Monday, 25 April 2016

POEM - Hope

Today, I used the #NaPoWriMo prompt where you take the first line of a famous poem, and use it as the first line in a new poem. I used one of Emily Dickinson's first lines:

Hope is a thing with feathers
And scales
And tentacles.
Antennae and mandibles
Whiskers and
Opposable thumbs.

Hope is a thing with fingernails
And skin and fur.
Hooves and a swim bladder.
Lop-sided nostrils
And too many teeth.

Hope is a thing with
Eyes everywhere
And fingers in all the pies.

Hope is a thing with
Transparent wings.
Gills and blubber,
Blind optimism
And creeping self-doubt.

Hope is a thing with venom
Hope is a thing with
The power to change your mind.

Hope is a thing with as
Many penises
As you want.
With wheels and jet-packs
And yellow, go-faster stripes.
Hope is a thing without

Hope is always evolving into
Exactly what you need.
Fins and a tail
Or wings
Or the strength to get through
One more day.

Hope is a thing with feathers.


Saturday, 23 April 2016


We are indefinable
Unkept promises and unwritten love letters
Overdue library books left on petrol station forecourts.
We are a fraction, divided by zero
The movement a the edge of the Venn diagram
Spit spat onto hot pavements.
We are your final warning and your very last chance
We are dead celebrities and living politicians
The smell of rotten vegetable matter, tobacco and raw meat.
We are not quite one thing or the other
A window shattered by the body of a bird
The stringless guitar strumming silent melodies.
We are woodsmoke and wanderings
The scent of sex in stained sheets
A three course meal in a shitty restaurant.
We are cyclical arguments
A long-lost sibling with too many memories
Rusted padlocks on a chain-link fence.
We are the tip of your tongue and the back of your mind
We are everything and nothing
And that's just the way we like it.

Friday, 22 April 2016

POEM - The Phantom Poem Poster

At work, someone has started putting up badly written poems in the kitchen, and people keep thinking that I wrote them and I have to say, "No, because the scansion on those is terrible." And they look at me with pity because I am too far gone. Anyway, the poems keep appearing, so one of my colleagues asked me to write a 'response' piece. This is that piece:

The Phantom Poem Poster
The Phantom Poem Poster’s posting poems on our patch
And, every time we go to look, he’s made another batch.
He’s wily and evasive and he’s really hard to catch:
But two can play at that game and I think he’s met his match!

We’re hunting down the Poster, using everything we can:
They could be part of management, a woman or a man,
But ”he”s correct in grammar (plus it’s easier to scan)
And all of our presumptions mean it’s probably a man.

We don’t know who the Phantom is, or what he’s posting for;
He’s crossed the line from anecdote to A&D folklore.
And every poem posted on this kitchen cupboard door
Makes us want to find him out, so much we nearly swore!

We’ve rigged up all the cameras, and the coloured dyes, of course.
And we won’t be content until we’ve found the sneaky source.
We’re making our inquiries, we’ll shout until we’re hoarse!
Coz poetry in public isn’t something we endorse.

We know it’s not important, and we shouldn’t cause a fuss
But mystery identities just really bother us.
We’re on the edge of knowing now, we’ve nearly got him sussed
(We’re hoping to enrol him in poets anonymous.)

So Phantom Poem Poster, you should know your card is marked.
You’re not the only one to play this poem-posting lark.
We challenge you to show yourself (with exclamation mark)
Or, if you’d rather duel in verse, then we will let you start…

I'll let you know if he (or she) responds...

Tuesday, 19 April 2016

NEWS - Mud Press, Crosswords, and the New Fenland Poet Laureate

Apologies for the radio silence re: news over the last couple of weeks – I’ve been massively busy, and I just haven’t had the time to put together a post!

That being said, I have managed to put up a few of my #NaPoWriMo poems on the blog, so hopefully you have had some fun reading those.

I haven’t written too many serious poems as part of the thirty-day challenge this time around, and many of the poems I have written fall into my standard ABAB rhyme scheme. It’s an easy structure for me, and it sort of my ‘default poetry position’. But #NaPoWriMo is supposed to be about challenging yourself and writing outside of your comfort zone. So, with that in mind, I’m going to strive to vary the pacing a little bit in the last third of the month.

I’m not sure how successful I’ll be, but I will keep you posted!

Last week, I went back home to the flatlands, to help out with this year’s Fenland Poet Laureate Awards ceremony, which was absolutely fantastic!

Some of our winners on stage

In case you don’t know about the awards, they’re a local initiative that celebrates creative writing in the area of North Cambridgeshire, West Norfolk and South East Lincolnshire known as the Fens. It’s very rural area, characterised by its brutally beautiful landscape, wide skies, and unique history. I’m a Fenland girl born and bred, so I might be a little bit biased, but I think it’s a wonderful place, and one that’s often overlooked by arts organisations.

This is part of the reason that the Fenland Poet Laureate Awards were set up, and the competition is now in its fifth year, giving local writers the chance to compose poems on the theme of ‘The Fens’ and compete for the title of Fenland Poet Laureate!

This year, the award organisers (Me, Elaine Ewart, Poppy Kleiser and Jonathan Totman) managed to get hold of a little bit of money, courtesy of a Market Place Development Commission Fund from the very lovely people at Market Place Creative People and Places, which is part of Arts Council England. The money allowed us to expand our ambitions for the awards show, and we were very lucky to also receive support from ADeC, 20 Twenty Productions CIC, and Ely City Council.

In the end, we welcomed over ninety people to our awards ceremony on Friday 8th April, and it was a brilliant event, with performances from all our short-listed poets, as well as a headline set from fantastic poet (and painter) John Lyons, plus live music courtesy of local band Karen and Co.

John Lyons performing

Our lovely judges awarded the Young Fenland Poet Laureate prize to Tashi Marley for her poem ‘I am’, while Mary Livingstone won first prize in the adult category for with her poem ‘From Maramures to the Fens’.

For a full list of all the winners, and all the information about this year’s awards ceremony, check out the Atelier East Website. You can also see a selection of the short-listed poems here. I'd recommend having a look at them, they're bloody lovely!

Mary Livingstone (centre) with all the other FPLs

Then, last Wednesday, I hosted another fantastic Crosswords open mic night, in the caves underneath Nottingham.

Despite having to compete with Kate Tempest (who was performing at Rough Trade on the same night) we still managed to attract a good audience, and the open mic was particularly strong this time around!

We started with a thought-provoking set of poems from DIY Poet Martin Dean, whose poems focused on classical architecture in the Mediterranean, and his dazzling imagery was far better than any postcard!

Next, we heard from TC, and his performance focused on themes of identity. His first piece, about an imagined local hero, gave us a lot of food for thought about the nature of role models. Leicester-based poet, Jodie Hannis impressed next with two incredibly powerful spoken word pieces, the first, an ode to positivity, and the second, a frank and often harrowing response to those comments from Stephen Fry about the survivors of abuse.

Sarah Crutwell performed a superb and deeply affecting piece about mental illness and homelessness, while Melanie blew us all away with her heartfelt critique of uniformity. Then, Martin Grey shifted the tone with his absurdist masterpiece ‘Grilled Shoes’ and an unusual take on the love poem, stuffed to bursting with very funny puns!

Frank performing at Crosswords

Next up, Frank McMahon read three excellent poems about guitars, eighties hair metal, and the colour brown (respectively), while Hazel Warren’s autobiographical pieces about her brother, and about a long lost love were deceptively gentle, and filled with incredibly relatable moments. Clare Stewart concluded the open mic with some great poems, including the wonderfully angry repetition in her poem about scrap, and everyone’s favourite ode to a cold sore!

I’m always really impressed by the standard of open mic performances in Nottingham, but this has to be one of my favourites so far – it really was a fabulous mix of tones and styles, darkness and light, rhyme and free verse. I really loved it!

And, if that wasn’t enough entertainment for you, we also had a brilliant headline set from Derby-based poet Dan Weber, who is one of my favourite local poets at the moment. Dan is one sixth of the Twisted Tongues collective who regularly put on events and shows in Derby, and his poetry is irreverent, witty engaging, and sprinkled with the just the right amount of smut! On the night, he had the crowd in the palm of his hand, performing loads of poems from his debut show: Project 28, which frankly dissects what it’s like to be single at twenty eight.

Crosswords is fast becoming a great little community of writers, and the venue is probably the quirkiest in Nottingham. If you haven’t been along yet, you should definitely check it out (and I’m not just saying that because it’s my event!) The next event is on Wednesday 11th May, in the caves under the Malt Cross. Doors open at 7:30pm and the show starts at 8pm. Check out our facebook event for further details.

I was also really delighted to find out that one of my poems has been chosen for the latest Mud Press anthology W O M A N. As you can probably guess the title, the publication is all about gender, feminism and femininity in the twenty-first century, and I’m really excited to be part of it!

I’m not yet sure when it’ll be published, but I’d advise you to follow Mud Press on Facebook and Twitter to keep up to date with all their news. They are a really cool small poetry press, and I predict massive things for them in the future!

Next week:
Next Thursday 28th April, I’ll be popping along to Bang! Said the Gun in Manchester to take part in their fresh meat slam. Wish me luck and, if you’re in the Manchester area, why not come along to help cheer me on. You can find all the ticket information here.

POEM - Beige

I did another colour poem (based on this prompt from 2013). This time, beige gets a chance to shine!

It’s vomit and boredom
And unhealthy food.
Not quite white or yellow
And not even nude.
The colour of pus
And drab public loos;
When picking a shade
It’s the last one I’d choose.

But beige isn’t all
That it’s painted to be:
It’s clifftops and sea shells
And warm milky tea.
It’s brand new apartments
And crackers with brie.
It’s teddies and puppies!
It’s easy to see

Why beige is a colour
That gets a bad name
But ‘boring’ and ‘crucial’
Aren’t one and the same.
Is no marker of shame;
And just coz it's pasty,
That doesn't mean tame.

See, if you rate Glazebrook –
For he said it first –
Then beige is the shade
Of the whole Universe!*
I’ve change my opinion
My thoughts are reversed:
I’m so keen on beige
That I think I might burst!

And then I remember
The colour of fat,
Of grease and ennui;
And I'm tried of that.
Sometimes it's grim
And there's no caveat.
Beige has a dark side,
You can't deny that.

But it has different shades
So don't cause a fuss:
It may not be bright
But it's still luminous!
It’s leopard print, vomit,
It’s beeswax and pus.
It’s good stuff and bad stuff,
Just like all of us.

*Cosmic Latte is the aggregated colour of the universe! How cool is that? 

Sunday, 17 April 2016

POEM - Happiness

Today, I used this prompt from 2014 to create a replacement poem. I looked up 'cactus' on wikipedia, found some cool phrases, then I replaced the word 'cactus' with the word 'happiness'. I quite like how it turned out, though it may need some editing... (Plus, I'm always a little uncomfortable without a rhyme scheme!)  

Happiness has a variety of uses.
It can be found in central America, as well as parts of Africa and Sri Lanka.
Happiness grows in a wide range of shapes and sizes.
It is not known when happiness was first cultivated
But it is often depicted in cowboy films and Spaghetti Westerns.
Some types of happiness are edible, while others are purely ornamental.
Happiness has been shown to contain psychoactive substances.
 It is perceived as a means of accessing the spirit world.
Attempts by the Roman Catholic church to suppress its use after the Spanish conquest were largely Unsuccessful, and happiness can also be used as a medicine.
The popularity of happiness means many books are devoted to its cultivation.
Fungus, bacteria and viruses attack happiness, especially when over-watered.
The biggest ever happiness measured 78 feet wide.


Saturday, 16 April 2016

POEM - Evil Twin

My evil twin’s been here again
To ruin all my clothes,
Ripping buttons off my shirts
And staining the elbows.

My evil twin’s been here again;
She’s eaten all the jam
And left the dishes in the sink.
She doesn’t give a damn.

My evil twin’s been here again;
The smell of burning lingers.
The windows have been smudged and smeared
By doppelgänger fingers.

My evil twin’s been here again;
She’s left me no clean pants.
There’s biscuits crumbs on everything;
We’re going to get ants!

My evil twin’s been here again;
She’s over-fed the cat!
He’s like a fuzzy cushion now,
He’s huge and round and fat!

My evil twin’s been here again;
There’s mud on all the floors.
She’s unlocked all the windows
And she’s opened all the doors.

My evil twin’s been here again –
She’s pissed inside my vase!
And I can see it sloshing round
When I lift up the glass!

My evil twin’s been here again;
It looks as though she’s scarpered,
But not before she vomited
All over my new carpet!

My evil twin’s been here again
She’s made a mess all over –
It’s funny that she only comes
On days when I’m hungover.

Evil Twin = goatee, right?

Friday, 15 April 2016

POEM - Love poem after John Cooper Clarke

I will be your pencil case
Keeping things together.
And I’ll be your umbrella
To shield you from the weather.

I will be your packing peanuts
Keeping you secure.
I will be your antiseptic
Salving all your sores.

I will be your draught excluder
Saving you from chills.
I will be your kitchen sponge
Wiping up the spills.

I will be your spectacles
Helping you to see.
I will be your lighthouse
When you’re feeling lost at sea.

I will be your telephone
Keeping you connected.
And I will be you Dettol
When you need some disinfectant.

I will be your welly-boots
For when it rains or snows.
I will be your warmest socks
To give you toasty toes.

I will be your fire exit
Helping you escape.
And I will be your hero
(Without tights and pants and cape).

Tuesday, 12 April 2016

POEM - Sitting on a Bench...

So, this one is based on yesterday's prompt, using 'Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota' by James Wright to formulate a poem that describes a place in detail, before reverting to a more philosophical final line. Unfortunately, my philosophical line comes courtesy of Schopenhauer, so it's not very cheery...

Sitting on a bench at the City Arboretum, Nottingham

Over my head, I see the humbug-striped magpie
Standing on the thick black branch,
Shaking cherry blossom to the ground like confetti.
Down the hill, behind the empty bandstand,
The laughter of a hundred ducks
Merges with the swoop of passing tram carriages.
To my right,
In a field of spilled-paint grass, flung with buttercups,
A bright blue crisp packet
Glitters like an unearthed hoard.
I lean back, as the evening light lingers in the trees.
A woman walks past, pushing an empty pram.
Life without suffering is meaningless.


Sunday, 10 April 2016

POEM - Baked Beans

This one is based on this prompt from the NaPoWriMo, which was posted on day six. It's probably the most controversial poem I've ever written:

Baked Beans 
I've always hated beans – whether baked or boiled or fried
And if you tried to feed me some, I'd spit them in your eyes.
I know it's immature of me, and heaven knows I've tried,
But if I even eat one bean, I'm positive I'll die.
I know it's only fibre in a bright tomato sauce
But I would burn the world's supply, and still have no remorse.
I'd rather eat a rabbit or a baby or a horse,
And if I found the fountain, I would totes destroy the source.
People seem to love them though; it really gets my goat!
They're slimy and disgusting and they slip right down your throat.
And if you want to feed me food, you really ought to note
That if you try to give me beans, I'll have to get my coat.
I've always hated beans you see: the taste, the sight, the smell
And if you have a lick of sense, then you'd hate beans as well.
I'm not a fussy eater though (in case you couldn't tell)
It's just that beans and bean affects are my idea of hell.
I'll never be content to let slip past my lips
And if you put one on my plate, I promise you I'll flip!
I sometimes say it's allergies, but now that mask has slipped;
It's odd that fussy eaters never seem that scared of chips...


Friday, 8 April 2016

POEM - Zombie Pep Talk

So, I had to slip zombies in here at some point, right? This one's a bit of a mess / first draft, but I always find villanelles a bit tricky. Practise makes perfect, eh?

A Zombie Pep Talk

Do not pretend that you have healed your hurt;
your ribcage filled with pain that won't get out!
Your words will rise, like zombies, from the dirt.
If only you could keep your mind alert
and not be clouded by desire or doubt.
Do not pretend that you have healed your hurt,
instead release your fears and reassert
your need to turn this whole world inside out.
Your words will rise, like zombies, from the dirt,
and though some of your limbs are now inert
that doesn't mean you don't deserve to shout!
Do not pretend that you have healed your hurt;
it's well within your power to subvert
society – I know you still have clout!
Your words will rise, like zombies, from the dirt!
So wipe the soil from your rotting shirt
and let what's in your lovely braaaaaains shine out!
Do not pretend that you have healed your hurt.
Your words will rise, like zombies, from the dirt.

Thursday, 7 April 2016

POEM - Hunting Inspiration

Bring a large net,
A torch and a stethoscope.
Two dozen gloves,
Night vision goggles
And fifteen yards of string;
For inspiration is found in
The strangest places.

Walk slowly,
Making sure to pass
The same landmarks
A hundred times
In great swooping circles;
For inspiration lurks
Inside the mundane.

Empty your mind
And unfocus your eyes.
Try to view life
Like a Magic Eye:
Full of hidden meaning –
For inspiration often appears
Along the peripherals.

Set your trap
And wait. It might be
Days before it
Bites. Or years.
Stay vigilant, Friend,
For inspiration often creeps in
Unnoticed, unbidden.

When it comes,
Trips the trap,
Grasp it with both
Hands and wrestle it
Onto the page;
For inspiration is nothing
Without execution.

Wednesday, 6 April 2016

POEM - Untitled

I've fallen back on an old favourite today (sonnets). This one was based on a prompt from a few year's ago. I used Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare as a starting point, and this is what came out:

I can’t compare you to a winter’s night,
although you’re raging like a howling storm.
While shaking branches from the trees in spite,
you rail against this world with hate and scorn.
Sometimes too cold, these loveless earthly streets
will creep the frost that climbs inside your bones,
and lidless eyes and greasy, hollowed cheeks
are nothing now and all you’ve ever known.

I fear that winter’s tattooed on my skin;
its ugliness a loathed inheritance
of luckless living, desperation, sin.
And madness is my only self-defence.
I am the wrong that no one wants to right;
a tethered ghost, a lonely winter’s night.

Tuesday, 5 April 2016

TUESDAY NIGHT NEWS – Workshops, NaPoWriMo, and the Fenland Poet Laureate Awards 2016

You may have noticed a flurry of activity on the blog over the last week, and that’s because spring as sprung, and everyone knows that April is National Poetry Writing Month – or NaPoWriMo for short. With that in mind, I’ve set myself the challenge of writing thirty brand new poems in the thirty days of April!

Sounds like a fool’s errand, right? Well, weirdly enough, I actually find it easier to write when there’s a little bit of friendly pressure on my shoulders, and given that I’m doing NaPoWriMo with a fantastic group of amazingly talented writers, it’s actually just the thing I need to get my bum in gear and get creating!

Of course, you can’t write thirty poems in quick succession without a few of them being a bit rubbish. But, if I manage to write at least one or two (out of the full thirty) that I like enough to perform regularly, then NaPoWriMo 2016 will have been worthwhile.

I’ll putting all my efforts up on the blog, so do feel free to count along with me, and see if I can make it all the way to thirty!

Last week, after consuming my own weight in Easter chocolates, I rolled down to the Orange Tree in Nottingham, to take part in a poetry workshop devised by Mud Press and Too Deep for a Monday.

The workshop, led by Georgina Wilding and Sarah Crutwell, was based on exploring gender, focusing on the themes of womanhood, femininity and all things lady.

Sarah and Georgina led us through some fantastic exercises to get us all limbered up – including a couple of prompts that I regularly use as part of my own workshops in schools. It was so strange to be on the ‘other side of the table’ during these exercises, but it was actually really helpful, because I got an insight into how the prompts work from the participant’s viewpoint.

Anyway, the workshop leaders gave us plenty of material to help us create some poetry, with three ‘inspiration stations’ set up around the room. These took the form of three tables, filled with objects, articles and images connected with the theme of ‘woman’.

There was plenty of time for writing, and I found myself scribbling down ideas left, right and centre. In fact, two of the NaPoWriMo poems I’ve already written took their inspiration from this workshop – which is fantastic, given that I sometimes struggle with writing in a workshop environment.

Here's a picture of me being super studious during the workshop. Once a nerd, always a nerd, I'm afraid.

Also this week, one of my reviews made it into local culture magazine Left Lion. I have officially arrived! Hoorah!

The review of Andy’s Szpuk’s new poetry performance piece, Austerity Cafe, is up on the Left Lion website here. Why not give a read?

Finally, this Friday from 7pm I’ll be helping out at the Fifth Annual Fenland Poet Laureate Awards, at March Town Hall in Cambridgeshire. I’m really looking forward to the show, where we’ll finally find out who will be crowned this year’s Fenland Poet Laureate. We’ve also got a set from internationally renowned writer and artist John Lyons, and music from a local band, so I know it’s going to be a cracking night!

Tickets are £3 and you can find them via the link here.

POEM - In case of emergency

In case of emergency
Break glass.
Break hearts.
Break rules.
Break ground.
Break free.
Break dance.

In case of emergency
Break the habit.
Break the spell.
Break the news.
Break the record.
Break wind.
Break all expectations.

In case of emergency
Break a leg.
Break the silence.
Break the bank.
Break the ice.
Break the mould.
Break the fourth wall.

(Hello reader!)

In case of emergency
Break with tradition.
Break the surface.
Break into song.
Break into a run.
Break it up.
Break everything and start again.

In case of emergency
Take a well-earned break…

Monday, 4 April 2016

POEM - Lipstick

This one germinated as a result of a workshop run by Mud Press and Too Deep for a Monday, two awesome Nottingham-based poetry organisations. The workshop leaders asked us to look at a table of objects, and write about one of them. I chose a tube of lipstick, and this is the poem so far:

Shaped like a bullet
Concealing a kiss
Painted perfection
A heartbeat, a fist.

Performing perfection
The salt of the sea
A woman, a ribbon
A bite from a flea.

Red as a rosebud
A tumour, a fist
Shaped like a bullet
Concealing a kiss.

The colour of heartbeats
Perfection, the sea
The salt of a songbird
A bullet, a flea.

A bite from a woman
As red as a fist
Shaped like a bullet
Concealing a kiss.

Performing a tumour
A songbird, the sea
Shaped like perfection
A heartbeat, a flea.

Painting a woman
Perfection, a fist
Shaped like a bullet
Concealing a kiss.

Sunday, 3 April 2016

POEM - White Circular Plates

The views espoused in the following limericks do not necessarily reflect the views of the author. (Apart from the one about the plates - I mean, honestly!!!)

The Restaurant Critic
I will come to your fine restaurant
And order the food that I want,
But I really can't stand
Your elaborate plans;
I wish that I could but I can't.

I want a white, circular plate,
Not a breadboard, a shoe or a slate!
I will not drink drinks
Out of jam jars or sinks
And the test tubes will just have to wait.

The music in here makes me stressed;
I can feel it vibrate through my chest.
I don't like U2,
I can't hear myself chew
So could you please give it a rest?

Just do as I want when I ask it –
And don't put my chips in a basket!
It slips out the holes!
We just need a bowl –
 I'll bring my own one if you ask me!

I've had it with all of your games
Like giving the loos 'funny' names.
A hind or a buck?
I just don't give a fuck –
If my bladder bursts, you'll be to blame!

Could someone please get me a chair?
Or I'll take my custom elsewhere.
Who eats on a sofa?
This ain't bikram yoga!
This whole thing is such a nightmare!

And then, there's the handwritten menu,
The peerless nadir of this venue.
You cannot spell 'soup'
With two Ys and a Q
I'm certain it cannot be rescued.

These servers are so bloody rude!
I think one of them spat in my food!
The chicken is sticky
It's cold and it's icky
I feel like my mouth has been glued!

And, proving that life isn't fair,
They booted me out on my ear!
I'm just mortified,
And I cannot think why:
It's the best place I've been to in years!

This happened to me yesterday! FFS!!!

Saturday, 2 April 2016

POEM - The Cheesemonger

I was looking for good poetry quotes yesterday (to make myself a poetry slogan T-shirt - is that weird?) and I came across this excellent one: 

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.” - G K Chesterton

Well, Mr Chesterton, that sounds like a bit of a challenge to me! Cue a large number of cheese-related google searches, and one incredibly cheesy poem:

The Cheesemonger

From Timbuktu to Amsterdam
Everyone loves Parmasan
And you know, there’s nothing sweller
Than creamy piles of Mozzarella.

See, every honest devotee
Swears there’s always time for Brie.
And you could boost your low morale
With just a sniff of Emmental.

For cubic cheese, there’s nothing better
Than squares of crumbly Grecian Feta.
Trust me now, you’ve really gotta
Taste the taste of smooth Ricotta.

The expert and the amateur
Can share a runny Camembert
While others exercise their molars
With tonnes and tonnes of Gorgonzola.

Though this list is less than roomy,
I still have space for fresh Halloumi.
And, if you want my testimony,
Nothing beats a Mascarpone.

But, don't forget - I beg you please -
The lumpy joy of Cottage Cheese!
And, when you can, seek to pursue
Those squeaky blobs of warm Fondue.

While many cheeses are critque-less,
Even so, there's one cheese weakness:
So, in your choices, be robust –
And never eat the processed stuff!
Mmmm, cheese!

Friday, 1 April 2016

POEM - Homonyms

So I'm going to be doing #NaPoWriMo again this year, which means I'm going to be trying to write thirty poems in thirty days, over the course of April. I won't be posting them all up on the blog, but I quite like today's one, so I thought I'd share it with you.

This one's been rolling around in my brain for a few days now. So I thought I would start this year's endeavour with a silly one about one of my favourite parts of the English language:

Now, just let me just tell you – before we begin –
I’m really not stupid, it’s just homonyms:
My brain is too full and I can’t let them in!
I promise I’m clever! It’s just homonyms!

Look, when you say ‘fine’, is that great or okay?
Or were you just hoping to ruin my day?
Is ‘novel’ a book or a winsome idea?
If I tear my dress would you shed me a tear?

Would you be upset if I moped on a moped?
Is ‘die’ like a dice, or do you want me dead?
Forgive me. It really does seem like I’m moaning,
But does menstruation need period clothing?

Is ‘fast’ moving quickly, or stuck in one place?
Do watches stand guard or have hands on their face?
Can I bear a bear and be barred from a bar?
Do you see what a mess all these homonyms are?

If I wound a bandage around a fresh wound
Would anyone get what I’m trying to prove?
Does ‘cool’ mean degrees or a measure of keenness?
And when you say ‘cock’, is it rooster or penis?

Can I set a timer for jelly to set?
And still set a trap while my sail is set?
I know that this poem’s disturbing the peace,
So are you content for this content to cease?

Can I run a bath and still run for the bus?
Or cut class and cut grass and protest The Cuts?
Would it break your heart not to give me a break?
I really don’t know how much more I can take!

Handwriting is my favourite kind of writing!