APAD 25 prompt: a poem inspired by a song
Song: Siyahamba (We are Marching) - a gospel tune, songwriter unknown
We are marching in the streets today
We are marching in the streets
today
We are marching, parching
We are touching yay!
We are marching in the streets today.
We are living unsustainably
We are living
unsustainably
We are living, giving
We are thieving, oh
We are living unsustainably.
We are moving without power or love
We are moving without power
or love
We are moving, grooving
We are striving, yeh
We are moving without power or love.
We are marching, living
We are moving, but
We are stuck in problem-answer mass
We are marching, living
We are moving, AND
we are suffocating in our trash.
The Galahs
The two of them
with heads cocked
about to launch
off the roof
no doubt to grub
out the roots
in several chosen
back yards.
Or considering
another round
of powerline
swinging, an
opportunity just to
have fun, cackle.
NaPoWriMo 25
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, April 26, 2010
Off the Cuff 22: Earthly Concerns & The Massive Comb-Over
APAD 22 prompt: an Earth poem
Earthly Concerns
There are only three things
poets write about, he says:
love. death. landscape.
By day we drive back
saying, so this is what
it looks like: sandy, dead.
Late at night, on the way,
we were comet riders, burning
a hole in the blackness.
You play with my hair
as I drive; you say it's all good
whatever I decide.
We are earthed in over eighteen
years of travelling together,
looking for Orion's belt again
exploring the contours of love
mother and daughter, earthbound
guessing the messages of the heavens.
The Massive Comb-Over
Laughter.
Cooing and patting.
What's the matter?
(I'm irritated)
Look in the mirror
Mum. Your hair!
Laughter.
(I see what
she means!)
Ruffling, she lets
my hair look
a little less
proper.
NaPoWriMo 22
Earthly Concerns
There are only three things
poets write about, he says:
love. death. landscape.
By day we drive back
saying, so this is what
it looks like: sandy, dead.
Late at night, on the way,
we were comet riders, burning
a hole in the blackness.
You play with my hair
as I drive; you say it's all good
whatever I decide.
We are earthed in over eighteen
years of travelling together,
looking for Orion's belt again
exploring the contours of love
mother and daughter, earthbound
guessing the messages of the heavens.
The Massive Comb-Over
Laughter.
Cooing and patting.
What's the matter?
(I'm irritated)
Look in the mirror
Mum. Your hair!
Laughter.
(I see what
she means!)
Ruffling, she lets
my hair look
a little less
proper.
NaPoWriMo 22
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Off the Cuff 13: Socks & A lifetime in & out of love for Melbourne Ch 1
APAD 13 prompt: a love poem
Socks
This became a morning joke:
she would ask both of us
if she could borrow a pair.
She washes them afterwards,
rolls them as she ought.
On Monday, while she was
at college, I selected the six
pairs she likes best. I put them
on her bed. From now on
they belong to her feet.
Driving to work this morning along the new bypass, I realised I have had a long-term love/dislike relationship to Melbourne, the City. So I've begun a series called A Lifetime In and Out of Love for Melbourne.
Chapter 1: 1950 - 1954
Luckily, when I was small,
I was everything and
everything was me, until
that day, the date never known,
when I became an entity, and
home showed up as a half-house
on a busy road in Ormond
where the number was 132
and I told Daddy it should be
123 (that's the right order).
He had made a number plate
for my wooden train, just
the same, and I was angry
at the inaccuracy. I was three,
at least. God, judge and separate
already. From this house
I learned to take my sister by
public bus to kindergarten.
I loved the black doll
in the pusher, pretending
I was Mum. My sister
refused to continue
because of The Pinchy Boy
but I still went, alone on the bus
several blocks, happy.
Kindergarten was in a church.
It still stands in Grange Road.
Daddy was a tally clerk,
then he studied teaching.
He had a set of printer's
blocks because before me
there was another life
making newspapers. I
loved to organise the blocks
alphabetically. Melbourne
for me then was dappled
light, Dad's knee, excited
conversations, folk music
and the Unions (which were-
like Daddy's cooking
and Mummy's ironing -
right and necessary).
NaPoWriMo
Socks
This became a morning joke:
she would ask both of us
if she could borrow a pair.
She washes them afterwards,
rolls them as she ought.
On Monday, while she was
at college, I selected the six
pairs she likes best. I put them
on her bed. From now on
they belong to her feet.
Driving to work this morning along the new bypass, I realised I have had a long-term love/dislike relationship to Melbourne, the City. So I've begun a series called A Lifetime In and Out of Love for Melbourne.
Chapter 1: 1950 - 1954
Luckily, when I was small,
I was everything and
everything was me, until
that day, the date never known,
when I became an entity, and
home showed up as a half-house
on a busy road in Ormond
where the number was 132
and I told Daddy it should be
123 (that's the right order).
He had made a number plate
for my wooden train, just
the same, and I was angry
at the inaccuracy. I was three,
at least. God, judge and separate
already. From this house
I learned to take my sister by
public bus to kindergarten.
I loved the black doll
in the pusher, pretending
I was Mum. My sister
refused to continue
because of The Pinchy Boy
but I still went, alone on the bus
several blocks, happy.
Kindergarten was in a church.
It still stands in Grange Road.
Daddy was a tally clerk,
then he studied teaching.
He had a set of printer's
blocks because before me
there was another life
making newspapers. I
loved to organise the blocks
alphabetically. Melbourne
for me then was dappled
light, Dad's knee, excited
conversations, folk music
and the Unions (which were-
like Daddy's cooking
and Mummy's ironing -
right and necessary).
NaPoWriMo
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