Everyday Poetry

Day 25: '  write a poem based on the “ Proust Questionnaire ,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and  adapted by modern interviewers . You could choose to answer the whole questionnaire, and then write a poem based on your answers, answer just a few, or just write a poem that’s based on the questions. You could even write a poem in the form of an entirely new Proust Questionnaire.' Typically I read the prompt in a rush before going swimming, seized on the word 'virtue' and composed something while in the pool.  It was only when I got back home that I realised the question was about the most overrated virtue.  Too late, I've written instead about the most underrated virtue: kindness.  It's hidden in the little things That brighten up each day. It's in the chores done without prompting,  The coins you save for my after-swim hairdryer,  The morning coffee brewed with a smile , The blanket shared on chilly evenings. It's in the well

Day 24: ' write a poem that begins with a line from another poem, but then goes elsewhere with it. This will work best if you just start with a line of poetry you remember, but without looking up the whole original poem. Or you could find a poem that you haven’t read before and then use a line that interests you. The idea is for the original to furnish the backdrop for your work, but without influencing you so much that you feel as if you are just rewriting the original!' I didn't have time to give this the attention it deserves,  but here's what I came up with.  The title is taken from the translation of Rabindranath Tagore's One Hundred Years Hence. Whilst he was certain the unknown poet in the future would read his lines,  I've taken a more realistic view! Not one of my best,  but I was in a rush to go out.  A hundred years from now No-one will know, or care What size of jeans I wear.  My daily angst over what to eat That I should care more for my feet, Wheth

Day 23: ' write a poem about, or involving, a superhero, taking your inspiration from  these four poems  in which  Lucille Clifton  addresses Clark Kent/Superman.' My childhood hero was Batman, which used to be on TV around tea time on the night I used to go to Girl Guides.  It was the series starting Adam West as Batman and Burt Ward as his sidekick Robin, and there was just about enough time to watch up to the closing credits before I had to run out the door.  The TV had pride of place opposite the dining table, Encouraging the habit of watching TV at mealtimes,  Eating too fast, matching the pace of the action onscreen, Not noticing what was disappearing from the plate.  Friday evenings were spent with the caped crusaders,  With just enough time to eat dinner and grab my stuff  Before the mad dash to Guides. The jeopardy of the rush  Increased the excitement of Batman chasing the villains,  Landing a Biff! Pow! Bam! on their weak and puny bodies,  His cape swirling in their

Day 22: ' write a poem in which two things have a fight. Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it. Like, maybe a comb and a spatula. Or a daffodil and a bag of potato chips. Or perhaps your two things could be linked somehow – like a rock and a hard place – and be utterly sick of being so joined. The possibilities are endless!' I'm devoid of surrealist imagination this morning,  but I do have strong memories of long car journeys when our children were small.  Each journey would start well enough With cassette tapes of jolly children's songs To sing along to; both sides on constant repeat.  We'd turn to games of 'I spy', 'First one to spot',  Their favourite: 'I'm thinking of an animal'. We'd talk about what we wanted to do Once we arrived in Cornwall,  Where there were cousins to play with,  Sandy beaches, animal sanctuaries, The excitement of Flambards fairground.  But there were too many miles from London.  It would begin with

Day 21: ' write a poem that repeats or focuses on a single color. Some examples for you – Diane Wakoski’s “ Blue Monday ,” Walter de la Mare’s “ Silver ,” and Dorothea Lasky’s “ Red Rum .”' "Come in," she said,   "it's time there was more of you in my life," And starting small, her nails took on a scarlet sheen,  A hint of depth, of danger, beneath her surface.  Next, her lips blazed red -  it took a while to find the perfect shade -  And longer still before others had the chance To see how it lit up her frequent smile. Once ushered in, red found itself at home Among her safer colours.   Blue and black, good friends, still hung about, Reliable, safe.  But in amongst,  Bright splashes of red, and its cousin pink, Lit up her life with warmth, and fun. Soon shoes, boots, a purse, a bag, appeared,  A t-shirt, dress, a winter coat,  And soon her day was incomplete  Without a splash of red t o draw the eye, To stop her blending in.  ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Au

Day 20:'   write a poem that recounts a historical event.' I haven't got time for a lot of research this morning,  so I'm drawing on my memories of marching against fascism and in support of socialism, in London and Manchester in the late 1970s. It seemed necessary, almost commonplace, To travel on a coach with fellow students, With our long hair, flares and desert boots,  Singing rallying songs, putting the world to rights, Completely convinced of our convictions. It was thrilling to be marching amongst thousands A wild blend of backgrounds, a melting pot,  All calling and responding to chants, We felt sure of saving the world, Righteous glory ate up the miles.   Brightly printed banners marked affiliations - Socialist Workers, Communists,  Labour,   L iberal,  every Trade Union under the sun -  For that day our divisions didn't matter,  Our unity was our strength.   At day's end we'd reach a park,  For speeches, songs and celebrations. A fog of nostalgia c