Tag Archives: Loss

GloPoWriMo: Day 7

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GloPoWriMo: Day 7

The Day 7 prompt was to write a poem about luck and fortuitousness.  Inspiration included Charles Simic’s “The Betrothal” and Stephen Dunn’s “The Arm”. First of all I needed to create the following lists:

1. List 1 – 3 random objects. (Smaller tends to be better.)
2. List 1 – 3 random but specific locations. (Think in the cookie jar, or under my seat…)
3. List 1 – 2 objects you’ve lost and a few notes on their back-story.
4. List 1- 2 objects you’ve found and few notes on their back-story.

Then I needed to choose an object from List 1, a location from List 2, and connect them in a poem with ideas from Lists 3 & 4.  Here are my lists:

Random objects:
1.   Teacup
2.   Penny
3.   Candle

Random locations:
1.   In front of the kitchen sink
2.   In the wardrobe
3.   The fireplace

Things I’ve lost:
1.  Stories I wrote as a child – I’ve been writing almost as long as I can remember and wish I had those first scribblings
2.   Books – So many people have borrowed my books and not returned them, I don’t lend them out any more

Things I’ve found:
1.   A colleague’s wedding ring – I noticed a glint on the office floor.  It was his wedding ring and it had been squashed flat!
2.   A stranger’s bank card on the bus – She was on her way to buy her kids’ school uniforms so was very grateful I saw it

And somehow out of these lists came this little story, which is sort of about good luck!

 

The Teacup in the Fireplace

The teacup in the fireplace
In my great aunt’s house
Is almost hidden from view
By books
My great aunt’s house is full of books
So many books
My house
It’s my house now
She left it to me
Much to the disgust of everyone
I love books
I’ve written my own stories since I was a small child
I wish I had those first scribblings
I wish I had finished something
Maybe even had it published
Had a book
With my own name on
To put amongst the many books
In my great aunt’s house
She told me once that so many people
Had borrowed her books
And never returned them
That she didn’t lend them out any more
She didn’t let anyone in any more
To be here
With her
And her books
She just stayed alone
Drinking tea out of
The teacup in the fireplace
I see a glint on the floor
It’s my great aunt’s wedding ring
It must have fallen off
When she left
That last time
It has been squashed flat
Broken
Ruined
Like my great aunt
I walk over to the fireplace
The teacup in the fireplace
Is chipped
And coated in fine cracks
Like my great aunt
I hold the delicate china
And let it drop
It’s bad luck to hold onto negativity
And that cup was filled with it
I turn away from the fireplace
And throw the windows and door open
Letting the world come in
Letting the sunlight wander
Amongst the many books
In my great aunt’s house

Copyright, D M Day, 2017

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GloPoWriMo: Day 3

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GloPoWriMo: Day 3

The Day 3 prompt was to write an elegy – a poem that mourns or honours someone passed away or something gone by.  The elegy should be centred on an unusual fact about the person or thing being mourned as these types of details paradoxically breathe life into an elegy, making the mourned person real for the reader.  This poem is dedicated to my friend Jonathan who sadly passed away after an accident shortly after Christmas.  Ten years on and I still think of the life he wanted and never got to live.  Rest in peace.

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Abseiling Down Glass Buildings

When the window cleaners
On their ropes outside
Abseil down glass windows
I remember you

I remember you laughing
Because my boss didn’t trust you
To frank his mail
And I had to do it myself

I remember your kind words
When my boss reduced me to tears
After my entire world had fallen apart
And he couldn’t care less

I remember your smile
Your laugh
Your ink stained fingers
And your dreams of being a stuntman

I remember you getting a new job
Abseiling down glass windows
Almost a stuntman

You never did get to start that job
Abseiling down glass windows
You walked home that night
I will never forgive drunken drivers
I will never again drink a mojito
Without seeing your face

You were 21

When the window cleaners
On their ropes outside
Abseil down glass windows
I remember you

Copyright, D M Day, 2017

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The Empty Cradle

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On Mother’s Day, dedicated to the mothers whose babies couldn’t come home and to the mothers whose babies couldn’t stay.

Tiny baby fast asleep, too precious for this world to keep.

The Empty Cradle

The empty cradle rocks
Silence echoes
Deafening
Around the empty room
Around the empty house
My empty arms
Ache from holding
The heavy weight
My tears fall
From my full eyes
Into the empty cradle

Copyright, D M Day, 2017

100 Word Challenge: Demon

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100 Word Challenge: Demon

This is a 100 word challenge using the word “demon” for inspiration, writing 100 words exactly – no more, no less. I could either use the word – or any form of the word – as one of my 100, or it could be implied.

I have written this piece of microfiction using “demon” as inspiration.

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Even if it killed us both

When he left I was heartbroken. Distraught. Couldn’t deal with it. He was my first. My only. I had to get him back. Even if it killed us both.

Her black eyes shone as she handed me the bag and gave me instructions. I had to follow them exactly, or who knew what could happen.

There was a whimper when I took my virgin’s blood, ear splitting bangs when I burnt my offerings.

And now he’s here. Standing on my doorstep, mouth smeared in blood, reeking of death.

I had to get him back. Even if it killed us both.

Copyright, D M Day, 2016

Buddy

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Buddy

As a lot of people know I love old things.  Vintage clothes, antiques, old music, old movies.  I don’t like to say I was born in the wrong era like a lot of vintage enthusiasts, because in all honesty if I’d been born in a different era I’d probably still be somewhat displaced because I love so many of them!  Some of my favourite time periods include Ancient Egyptian, the 1920s and the 1960s.  I also like the 1950s, a decade already very popular in the vintage scene, which seems to become more and more popular every single day.  I’ve seen so much lately which is dedicated to rockabilly, I’ve been thinking about one of my favourite rockabilly stars, the sadly taken too soon Buddy Holly.  This poem is for him.

Buddy

September 1936 in Texas he was born
Charles Hardin Holley was the fourth child, also the youngest
Name too big for her boy his mother nicknamed him Buddy
A spelling error later on made him Buddy Holly
Learned piano, fiddle and guitar in a close family
He rebelled in church, said he had better places to be
Started in a country band, but opening for Elvis
Led to a dramatic change in the style of the young man
But the iconic glasses, bow tie and wide smile remained
A John Wayne line led to the Cricket’s first top forty hit
The band later split, that famous fateful Midwest tour came
With Ritchie and the Bopper he fell from the winter sky
Just 22 all was done, but the music never died
Remembered forever, in the changed face of rock ‘n’ roll

Copyright, D M Day, 2016

Hope

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Hope

This is a poem inspired by the life, and death, of David Oluwale.  This is one of the darkest parts of Leeds’ history and, sadly, it is largely forgotten.  Many people read the story today and are shocked that such events could have taken place.  But today our society is seeing a shocking rise in hate crime.

This is a poem inspired by the life, and death, of David Oluwale.  It is dedicated to all victims of hate crime.  It is a poem of hope that some day we will wake up in a better world.

The story of David Oluwale can be read about in The Hounding of David Oluwale by  Kester Aspden.  Information about Amnesty International’s #againsthate campaign can be found here.

Hope

I had hoped to see my home again
My mother
But is it home?
So long I’ve been here now

Stowaway they called me
Hidden in the cargo hold
Even when they tried to smoke us out
I was young and strong
Young and strong and full of hope

I was not the last to come
Or the only one unwelcome
The streets echo with cries
Cries of hate
Cries of fear

Hope is silent

Take away language
Take away colour
Can’t you see we are all the same?
We all have the same hopes

Hopes of a good life
Hopes of a happy life
That’s all

Hope that can’t be killed
No matter how deep the water you throw us into

Copyright, D M Day, 2016

NaPoWriMo – Day 25

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NaPoWriMo – Day 25

The day 25 prompt was to write a poem that began with a line from a another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then went elsewhere with it, the idea being for the original to furnish a sort of backdrop for my work, but without influencing me so much that I felt stuck just rewriting the original.  For example, I could begin, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,” or “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,” or “I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster,” or “they persevere in swimming where they like”.  Any poem would do to provide my starter line – just so long as it gave me scope to explore.  I decided to write a poem beginning with the last line of one of my favourite poems, The Chances by Wilfred Owen, and carry on Owen’s story where he left off, going back to England and the life Jim has left behind.

Jim’s Mad

The ruddy lot all rolled in one. Jim’s mad.
What were the chances?
My poor poor Jimmy
I screamed when they brought the telegram
Course
Thought he was knocked out for sure
But no
Worse
Much much worse

They told me not to go see him
But course I did
I’ll never forget that sight long as I live
Wide eyes, shaking, froth round those lips
which used to kiss me deep and slow

I must have looked the same
staggering out of that hospital
That hell hole for the lost men
Crying, shaking, threw up on the steps

I screamed once more
pulled at my hair
and wrenched that damn diamond off my finger

Copyright D M Day 2016

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More information about NaPoWriMo can be found at http://www.napowrimo.net/