Poetry

NaPoWriMoDay 22 ~ A Blackbird in the Garden

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

A blackbird in the garden

~

A blackbird came along the path.

I watch for him each morning.

I throw sultanas from a jar,

a favourite for his coming.

~

He pecks them up but seeks for something living.

He bites a worm clean in half and eats the flesh with relish.

He let a beetle pass in peace. He must know its flavour.

It’s not an act of giving. The garden is his table.

~

I saw his eyes, like polished beads

in fear survey the garden.

Ebony, obsidian, blizzard stone, black diamonds.

I see how they have hardened.

~

I saw the murderous killer come

on velvet paws, crouched low

to snatch her prey in play.

She’s as black as he is.

~

Predators, both of them.

I pray and bang the window.

The bird surprised flies fast away.

Today by me he’s pardoned.

~

The cat casts her amber eyes

in my direction, glaring.

I swear at her and clap my hands.

Yes. I stand in judgement.

~

On my stove the bacon fries.

I crack an egg that’s fertilised.

I vow I’ll be a vegan.

The blackbird is my reason.

© A.Chakir 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 21 ~ Told to use a listed word, I used clever. We also had to invent a new word.

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

~

Perceptipatient

~

He is always watching.

I watch him watching everyone.

I’m sure he knows I’m watching him.

He’s very clever.

His face, a mask, hides all

and only shows politeness.

He hides his thoughts so well.

He’s a sphynx I can’t decipher.

Did Buddha watch the world this way

and hide, revealing nothing?

Does he sit in judgement

or does he make internal notes

to populate a novel?

No words are new.

They’re only reinvented.

~

He looks at me and looks away.

I think he thinks I’m writing,

but I’m silent, drawing him

for a future painting.

I will mix my colours well.

He’ll be quietly captured.

~

When I carefully draw his eyes,

and flesh his mouth with pigments

I see he is contented.

He’s enjoying thinking.

© A.Chakir 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 20 ~ explore a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist.

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

The Yellow Duck of Doom

~

Archaeologists are never

entirely scientific.

They speak with great authority,

their interpretations are terrific,

but far-fetched very often,

stretched to fit their theories.

My fear is

they often get things wrong.

~

Evidence of declining crops,

frantic population shifts in search of food,

signs of climate drift,

ice melts and deserts spreading,

river shifts and flooding,

will fit us in perspective

in the downhill slide of time.

In this they will be right.

But will they see the causes,

our greed and wastefulness?

I hope they see it was our fault.

I hope they damn us,

if we’re not yet damned enough.

~

So much for them to find here.

Our landfills are treasure troves.

With mounds of plastic objects,

They’re a picture quite fantastic.

They’re the temples of our towns.

~

The yellow ducks they find will be widespread and many.

They’ll be noted by every kind of scientist seeking the profound.  

They will debate what we worshipped, loved or blamed.

Stories will abound.

~

Nothing is apparent.

There will be no links to bathrooms,

soap or thick, soft towels.

These things won’t be transparent.

They will think we took our last breath of burning air and fire

and poured it into prayer

to the plastic Duck of Doom

to turn the threatening tides.

~

For all the good we’re doing,

I guess we may as well.

© A.Chakir 2023

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.

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

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

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

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

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

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

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

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

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

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

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

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