has no particular music
being poor is like a maze

and maybe one never gets out

but keeps on running and running

endlessly, up to countless dead ends.

Being poor isn't

being poor is a frame of mind

being poor is the ultimate opportunity handed a person.

Oh how that craps me off!

Try it, muthafuckers, and then

give me your New Age BS.


Oops! I don't think this one goes in a book for children!

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge: Hardship

Also inspired by a dVerse prompt for a poem based on Googlisms:  
every line, including title, that begins with 'being poor' is from Google.

Andrew’s Mt Warning Climb

When I went up the mountain,

I took it slow.

My wife was away.

I knew she wanted to climb it too

but I heard a friend was going up

with her two little kids.

I grabbed my chance.

They, I thought, would surely

take an easy pace.

The friend had done her research,

told me what to wear,

and what to bring

in the way of food and water.

We started nice and early.

The way up was easy enough. 

We didn't rush.

Only the last part,

steep, with a chain,

was a challenge —

but if they could do it, I could.

And we did.

Not much view from the top.

There was mist.

This is a mountain

often surrounded by cloud.

But I was glad I got there.

It was the achievement,

something to cross off my list

of things to do while I still had life.

And you know, if I'd waited,

I might never have done it.

My wife never did.

The time was not quite right

or she was too busy, or ...

and one day she realised

she was too old, too arthritic,

she'd missed her opportunity.

Coming down was the real challenge.

Hard on the old legs.

Before we were even half way,

my thighs had turned to jelly.

The others were feeling it too.

I suppose we should have trained

before we did it, but oh well,

we did get down eventually.

It was already getting dark.

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge: Write about visiting a place, from someone else's perspective.

(I feel this is a pretty bad first draft but, with a busy week ahead, I must press on. It'll have to do for now.)

Somonka Challenge 7

Collaborations with Bruce Niedt
for Poetic Asides

Overcast sky.

No moon lights my way

to find you.

How can I discern

the path to your door?

RNW

I will leave

a candle in the window,

the latch open.

I will sing a night song

and have tea ready.

BN

***

Listen!
A magpie warbles
at my gate.
I send you the song
across distance.

RNW

When I hear it

I will fashion clouds

to its music.

When the weather turns

they will sail to you.

BN

***

Update, 15 January 2014: I'm overjoyed that the second of these collaborations was runner-up in the Poetic Asides challenge (in which I felt every poem submitted was a delight to read). Read the detailed results here.

The Critter in My Wall AND Surprise Visitor

The November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge today gives us two prompts: 'Concealed' and 'Unconcealed'.

The Critter in My Wall

Behind the wall,

inside the wall,

I hear you scrabble and slide.

I hear you pause

then scrape your claws

on the plaster from inside.

At times you rest.

I like that best.

I can forget you're here.

But then you wake,

you thump and creak.

You're loud, and much too near.

You're not a rat.

Too slow for that,

and you don't squeak or gnaw.

A possum? Not.

They stir at night

and sleep by day. Therefore,

Intruder, Sir,

I think you are

a lizard of some kind.

Now that we've got

this far with it,

it reassures my mind.

Electric wires

will not start fires

because you will not chew 'em.

You will not die

and stink, so I 

don't care what else you're doing.

You come and go.

It's clear you know

the ways both out and in.

I have no say —

but you can stay

in your space, me in mine.

We're off the street,

we're safe from heat

or rain or hail or blizzard.

And after all

not every wall

contains a resident lizard.

Surprise Visitor

I was sitting in my garden,

resting with closed eyes,

when from across the courtyard

I heard a sudden noise.

From in the biggest plant pot,

which supposedly was empty,

there came a scrabbling sound,

sharp and indeed peremptory.

A prehistoric beast

raised its monstrous head,

turned and gazed at me

as if to strike me dead.

I wanted just one photo.

I ran to fetch my phone.

But he was quick and stealthy.

I returned to find him gone.

I never thought to see

a splendid water dragon —

one of the lizard sort —

in my suburban garden.

His brown and bony head,

his fixed and knowing gaze,

his knobbed and spiky body

continue to amaze.

I've never seen him since

(or her — it might be her)

but noises in my wall
perhaps ... I'm almost sure.

Somonka Challenge 6

Second collaboration with Phillip Barker
for Poetic Asides

you shape dreams

into swirling colours

on your screen

where I fail to find

an imaqe reflecting me

RNW

your eyes

in dreams

paint me perfect

smoke and mirrors
on a dappled dawn

PB

Somonka Challenge 5

Prophecy

Alone now

I do not seek new love,

but I’m told

a leaf blowing in the wind

dances on my horizon.

I am free

to float where I choose.

A dancing wind

blows me towards you

through pause and pirouette.

Take One Sheet

Drape it over the table,

sides hanging down to the floor.

Instant cubby-house! 

A safe, secret place,

for reading or resting 

or listening.

Drop it over my head

and I'm a ghost,

scary. 

Must be careful not to trip.

I want to cut eyeholes out,
but no, I'd better not.

The best books tell me:

make large knots at intervals, 

nail one end to the window-sill,

climb down as on rungs of a ladder.

My cousin might do it —

I’m scared of heights.

Take one sheet. Double it.

Two on the bed

clean and smooth,

make bed feel like sanctuary,
my power place

for dreams of adventure.

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge: (fill in the blank) sheet. 

Last Time I Was Here

Last time I was here, I was maybe eleven

but I’d lived here since I was very small.

The lawn stretched, vast, down the back

to the summerhouse and a stand of bamboo,

and there were two willows.

In the front were roses my Dad planted.

I felt as if I was living in Heaven.

In bed at night I could hear the bell

chiming from the Town Hall clock

across the still air. It does now, too.

I hug the motel pillows,

and remember listening with my Dad.

Sometimes we’d hear it striking seven:

he sat up till morning if I wasn’t well,

telling me stories — not from a book

but his own inventions. (He did read to me too.)

Then he would breakfast, get into his clothes

and go to work sleepless — what a Dad!

Last time I was here, I was not alone.

Fairies were my friends. I only had to call

and they would surround me. I knew where to look

and how to look. No-one taught me; I just knew.

There was one in each willow and every rose.
‘You’ve got such imagination!’ my Mum said.

November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge from Poetic Asides: Last time I was here

(The form is rimas dissolutas — not part of the PA prompt; I wanted to try it after reading Diane Lockward's latest Poetry Newsletter, so I combined the two prompts.)

Somonka Challenge 4

Second collaboration with Walt Wojtanik
for Poetic Asides Somonka Challenge

Not time; not distance,

no offers of resistance -

affections run deep.

Keeping within reach of you

seems to be a futile try.

WW

How placid

the surface appears

like a lake

but deep down we know

a whirlpool eddies and sucks.
RNW

**

Ocean currents draw

two hearts deeper under tow.

Save me from this fate,

a victim of water’s flow.

Love makes ripples near the shore.
WW

Never

a strong swimmer —

the hidden tug

of tides and currents

pulls me away from you.
RNW

**

Believe in yourself,

for in the world of such pain

you begin again.

Draw on my strength if you need,

but count on yourself; believe!
WW

Lifesaver,

one arm around my neck,

stroke by stroke

you pull me ashore
where I stand without you.
RNW

**

Love letters to you

Come off as shallow and vague.

You wish it weren’t true

my words fall short of your heart.

I will write no more of love!
WW

And so we part

after joining so briefly,

the poor words

insufficient … and yet

knowing each other deeper.

RNW

Jimbo and Gary Have an Adventure

Jimbo Bazoobi and his good friend Gary

were strolling round Sydney, down at the Rocks

(Jim was clean-shaven and Gary was hairy)

when who should they meet but a couple of cops.

Gary was hungry, and there were some flowers

by the edge of the road, so he ate them of course.

The coppers decided to use their powers

to charge him and fine him. Could things get worse?

Four hundred dollars they said — no, four–forty.

Gary didn’t have that and Jimbo was broke.

They didn’t even think what he’d done was so naughty.

Gary, after all, was actually a goat.

And goats do eat plants, the judge pointed out.

No-one could prove they went there with intent.

They were simply visiting, walking about

like anyone else, these two good friends.

The case was thrown out, the fine was refunded;

the people of Sydney reacted with cheers.

Why shouldn’t a goat eat some grass if he’s hungry?

Gary said nothing, just wiggled his ears.

(There were ear-holes in the hat on his head.)

‘We travel all over: north, south, east, west.

We just like to have adventures,’ Jim said.
He grinned. 'This adventure was one of the best.’

Poetic Asides, November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge 2: A news item.

Somonka Challenge 3

Collaboration with Phillip Barker (Soma)
for Poetic Asides Somonka Challenge

you deal The Lovers
from the bottom of the deck
not cheating
just stating your case
as the clock chimes midnight
PB

by morning

the Death card surfaces

indicating

little and great

transformation
RNW