365 Ways With Words

And Another Thing...

               

                                                go!

                                                welcome mat's gone

                                                failure – ultumatums – fucker

                                                nugatory demonstrator

                                                leave, because sin

 

                                                remember always

                                                you're charged

                                                you tripped

                                                you must feel guilt

                                                you – you – you!

 

                                                there's no putting right

                                                not permitted

                                                there's no way – no – way

                                                door's locked

                                                key's gone

 

                                                still, it turns

                                                delicious twists

                                                between the ribs

                                                wince – cry me out

                                                go!

To End

                                                                    It is a welcome death

                                                                    The path meets the road

                                                                    Sheets tied–gangplank lowered

                                                                                Rest

 

                                                                    The tip of the tail

                                                                    Wags on into the night

                                                                    But I leave the party (we all leave the party)

                                                                    And plod home alone

                                                                                Resign

 

                                                                    Taxiing on runway approach

                                                                    Settle back

                                                                    Only the washing up to do

                                                                    Before lights off

                                                                    Time for a siesta

                                                                                Reset

 

                                                                    Set down finale

                                                                    Within jackets, string and bows

                                                                    From now there is no daily tidy tuck

                                                                                Reserve

A Nip In The Air

                                                By mid-September thin light burrows

                                                Upon a goosed skin, upping the caress –

                                                The last wind of a high-minded summer –

                                                On the curling whisps is carried 

                                                A glowering nip in the air

                                                Light brush of divine winter death

 

                                                A crack in the sky bowl permits

                                                Demons and devil to whip all access to mercy

                                                Sewing heartless seeds in dust, unfolded misery

                                                Deep down beneath the glacier's binding

                                                Iced out, iced in, iced on

                                                Freeze still, and move no more

 

                                                Have all memories of our summer perished?

                                                Fears proud and timid poked the living to a still?

                                                Or are there bulbs yet beneath the chilling

                                                Ready-steadying to a new triumph?

                                                Breasted milk sap of comfort arise

                                                Take full the draught and let long light lead

I Say, You Say

                                        
                                                                Where the good earth became steamy air

                                                                And rolling mountains tore into sea

                                                                There was often a serene serendipity

                                                                Some things were all right

                                                                Wines flowed between our lips

 

                                                                In a sudden break

                                                                With tradition, with continuity,

                                                                The old onward path turned unkind

                                                                A necessary change occurred

                                                                Only a change was needed

 

                                                                But storms came, the worst yet

                                                                The boat sank with all hands

                                                                Being lost in the open sea is terrifying

                                                                Alone, a mighty empty thing

                                                                After the struggle all hope becomes lost

 

                                                                The second vision was clear –

                                                                A total crash; a tumbling write-off

                                                                Leaving us standing in trembling shock

                                                                Alive but together on the dark forest road

                                                                Ready for the next unknown phase

Eternal Elder

                                        Beside the clearing beside the water

                                        Seeking dappling damp footwet and limp

                                                Forever here as the galactic centre

                                        Elder knows all, old woman

 

                                        Tendergreen lengths new week-in, week-out

                                        Saving flexibility in sapped strength

                                                On a mission renewed year-in, year-out

                                        Elder meets at arm's length

 

                                        Thicket low hefty abandon whiteshake

                                        Trafficking heaving pollen for a million blue beady eyes

                                                Five in petal, protecting alive and dead

                                        Elder has the charm

 

                                        On the final cusp down among the grasses

                                        Jew's ears flick and spring long into frost

                                                Giving on in queenly afterlife potency

                                        Elder is eternal

Heroes

                                        
                                        Harold fights on three fronts

                                        In timid scare, to battle descend

                                        Cast hearts as limbs out beyond limits

                                                Down, down, down

 

                                        Scipio treats with deserters harshly

                                        Beheading Latins, crucifying Romans

                                        Exemplars all of turncoat creeds

                                                Down, down, down

                                        Richard faced the walls but once

                                        To see, and not to take

                                        A prudence that disappointed so

                                                Down, down, down

 

                                        Windgate takes the bull by the horns

                                        In mud and rain, deep penetration through

                                        To strike the mind if not the heel

                                                Down, down, down

 

                                        Full courage run on each for each

                                        The bitter gall, bladed grasp of blood

                                        Consumed and left in legend

                                                Down, down, down

Sweet Apples

                                            The scent of sweet apples roams

                                            September’s yielding rain-soaked skin

                                            A transient softness full of hard nose

 

                                            Black mulch mud proudly boot sole sticks

                                            Committing witless with wind-crept aridity

                                            An imprint baked firm dry to remain

 

                                            But such intensity is purloined on the rot

                                            Such richness arced in apple weeks

                                            On and on until to soil they are returned

 

                                            And so are all footfalls set down

                                            Awaiting a raindrop’s destructive power

                                            Or the windly ministrations days ahead

Rain Hammer

                                                        Tap tap tap

 

                                        Rain hammer

                                        Hits hardest

                                        On the softest heads

                                        Dropping misery

                                        Aching falls

 

                                                        Tap tap tap

 

                                        Drenching the spirit

                                        Chilling heat

                                        Sapping blood

                                        Stealing the voice

                                        Drowning from the feet up

 

                                                        Tap tap tap

 

                                        Untenable

                                        Unbeatable

                                        Unsustainable

                                        Rain hammer

                                        Pours in and devours

                                        Liquifies the soul

 

                                                        Tap tap tap

 

                                        Puddles remain

                                        Unevaporated sluice

                                        Pounded fleshmix

                                        Drip-dribble bones

                                        Evicerated hull

                                        Non-stop

                                        Rain hammer

 

                                                        Tap tap tap

The Final Straight

Only 16 more days to go! It feels like I am nearing the mainland, that there is the smell of land in the air and that I can drop a sail or two in the last few days before entering the sea-lanes and finally docking. Only, of course, I will not have quite written the full 365. I dropped three along the way for various reasons, some technical, and some personal.

So, I should really add another three at the end – which I may do – if I feel inclined – which at the moment I don't... I love writing, but I've had enough of this!

Perhaps 16+ days before the end is too soon to ruminate over a completed project, but this year of writing has taught me much – chiefly, that to take your art seriously is never a bad thing. If you have aspirations to artistry in any capacity, then time must be put in. Whilst it may take 10,000 hours to achieve fluency in the pursuit of any particular activity (less so if those hours are properly focused), one year in writing does not a writer make. Yes, to be a successful writer requires daily commitment, but daily output in a task like this varies with mood, energy, opportunity, imagination and desire. Some days I amazed myself, whilst others were really an intense drag. Some pieces I am still proud of, whilst others are undoubtedly best forgotten. Publishing daily made me examine grammar a little closer and although there are many split infinitives, passive voices and a host of other blots to my copy book, I stand by intention over mechanisation, fluidity over nicety, perception over technique. Someone recently mentioned to me that I should perhaps get a student to study the blog's development as an extant corpus. Whilst that is flattering, I doubt it is worth the salt.

On a personal note, daily creative writing made me at times look hard into the soul to see what was there. Some discoveries were real surprises, but on many other occasions I did not like what I had found. Such is found in us all: a little light and shade, goodness and badness, bravery and cowardliness, profundity and the profoundly dim.

My aim at the outset was to examine my ability to create in different genres, to give as many of them a go as I could. I included Sci-fi (much maligned in British minds), psychological examinations, ideas, comments, serials and more besides. I like writing poetry: there is an emotional immediacy to it. Hence, I have writted more than a few poems of which I am rightly proud.

Some work has been easily jotted down in an hour, whilst others have taken days (even weeks) to put together. Some work came easily, the ideas flowing from the fingertips, whilst others were pressed out with seconds to go before midnight. Sometimes alcohol helped, at other times was the inspiration, and at other times took power away. I endeavoured to put meaning – real solid meaning – into everything, but at times admittedly fell a little short. I suppose that had I given myself more time, then that would all have been rectified, but that's not the point of writing a post every day, nor is it possible. It is to my regret that pieces I would dearly have liked re-written and refined are half-finished. That may have put more than a few readers off. If it's any consolation, it did me, too!

I have not included any screenplays or theatre plays. They are difficult genres that are easily emulated, but which require much time, energy and dedication in order to get over the 'adolescent' stage of writing. I thought about a minimal token work something along the lines of Beckett, but decided the risks were too great.

The final straight is therefore in sight. It's about time to break out the rum. Thank you for reading my work. The (admittedly self-administered) demand to post every day has been a hard and unyielding mistress, but your Facebook likes and comments have several times made the difference between coming to an abrupt stop or continuing. Some pieces will make their edited and expanded way into a published work or two in the near future, something that might actually make me some money! If you have travelled this far, then please continue with my journey to the end. I have written for your eyes and dearly hope that I have brought you some pleasure along the way.

Doors, Houses, Beer and Monsters

                                                One door closes and another opens

                                                It is the way of things

                                                How much I have seen this – my nose stuck in the very grain

 

                                                From outside in the cold, all houses look inviting

                                                And yet it is the very living that proves

                                                So we must believe – but for God's sake make that selection

 

                                                From the bottom of the beer glass

                                                Things look right, full, bright, balanced and easy

                                                Close up, they flounder – a counsel dripped in slipped memory

 

                                                Look forward to monsters!

                                                They  morph into sleeplessness, a charm or a definition

                                                And on that note I bid you goodnight!