Where are the angels?
where is the child
too young to understand
the darkness of this world?
I have no evidence.
The image I saw is lost.
I don’t want to find it again.
poetry
napowrimo
Day 3 ~ I could paint a river
I could paint a river
in a wash of gentle colour
defined by softest blue
and tender grey and green.
To give it strange translucence
a splash of silver light.
I could paint a river
and never get it right.
Brush strokes can be deceptive
but when described with words
the image you will see
isn’t mine,
it’s yours.
Day 2 ~ Ancient Volumes
Old words are valued by some
But old thoughts are lost in translation
Or twitched and reshuffled to serve a new master
In tales that dwell on disaster
Dispelled, disabled, diverted
distorted away from the truth
as history turns a new corner
and books rot away on the shelves
stained with mildew and dust.
Day 1 ~ Elven Revenge
To enter with dignity
I begin an adagio
Played in a dark minor key,
Serious and sombre,
A step to the side of my natural presence.
It attracts your straying attention.
Then a plaintive air played without pity
Lures you to sleep
with lavender scent on your pillow.
Mellow with sadness you dream of the hills
And wish you were free to wander.
Swiftly switching we play an expanded cantata
In brisk and rippling allegro
Shifting to pizzicato
Through gladness and frenzy
to uncontrolled magical madness
where, without looking back,
I chain your feet sole and heel to the dance floor
And retreat to the windswept moors.
AN UPDATE
In February 2024 I went into hospital for a cardiothoracic operation which is on the main thoracic artery. I should have been home in about two weeks but whilst I was on the operating table I suffered three strokes which left me comatose for about two weeks, during which time I was living entirely in a deep and very realistic morphine dream. When I say the dreams were realistic I should also say they were pretty fantastical but totally believable. To me they were the only reality. I could not tell that I was dreaming. I am still not sure if some parts really happened.
The strokes left me incapable of reading, writing or drawing which are my three main interests. My degree has also been delayed again.
A year later I can write and use my smartphone, which had become a complete mystery to me, and I have listened to Audible quite a lot but I’m able to read books again. I still cannot draw. My keyboard skills are a struggle. I used to like walking in solitude and it often inspired poetry but although I can walk I can’t go out alone.
April is poetry month, and I have not written a poem since my stroke last year. I’m not actually sure whether I can still write poetry but poetry month seems to be a good opportunity to test myself out and so I do intend to try and participate this year and I will post the results onto Dreaming Path regardless of their merits. We shall see. It’s an experiment.
Day 30
I was feeling ill yesterday and will hopefully post my final poetry month poem today
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 3 prompt
I wasn’t so keen on today’s prompt as I have used it quite often in the past so I have taken a prompt from elsewhere (a writer’s group responding to poetry month). It is to write a poem about sunshine in rhyming couplets.
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
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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The Dreaming Path 