around the church yard
forget-me-knots, running wild,
fail to recall you
© A.Chakir 2023
Author: A. Gouedard
Making up for not writing a sonnet the other day ~ Graffiti in the Woods
Graffiti in the Woods
After storms and raging winds
flung twigs in carpets on the ground
are hyroglyphs unread, not found,
punctuated birds footprints
patterned in the fertile mud,
crisscrossed with dark feathers fallen;
A hex bereft of human hope,
Unread, Ignored
And unexplored.
All the signs are written plain.
Such a shame we’re blind and deaf.
Such a shame we never looked.
We should read graffiti left.
Look deeper at the weave and weft.
© A.Chakir 2023
Day 13 ~ Knock Knock, Alice
Knock knock, Alice.
Knock, knock.
‘Who’s there?’ said Alice.
‘Use your famous logic. Have a guess and pass the jam. You can tell me who I am.’
‘Is that you Hatter?’
There is laughter outside the door.
‘You expect me to know all about that.
You expect far too much of me.
You tell me. I’m too scattered.’
Alice frowns.
‘Well, what have you been doing all this time?’
‘Making hats of course. Like mine.’
Alice nods.
‘It must be you then, don’t you think.’
‘I don’t think at all. And that’s not logic.
Other people make hats you know. ‘
‘Not like yours.’
‘Alice. Now don’t flatter me.’
‘Why don’t you just come in?’ said Alice. ‘You’re being very irritating!’
‘My hat’s changed colour. It’s liberating. You might not know me in this hat.’
‘What colour is it now?’ Alice asked, exasperated.
‘Its madder. I got badder.’
‘That’s terrible grammar. Lacerated.’
Hatter grinned like the Cheshire Cat and muttered underneath his breath,
‘Does it madder?’
Alice heard. ‘Yes. It does.’ Alice sighed.
‘Well anyway my hat’s got madder. Quicksilver trimmed and Crimson Madder. And don’t be stubborn. You could come in.’
‘But I’m already inside!’
Hatter scowled. ‘Inside what? I’m in. You’re out.’
Alice stamped her foot.
‘That’s not logical at all. It’s my door. It was you who knocked.’
‘Yes, I did. Because it’s locked. Now let me out you crazy girl.’
‘Don’t call me crazy. You’re the Mad Hatter.’
‘See. Now you’ve answered the question your asked. Come in Alice. We both know now.’
© A.Chakir 2023
Day 13 ~ The Prompt
Write a poem that follows the beats of a classic joke. Emphasize the interplay between the form of the poem – such as the line breaks – and the punchline.
I think I bent the rules a bit. But I like writing nonsense that has some logic. And I also like writing about The Mad Hatter and Alice (I have quite a series of them). If you put Hatter or Alice into my search box you will probably find all of them. They have an ongoing relationship.
Day 12 ~ I didn’t use a prompt today
Considering Time
Where will we ever find time?
The answer to that
depends on the date of your death.
Consider it might be tomorrow
and make up your mind to live.
But, you’ve misunderstood my question.
I will rephrase it. Listen.
Where will we find time?
Let’s look in the hedgerows first
to see which plant are budding,
are they limp or dry?
Have all their leaves been lost?
Has a bird built a nest or are all the fledglings fledged?
Did they all fly away to the south?
A year is the same as a decade
or a summer can last a year
but only when you’re a child.
Time is a relative concept
linked to innocence.
It moves faster as you age.
To witness time watch an apple
moving from ripe to rot.
I don’t own a clock.
I don’t expect precision.
If you want to arrange a meeting,
I’ll meet you when the sun dips down
behind the ridge of your roof,
or later if you like
when Mercury hangs above us
a step to the west of Jupiter,
almost parallel to the the moon
(that is to say, on April the 12th at roughly half past nine).
I will wait for you there but if that’s too soon,
any chance meeting is fine.
These moments hang
on the infinite line of time.
Do you think it ‘s all on a line?
I don’t.
Everything turns around and everything’s relative.
The rotation of the stars at night
is faster than we perceive.
I’ve seen them move, from dusk to dawn,
by sitting as still as a rock.
© A.Chakir 2023
Day 11~ (base a poem on overheard conversation) ~ Finale.
Finale
‘I can’t sing’ he said, quietly humming.
‘Don’t worry’ she sang.
‘Neither can I.’
They arrived at some kind of harmony as soon they tried.
They were enchanted, ensung,
enthralled to the music soaring, undone.
Lovers singing the song of each other
make patterns, staves, notes in the dark.
It can’t be wiped out once it’s written.
© A.Chakir 2023
NaPoWriMo Day 10 ~ Write a Shanty ~ ‘How to Write a Shanty, Call and Response’~~~
Splitting pentametres makes the tune roll.
Think about water and raising the waves.
Hey ho, let the words flow
No need to write like grammatical slaves.
No need for sailors, no need for salt
Hey ho, let the words flow
Scatter some verbs, let the syntax revolt
Mention some senses, avoid the trite phrase
Hey ho, let the words flow
Don’t rest on the rocks, that strand is a phase
Don’t forget metaphor, burnish the truth
Hey ho, let the words flow
Don’t use old words like begads and forsooth.
Hold onto the rhyme, don’t let the rope go.
Hey ho, let the words flow
© A.Chakir 2023
NaPoWriMo 9 ~ Not inclined to write a sonnet
No Sonnet
I’m not in the mood for sonnets
Or ghazals, triads or odes.
I’m writing a ballad instead
I don’t want to write about love
I’ve got that walking rhythm now
The chorus will soon come along
It should have a bridge, it wont
I’m not making any effort
I can’t be bothered to rhyme
except in the chorus ahead.
The chorus is coming right now!
Who on earth would be a poet!
I could have just stayed in bed.
Oh, who would be a poet
Sing loud, sing clear, be unread.
No-one should be a poet
To be read, write memes instead.
© A.Chakir 2023
NaPoWriMo Day 8 ~ Luke
Luke
Life is a road with many whips, silent crossroads and knots.
I’d fly off with the birds, if my wings weren’t hidden.
I’d feel the wind on the water and see the birds songs.
I’d hear the strong blast of yellow that comes with the sun.
But none of that ever happened.
Once upon a time it seemed possible.
Everything seemed possible then,
in London with Luke I might have stayed happy
if the roads never twisted and bent
We walked through the City Squares
amid the Mimosa, Jasmine and traffic fumes.
His skin had the scent of dried cedar.
Pimlico, Stepney, Westminster and down to the docks,
we ducked and dived into museums to feel the heat
then down through Covent Garden.
Five miles a day is nothing,
when you’re looking for something to eat.
‘Buy a rose for the lady, mate!’
We had no money, no dosh, no doe.
You can pick roses for free in the parks.
Money is meaningless in paradise garden,
brimming with beauty and rain soaked grass.
The bridges criss-cross the river
following constellations,
and the stars that shine out in the dark.
He calls her ‘Angel’
But I think he is hers.
That won’t stop me predicting an end.
He holds her hand inside his coat pocket
To stop their world falling apart.
Eles não terão sorte.
They don’t stand a chance.
The trees in the park bend down
to listen to their words.
Lovers prattle and tease with affection,
whispering on the air.
It’s all scattered amongst the leaves.
Their words may still be there,
treasured in tree bark or written in fallen twigs.
Time is moving on.
O tempo é um traidor
The sparrows come home in the evening,
the pigeons are losing their feathers,
the fountains are freezing over.
A clock chimes in Whitehall.
Eros shifts on his plinth, covered in dust and decay.
© A.Chakir 2023
NaPoWriMo Day 8 Prompt is long
It’s complicated!
- Begin the poem with a metaphor.
- Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
- Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
- Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
- Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
- Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
- Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
- Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
- Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
- Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
- Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
- Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
- Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
- Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
- Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
- Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
- Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
- Use a phrase from a language other than English.
- Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
- Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.
The Dreaming Path 