NaPoWriMo #10

Prompt: an unlove poem


There’s love there

Like a stone in the shoe

Rubbing toes to

Welting point,

Or one patch of sunburn

under my bra strap,

A vinegar paper cut,

A river of sweat, sand and sun cream





You complete my day

like government cutting benefits

for my own welfare,

A politician puffing & stammering,

Inky papers, staining fingers

A lie, smirk, lie, repeat…


I’m sure of you

Like Delhi belly or Dengue Fever,

Like a poem that rhymes unintentionally,

or a cliff-hanger that won’t download,

Light bulbs growing dimmer

when there’s work to be done,

A song on repeat

earworming inappropriately

during staff meetings,

during ice showers

and dripping taps,

A tangle of covers

kicked off

in the depths of snow,

a busted fuse, or leaking window panes,

A car alarm wailing

in the fury of night,

A sat nav hollering directions

With nowhere to go.


You are the everything

The salt in coffee,

Three pennies short of the fare,

The Marmite, the inkless pen

A hacking cough,

Flat tires, cracked nails

And crack heads,

pins and needles and

a long walk ahead.


You are everything

A collection of hats,

dusty logos

A shred of cigarette papers

and ashy pipes,

Geek cards and fast cars,

Beer spilled circles

(last week sticky, this week heralding new life)

Staircases and mountains

and roads to mischief

paved with destruction

You are everything.

A-Z Bloggers Challenge #9: I

Inspiration Indecision and the Vast Tyranny of Choice.

Today’s blog was a toughie. I didn’t know what to write. Nothing jumped up and punched me in the face and said “Write me, bitch!” That’s the kinda stuff that usually happens! I asked for suggestions and got loads and still nothing piqued my interest. Sometimes you’ve got to force yourself to dig deep into the well to find your creativity and sometimes it is exploding all over the place, out of your control. Swings and roundabouts!

I used to write a lot. Not everyday mind you, but enough to make it feel worthwhile. I think a lot too and most times by the time I put pen to paper, my poem is pretty much in the shape I want it. I’ve been trying over the last while to write different things. I’ve got a shitty chicklit novel that has been sitting untouched at just under the 9,000 word mark for years and at some point soon I will force myself to complete it….not for sale or publication but just as an exercise. (Maybe this year I should do NaNoWriMo)

I’ve blogged every week since I’ve moved to Mexico and am enjoying forcing myself to publish every week.

Because for the last few years all my writing was for a specific purpose; either academic essay or SBM performance it seems weird now just to be writing for the sake of writing. I’m enjoying the month of challenges. I’m enjoying just writing, not worrying about if it’s good or profound, just putting pen to paper, or finger to keyboard. I’m thinking that at some point something will hit me and I’ll really want to write about it. It’ll be my thing. And then maybe I’ll really feel like a writer, rather than a dabbler.

I like talking to other writers about how and why we do what we do but I have learned over the years, not to compare and not to stress if my process matches theirs. Everything is different but perfectly ok.

“A word is not the same with one writer as with another.  One tears it from his guts.  The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket”.  ~Charles Peguy