Tag Archives: Summer

GloPoWriMo: Day 28

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GloPoWriMo: Day 28

The Day 28 prompt was to write a poem using Skeltonic verse.  Skeltonic verse gets its name from John Skelton, a fifteenth-century English poet who pioneered the use of short stanzas with irregular meter, but two strong stresses per line (otherwise know as “dipodic” or “two-footed” verse).  The lines rhyme, but there’s not a rhyme scheme per se.  The poet simply rhymes against one word until he or she gets bored and moves on to another.  My poem rhymes, but the lines are probably too long and it’s probably not dipodic, but I couldn’t get shorter lines to work and meter has never been my strong point!

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Buzzy Bee

Sitting in the sun I see
A buzzing little bumblebee
Flying near a blossom tree
And coming far too close to me
Loud the buzzing of its wing
Frightened of its tail’s sting
Whose use its life’s end will bring
I think I best get back inside
For to be stung I cannot abide
And the bee must survive
If we are all to stay alive

Copyright, D M Day, 2017

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Summer Chill

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Summer Chill

Summer is coming to an end, allegedly.  In reality, today has been red hot and sunny.  But that’s the British summer.  We have sunny days and we have rainy days and eventually it all fizzles out and it’s time for bonfires and fireworks.  This is a poem dedicated to the highs and lows of the Great British summer, and the beginning of autumn, whenever that may be.  Enjoy the weather, whatever you’re getting!

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Summer Chill

Blue skies
Grey skies
Sunshine
Rainstorms
Beautiful flowers
Watery eyes
Smoking barbecues
Flies attacking
Pollen’s up
Beer’s down

Long days
Short nights

Then suddenly

Kids are back at school
Rain falls every day
Pumpkins fill shop shelves
Fallen leaves litter the street

Summer is a memory
Summer is a craving
Something remembered
Something desired
Never forgotten
Never fulfilled

Copyright D M Day, 2016

The Great Lolly Ice Debate

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The Great Lolly Ice Debate

Being from Yorkshire and living in Liverpool has its challenges. Like sometimes people don’t understand a word I say. I say hole it sounds like oil, I say water it sounds like watter, coat sounds like court and coke sounds like cork. But generally they’re all pretty nice about it. Except when I say ice lolly. Apparently, that’s just wrong.

Now this particular story actually begins when I was still living in Leeds. Me and my Scouse boyfriend were spending a lovely sunny day in Haworth home of Yorkshire’s very own Fab Four the Brontes – I can hear people exclaiming that there were three sisters, but there was also their brother, Branwell, who was a little bit more rock and roll than his literary siblings, even at one point having an affair with his very own Mrs Robinson. Anyway, I’ll stop going off on a tangent. We were walking through the park we saw an ice cream van. I can’t eat ice cream, because I’m lactose intolerant so my boyfriend pointed at the van and asked “Do you want a lolly ice?”

Did I want a what now?

I laughed at him, told him it was called an ice lolly and inadvertently became an active participant in the Great Ice Lolly Debate.

My boyfriend’s argument was that you don’t say pop lolly, it’s lollipop. But I don’t see what that really has to do with it, because lollipops aren’t made of pop. Ice lollies are made of ice. I mentioned this to a friend of mine who looked at me very seriously and told me in Nottingham they call lollipops “suckers”. What now? Has the world gone mad?

He did agree that frozen ones are ice lollies though.

After that I pretty much forgot about it and just laughed at my boyfriend whenever frozen treats came up. Until I moved here and I learned that this isn’t just a Yorkie/Scouse culture clash thing. This is a real debate and it’s one which (apparently) is being argued about all over Liverpool.

I’ve heard arguments that it’s a matter of Northern pride, “Southerners say ice lolly”. Now that may be true, but I promise you we say ice lolly in Yorkshire, and we are not southerners. And my Nottingham friend says ice lolly, and while they’re more south than we are, pretty sure they’re not quite southerners either.

There’s the grammar argument in that ice can be a verb, a noun or an adjective but lolly can only be a noun. And then there’s my personal favourite, the ice cream argument. “If it’s lolly ice, that makes it cream ice, which is wrong”. Yes, yes it is. Cream cake is right, cream ice is wrong.

Then there’s, “that is just how you say it, end of”, from people on both sides of the debate.

Anyway, this is all giving me a headache of the non-brain freeze variety and summer still seems to be coming and going on pretty much an hourly basis. But on those days when we’ve had blue skies and sunshine, I’ve been sticking with my dairy free ice cream. It’s safer.

Copyright D M Day, 2016

A Surprise Trip

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A Surprise Trip

This is a poem I wrote for a writing group.  The prompt was the annual summer holidays, which sadly, it doesn’t look like I’m getting this year…  Still, I’ve had a couple of lovely sunny days at home (when the British weather decides to be summery for 24 hours) and I’ve also had a few productive days hiding from the rain and writing.  So it’s all good.  Now it’s coming towards the end, I hope you have all enjoyed your summer, with or without holidays at home or abroad!

Here’s to blue skies and sunshine and, most importantly, lovely summery cocktails!

A Surprise Trip

One surprise trip
For our anniversary
Thirty minutes to pack
Everything I’ll need
Three rainclouds outside
Will be lovely to get some sun
Four maxi dresses
Should be enough for days out
Eight different bikinis
String, strapless, bandeau
Two strappy pairs of heels
For cocktails on balmy evenings
Five bottles of sun lotion
And one of fake tan, just for, you know
Two passports grabbed
One front door locked
Two ears covered on the plane
One big surprise
Two people land
One big smile
One step out of the plane
Into -2 degrees, in Stockholm
One big row

Copyright, D M Day, 2016

British Barbecue Quandary

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British Barbecue Quandary

Well it’s the beginning of August and I’m sat in the house listening to the rain pound the windows while the builders fix up my bathroom.  This is the sound of the great British summer.  Rain and home improvements, and plenty of both.  My little corner of the internet is filled with pictures of my friends’ hot dog legs and sparkling colourful cocktails and beaches.  Not sure we’ll get a holiday abroad this year so we have to make the most of what we have here.  So here’s a little poem dedicated to the great British summer.  Long may it rain…  😉

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British Barbecue Quandary

Bee buzzes quietly
By bulging quinoa
Burger’s black, queasy
Bring brolly, quick!

Copyright D M Day, 2016

NaPoWriMo – Day 4

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NaPoWriMo – Day 4

For day four the prompt involved writing a poem inspired by T.S. Eliot’s line “April is the cruellest month” in his epic poem The Waste Land.  The prompt asked for a poem exploring what I think is the cruellest month.  I thought long and hard about each month of the year, and the negative things each one may hold, and it struck me that every month of the year will be hated by someone for some reason.  So I decided to write a 12 stanza poem, consisting of vignettes outlining why each month is cruel to 12 characters, human and animal, for whatever reason, some seemingly more superficial than others.  Here it is.

The Cruellest Month

Big Ben strikes twelve
And a new year begins
Tears dilute the champagne
Whose stem presses against
My naked finger
Cold and painful
This time twelve months back
When I surprised him
Surprised indeed
Walking into our flat
Her naked body straddling his
If I’d stayed with my family
For all the season
As was planned
I’d never have known
I’d be his wife
I’d be happy
January is the cruellest month

Red roses fill the office with perfume
My desk is empty
I’ve never received anything on this day
Never been kissed
For me there are thorns instead of flowers
Bitter taste in mouth
Instead of chocolate
February is the cruellest month

Madness, madness, madness
Run,run, run, run, run
I cannot breathe
My legs hurt
Why can’t they leave us alone?
Damn greyhounds
Can’t stop
Mustn’t get caught
March is the cruellest month

The water in the shower suddenly turns cold
I shriek, too high
Shit
I stumble out of the shower, shivering
My clothes are gone
My towel’s gone
The laughing starts as the doors fly open
And I am covered with
Something
Ketchup?
Chilli?
Blood
Blood
From a pig, I find out later
April is the cruellest month

The letters blur before my eyes
All the knowledge is forgotten
My hand shakes far too much to write
My tummy hurts
My tears fall
The man at the front
Says ‘times up, pen’s down’
It’s all over
Everything’s over
And I’ve not written a word
May is the cruellest month

Ten years ago on this date
They came and told me
My son had died
My little boy
Two weeks before his 21st
They said it would get easier with time
The pain would numb
But no
Every year it gets harder
June is the cruellest month

Today is two years
Since we stopped hoping
I hold another stick in my hand
Another negative stick
Another failure
This day next year
Will be one year
Since we stopped checking
It’s never going to happen
Not now
July is the cruellest month

The pain is excruciating
The heat radiating from my back
Fills the head
With unbearable fire
The stinging makes my jaw clench
Causing my teeth to throb
Inside my chattering mouth
So cold
So hot
Tomorrow
More shade
More water
Less sun
Less beer
August is the cruellest month

Stupid kids
Little shits
Screaming and running
Through the corridors
My head is pounding already
As if a single one of them
Could get their thick heads to understand
Shakespeare’s beautiful language
Or what Wilfred Owen went through
In the trenches
Not much older than they are now
How many days until Christmas break?
September is the cruellest month

In my bedroom I peer out of the window
At my friends and classmates
Out in the costumes
Laughing and having fun
Collecting chocolate
Carrying pumpkins
I jump as I hear the door slam
Father is home
I hear mother’s fearful voice
Trying to placate him
The annual celebrations annoy him so
He cannot stand it
The worst night of the year
Tomorrow will be bad
But will seem a dream compared with today
October is the cruellest month

Huddled in the corner
Whimpering
I’m so frightened
Why do they have to do it?
Every year
Every year for the last 400
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
My master strokes my head
The rest of the year
I have protected him
Would lay down my life for him
I lick his hand and he feeds me biscuits
Cuddling me close
Please let it be over soon
November is the cruellest month

The snow is deep outside
I dare not go out
Not with this hip
I think there’s some soup
Who would ever have thought
Tomato soup for Christmas dinner
My wife smiles at me
Her wedding dress is crisp and white
I miss her more and more each day
December is the cruellest month

Copyright D M Day 2016

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

The Dandelion

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So summer’s officially coming to an end.  The leaves are starting to change colour, I’ve bought my new winter hat, got some mini marshmallows to top my dairy free hot chocolate with (started making it with coconut milk which is amazing!) and my hayfever episodes are becoming fewer with every day that passes because all the polleny flowers are disappearing.  Despite making me sneeze I still love the little flashes of colour that flowers give us spring through summer, so in the spirit of saying goodbye to summer I’ve written a poem about one of my favourite spring/summer flowers, which no-one else seems to like very much.

The Dandelion

Some days are cold and wet
Some days are warm and sweet
None are perfect

Especially me

I do my best
A spark of yellow on a spring day
Shining and glowing in the grass
Quite beautiful you think
From afar

But up close no
The poison is out
And I am drenched
What did I do?

To deserve this reputation
This label
Weed

The burning fire is on me
My petals
Me stem
My roots
Dissolving under the liquid fire

What did I do?

Only my best

Copyright, D M Day, 2015