hey hey it's the first of May

May 1st is brimming over with symbolism - the transition from spring to summer, regrowth, the meeting of the human and spirit worlds and of course the international labour movement.

May Day liminal

Where were you, thirty-first of April,
And the zero’th day of May?
Obscured by smoke from Beltane beacons -
Drive cattle ‘tween the tway -
Or fervent recitations of
The Internationale, comrades,
By Billy Bragg, with fist on heart
Unite on Workers’ Day?
Did I oversleep Walpurgisnacht
Or get drunk on Calan Mai?
We’ve skipped from spring to summer
Without my notice either way.

So quick-quick to the holy well,
To sunwise-walk and offer
Up a precious shiny thing,
Picked carefully from the coffers.
Set yellow flowers at the door,
Roll, maidens in the dew,
Burn the horse-bones, ember-leap,
Appease the spirits true.

A festival of optimists,
Regrowth, fertility,
Though those two days I thought I glimpsed,
Keep calling out to me,
Forty-eight hours I’ll see no more,
Though e’er imaginary,
Lacunae of the calendar,
When dwell the faerie-sí.

Vicarious performance

Inspired by a 2-hour performance by Louiza Hamidi in Southampton, 26th April 2013.

Vicarious performance (mask)

I am scared and crying,
The slab-cold meat
Hangs cloyingly upon my face,
I sicken at its stink,
Its bloody mess
Will not let me see,
Out through the glass in front of me.

I am scared and crying,
I know the passers-by are staring,
In from the street, uncomprehending,
But I’m blinded by the flesh,
All I can do is stand, impassive,
A test of strength –
‘No reaction’ equals power
Over obstacles and fears
And any inability to access, connect, engage.

I am scared and crying,
But the rawness hides my tears.

NaPoWriMo day 30

Day 30 - here it is, NaPoWriMo done and dusted for 2013, over, complete, reached its terminus. Thanks to the admins for the inspiring prompts - I've thoroughly enjoyed the challenge and am pleased to have managed a poem for each, not to mention having my offering for Day 21 featured on the NaPoWriMo webpage - yay! The last prompt is to rewrite an existing shortish poem by changing words to their opposites and tweaking as necessary. I’ve gone for Stevie Smith’s Not Waving But Drowning.

Both still and surfacing

Everyone saw her, the woman who survived,

No more would she stand stoically:

You are no nearer than their imaginings

Both still and surfacing.

Fortunate lass, she never minded quietude

Later, as then, she’ll remain alive,

It will be warm enough for her, her heart will keep beating,

No-one will see.

Yes, yes, thrice yes, it will never be too cold

(The survivor will flee silently)

You’ll never be quite near enough

Both still and surfacing.

NaPoWriMo day 29

Oooo, it's NaPoWriMo day 29 - just one more to go - and the penultimate prompt is to write a poem including at least five words from other languages. I’ve gone for numbers as I’ve learned these and various other fragments of a fair few languages over the years. Here are the first six verses of what will be expanded into a rather longer piece…

Cheerleaders of the world unite

Two, four, six eight,
Do our words depreciate?
Three, five, seven, nine,
Not if we perform on time,
Speak the minute, second, hour,
Verses blossom, passion-flowered,
Cold black bile or sticky-sweet,
Angsty trick or tasty treat.

Deux quatre six huit
Does Baudelaire have Shakespeare beat ?
Trois cinq sept neuf
No chance ami, not on my turf,
The Bard’s just bought his ivory tower,
And skips stiff-ruffed ‘neath rush-lit bowers,
Soliloquys in Stratford’s streets,
Where airs and sonnets maidens meet.

Due quattro sei e otto,
Pay the piper, that’s my motto,
Tre e cinque sette nove,
Never mess with Kaiser Soze,
The Mafia have nowt on him,
Concrete-booted one-way swim,
Grist for King’s Pet Semetary,
Reanimated zombie - scary.

Zwei vier sechs acht,
Get your busking butt well-parked,
Drei fünf sieben neun,
Into the hat old pfennig coins,
Profits meagre, pickings slim,
Beholden to the punter‘s whim,
Though still enough to get mead-merry,
Ferment the hops, the grain, the berry.

Dau pedwar chwech wyth,
Stuff my face with bara brith,
Tri pump saith naw,
Off to eisteddfod, man of straw,
Poet-battles, kennings slam,
Metheglin drunk by the dram,
Flaunt your metaphor prowess,
Poetry, words‘ party-dress.

Tvö fjögurra sex átta,
Viking skalds and saga-chatter,
þrjú fimm sjö níu,
Sing ho and raise a longship crew,
Strike the oar upon the fjord,
Tie your bride‘s bright hand-fast cord,
Live your life by Havarmal,
Brief pre-Valhalla interval.

[to be continued...]

NaPoWriMo day 28

NaPoWriMo day 28 - a colour-poem – time to get the thesaurus out, plus a little bit of science…

400 nanometres (non-spectral)

Old Tyrian murex-dye
Stains the vestments of imperial nobility,
Royalty and piety,
They are born to it, so,
Peasant, no – you may not wear this
Colour of a wounded heart,
(We may permit it as a bruise)
Of Easter, Lent and Mardi Gras,
Look upon it, kneel and pray,
Or dance the carnival away,
See it in fruit and veg and bloom,
Like Cab Sav’s much sought-after grape,
In the vin rouge tasting room,
Plum and shine-skinned aubergine,
In the garden, mulberry,
The lilac and the lavender,
Orchids, mallows, fuchsia too,
Spring-petalled violet, delicate,
So many tints in nature’s palette,
Thistle, flower of the Scots,
And phlox, Jimi Hendrix’ fave,
Black-lit on stage,
At any psychedelic rave;
Mauve, from Perkin’s aniline,
Victorian synthetic
Found by serendipity,
Pizzazz, invented as a crayon,
Magenta (Hot and Sky and Haze)
Named for a battle, olden days ,
Steel Pink and bright quinacridone,
So many variations by Pantone,
Purple, purple everywhere,
Start wearing it for me.