Day Two ~napowrimo ~ Hermes Drift

Hermes Drift

a miraculous form wrapped in feathers
closing the eyes of the day
opens his own eyes wide
Athena’s child
flashes through beams of moonlight
his wing curves create an all-knowing smile in the cleft of night
how swift he is in bringing death
to the thoughtless feasting of earth

a confusion of eyes look upward

through milk-merged, mist-soaked, fur-fleeting air
he falls, tearing the skin of the firmament with his sudden cry

the river floats on by
filling the veins and arteries that lead to the vastness of oceans
where Neptune’s hair shelters the young, as yet unformed, children of gentle Salacia’s sighs

the right hand of Zeus slices the wind and the rain
above the sea-salt beds
where two brothers will never be parted
bound as they are by a miracle unsurpassed
essential to every life

silver-backed fish shoal, slip-witted and swift
driven by beautiful Hermes in a trick of the gods
and mercurial wisdom switches this way and that
in an image painted with fishtails
showing us moving atoms unseen by a naked eye

And what is longing, what is hiraeth, what is yearning
but a sense of old displacements
from banks of shifting sand?
It’s the magnetic current
spawned in our deepest wishes
that persistently calls us home on elusive tides.

© A.Chakir 2023

Day One #napowrimo (the prompt was a book title)

Practical Taxidermy

Here I am
strapped to a frame,
a never changing armature
holds me in its tight grip,
preserved in formaldehyde,
polished and preened,
displayed on a shelf
under a spotlight
my guts torn out
and burned on the fire.
My skin is so cold.

How is this me?
Where are my entrails,
my being,
my soul.

The eyes remain dead,
despite all their efforts
to keep the light twinkling in glass.
It’s not me.

Why preserve a thing so lacking in spirit?
They should have installed me
inside a badger,
a crow or a fox.

© A.Chakir 2023

NaPoWriteMo starts soon

From April 1st many poets will work hard to produce a poem a day for a month. It’s a sure-fire way of getting any sleepy cogs turning. They provide daily prompts (you don’t have to use them but they do tend to be interesting).

I am one of the poets who will be participating – so throughout April you can expect more from me than there has been in the last two years as I will post them all here

For more details see the NaPoWriMo website .

Age Gap Romance

Nimue Brown's avatarDruid Life

This week there has been talk on Twitter about the age gap relationship in Jurassic Park. Laura Dern was in her twenties and Sam Neil was in his forties for the first film. The way in which age gap romances are portrayed in films is all kinds of problematic. I come to this as a person who tends to be more attracted to people who are older than me, and who is married to someone seventeen years my senior.

There is often an assumption in films that pairing older male stars with much younger women as romantic interests is fine. We don’t see as many older women in films and we certainly don’t see older women as romantic partners for men of the same age. It’s very rare indeed to see older women paired with younger men.

This kind of film pairing serves to erase older women and focus on…

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NaPoWriMo

For the first time in many years, I am not taking part in this. I am working on an important University Assignment (Creative Writing) and so I couldn’t make the poem a day commitment for 30 days. The poems I am writing at the moment can’t be shared at this time anyway.

I wish those who are doing it the best of luck and a burst of creativity.

The Osbick Bird by Edwards Gorey



a lovely little book about the meaning of true love

Little Doll

little doll

made of rags

her cotton face much loved

worn and tattered now

far beyond repair

her braided hair is faded

from the light of ninety years

her blue eyes blurred

her lips a smudge rubbed out

her end arrives with moths

her memory is loved

A Rant

Common sense and compassion
could cure the worlds ills
But greed and corruption expand in a pool
As coffers of profit are endlessly filled.
Negligent power is the curse of the earth.
Kindness and charity seem of no worth.
Arrogance kills.
This way is not human.
This way is a sin.
These gross perpetrations are not of my kin.
They live by deception and narrative spin.
Earth eaters, polluters, carrion slime
Purveyors of suffering and indolent crime,
I despise you
Detest you
Your way is not mine.

Seclusion

So quiet in this room.

Singing Sunday birds outside pierce the inner gloom.

Nothing else is heard and no-one enters here.

I sit amongst my books

and all that’s gone, once so dear,

expressing tenderness with looks,

won’t be coming back this side of heavens sleep.

What treasures should I keep?

What blessings do I lack?

I still live and breathe.

In this empty room my thoughts are coming clear.