Author: A. Gouedard

NapoWriMo Day 19 – cast your mind back to your own childhood and write a poem about something that scared you and which still haunts you today.

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Talking to a Spider

Fast moving invader,

squatting on my bedroom wall,

I swear you’re there to taunt me

with legs that move so wrongly

and pincers thrusting forward.

How I hate you spider.

I called my Dad when I was small,

who came to softly cradle you,

careful not to squash you,

cupped gently in his hands,

he casts you from my window.

How I hate you spider.

Lovers later tried so hard

to convince me of your beauty,

ingenuity, creativity and lack of any poison.

I know you bite and rest at night beside me on my pillow.

My cat drives you towards me. She’s a traitor.

How I hate you spider.

I’ve become your killer. If I see you, you will die.

I won’t cast a shadow as a warning

or send vibrations through the floor that scare you.

I’m the silent killer. My brutality, my mercy.

My boot will be your coup de grâce.

How I hate you spider.

And then one day a spider came hiding in a corner.

Only we lived in this room, and I found I liked you.

Little spider at your loom, I named you Frederick Dear.

My tiny brother, friend in quiet solitude.

We have a truce, a contract clear.

If you grow big, I’ll hate you.

© A.Chakir 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 18 ~ Alphabetically Correct

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After all the fuss and

bother about staying in or going out

Candace said to Isaac,

”Don’t complain about the wind. Don’t

even think about it.’

‘Far be it from me,’ he said,

grabbing with a frantic snatch to catch

her hat as the wind swept it off

into the spinning up draught.

Just then a magpie flew over and

kindly brought it back to her,

like a gentleman in a tuxedo, bowing.

Most courteous he was.

‘Never have I seen such a sight,’ said Candice, astonished.

Obtusely, Isaac claimed he had.

Preposterous proposition. Of course, he hadn’t, ever.

Quite contrary to the truth it was.

Ravens might do this or

seagulls might in exchange for fish but

try now to imagine, if you will,

unlikely situations.

Valiant mice attacking lions,

wolves protecting sheep, rabbits chasing dogs,

xerosis afflicting all the slugs that wander into flower beds,

young mountains, yesterday’s coming back tomorrow, are all as likely to be true as

zebras sitting knitting or magpies acting kindly.

© A.Chakir 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 17 ~ Snowdrop

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Every year the snowdrop comes.
Only one,
beside the tree
that stands close by my window.
By this I know that spring is here.

Along the river, far away,
I’ve seen them grow in swathes and banks.
They stand in crowds,
in shivering ranks beside the waters margins.

I don’t walk there anymore
but I do remember,
when I see the single flower
that stands beneath my window.

© A.Chakir 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 16 ~ Don’t

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Don’t

Don’t ask me to define my thoughts.
My tongue is not a lizard.
Don’t demand decisions.
I am not a hawk. Not swift.
I don’t have opinions.
I am not a running hare,
but I switch track through grasses.
I won’t say it’s this or that
proposing it as wisdom.
I am not a salmon.
The scales of thought are easily tipped
from one side or the other.
I swing on the rainbow’s arch
between the sun and showers.
I won’t judge it right or wrong
and condemn another.
I’m not the one to watch and judge.
An open mind is kinder.

© A.Chakir 2023

Day 15 ~ Kind to the Cat

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Kind to the cat

So cruel to me,

Yet so kind to the cat.

So good at growing roses.

Horses would turn and follow you.

You could calm a nervous rabbit.

Sometimes you were nice to me,

or simply you ignored me,

both a rare relief.

A day of peace and mildness,

But not enough to balance your drunken wildness.

The cat had the sense to disappear.

Its exit had been granted.

Every day I wished I could leave,

be free of you.

That wasn’t what you wanted.

So cruel to me,

but kind to the cat.

That’s the strangeness I saw inside you.

© A.Chakir 2023

Making up for not writing a sonnet the other day ~ Graffiti in the Woods

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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

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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

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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

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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