Sunday 31 January 2016
Short Forms January 31st 2016
wanting to die
but uncertain of her
ultimate destination. dreams
of Hell
© Rachel Green 2016
wet grass
the cat turns her nose up
new dog
© Rachel Green 2016
rolling over
I suddenly wake
nauseous
tobacco oil on my duvet
somewhat unpleasant
© Rachel Green 2016
remember
the time you died
and I panicked
trying to revive you
you slowly came around
crying
I wish I'd left you then
© Rachel Green 2016
disturbed sleep. anxiety dreams. Vengeful editor.
© Rachel Green 2016
daily 30th January 2016
1. a narrow strip of land, bordered on both sides by water, connecting two larger bodies of land.
2. Anatomy, Zoology. a connecting, usually narrow, part, organ, or passage, especially when joining structures or cavities larger than itself.
3. Ichthyology. the narrow fleshy area between the sides of the lower jaw of a fish.
Tibby Shiels Inn
an hotel on an isthmus
wish I'd been single
Facebook Haiku
January 30: Yukon
online friend
sends pictures of the Yukon.
I'll never visit
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
sunshine in the window, rainbows in the room.
stuff done.
plastering at Liane's
shopping
no writing
Written today:
poem -
Gilded Cage (6)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Saturday 30 January 2016
short forms 30th January 2016
stuggy geezer
despite her intention
to stay single for a few years
free love
© Rachel Green 2016
thin clouds
fade to vanishing point
roads to nowhere
© Rachel Green 2016
the cat
sick with a cold
blocked up
her face looks like
she grew a walrus moustache
© Rachel Green 2016
sleeping dogs
dachshund corgi cross
takes up the whole sofa
Jack can't see much
but he know his bed
is unavailable
cries for mom
© Rachel Green 2016
novella going well. just too short
© Rachel Green 2016
Friday 29 January 2016
1. the point on the celestial sphere vertically above a given position or observer.
2. a highest point or state; culmination.
last day of the month
the zenith of working life
bank balance hits black
Facebook Haiku
29th yuletide/yule
silent city
a man celebrates his life
homeless
for NaHaiWriMo
lots of house cleaning today.
Something that made me smile today:
putting the cat's bell on the dog's collar - cue Trickster barking whenever she hears Amos. The idea is it'll stop them associating bells with the cat.
I wish I'd started writing this version of Gilded Cage a year ago. It would have been a full length novel by now. I have to finish it in 8K and I've barely started.
Written today:
poem -
Gilded Cage (1100)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Short forms 29th January 2016
she misses Ma
despite never knowing
the woman who gave her a chance
at life
© Rachel Green 2016
dark clouds
racing across the landscape
broken trees
© Rachel Green 2016
Never by Name
Jasfoup is written out
of a story
but the brother can still suffer
for the sins of the father
© Rachel Green 2016
house cleaning
becomes priority
living like pigs
Lina and I bond
over the love of dogs
and walking in the rain
sunshine? "It burns," she says
© Rachel Green 2016
the idle cat. breakfast in bed.
© Rachel Green 2016
daily 28th January 2016
1. free from concern, worry, or anxiety; carefree; nonchalant.
she budgets for milk
her insouciant husband
on a week's furlough
Facebook Haiku
Jan 28: yucca
clad in hemp sacks
sadness in an English winter
frostbitten yucca
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
Dog walking with Lina in the sunshine
housework, writing, gaming. The darn drawers still don't fit
Written today:
poem -
Gilded Cage (1100)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Thursday 28 January 2016
Short forms 28th January 2016
still her Da's kid
sneaks into his bedroom
to retrieve confiscated toys
antiques
© Rachel Green 2016
morning sunshine
through bare willow withies
a flight of sparrows
© Rachel Green 2016
writing
still a struggle
but coping
the story is better
for a year in the writing
© Rachel Green 2016
two dogs
terrorise the cat
she's afraid to come down
Lina suggests her bell
may be the root of the problem
the dogs hear her coming
bell duly removed
© Rachel Green 2016
Her anxiety laden dreams. Money worries.
© Rachel Green 2016
Wednesday 27 January 2016
1. inclined to quarrel or fight readily; quarrelsome; belligerent; combative.
the bullies of youth
loud mouthed and pugnacious yobs
I wish I'd known krav
Stabbed myself with a scalpel framing two pictures (not mine)
Facebook Haiku
January 27: yurt
woodland yurt
gives way to wooden roundhouse
commercial shaman
for NaHaiWriMo
Walked the dogs with Lina then later, walked then all to the shop on one triple lead
Something that made me smile today:
Subbed three art pieces to THE A5 MAGAZINE
I'm a bit lacking in poetry at present -- so much for 'a poem a day -- I'm about a week behind.
More writing today.
Put the chest of drawers back together and none of the drawers shut. I had to sand them all off again.
Written today:
poem -
Gilded Cage (1200)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Short forms 27th January 2016
protagonist
now the tale is told
from a new point of view
straight girl
© Rachel Green 2016
winter leaves
on rain spattered windows
a single ladybird
© Rachel Green 2016
January 27th
my sister's birthday
yes, we're close
we see each other
about once a year
© Rachel Green 2016
love
blossoms slowly
secretly
shared grief
becomes mutual love
single mums
budding relationship
© Rachel Green 2016
Writing. Sleeping in front of the computer.
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 26th January 2016
1. excess; overabundance:
nimiety of mere niceties in conversation.
2. an instance of this.
she thinks she's drowning
in a nimeity of
niceness. Church outing.
Facebook Haiku
January 25: YODEL/YODELER
frost bitten trees
the yodel of a crow
roadkill
for NaHaiWriMo
I've not really done anything today but wite and game. I did go to the shop at one point and apparently Amos cried so much that it woke Lina up.
Something that made me smile today:
The cat ate. I was getting worried.
Gilded Cage has shifted again - now the Gran is alive (and dolally) to provide the plot points now the mother is dead.
Written today:
poem -
Gilded Cage (1100)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Tuesday 26 January 2016
Short forms 26th January 2016
revelations;
their dad an abuser
but the children had no voices.
Sixties.
© Rachel Green 2016
willow withies
reaching for the sky
wind-blown plastic
© Rachel Green 2016
I get a lie-in
until eight o'clock
woken by woofing
Lina's dog, confused Lu
wasn't up at six a.m.
© Rachel Green 2016
crippling headache
after falling asleep
mid sentence
what is it about writing
that switches off my mind
closes my eyes?
am I that boring?
© Rachel Green 2016
evidence of the cat: eaten food
© Rachel Green 2016
Monday 25 January 2016
Poem 2016 / 20
morning short forms 25th January 2016
of useful names
found in conversation
for genderqueer characters.
Ellis
© Rachel Green 2016
scattered clouds
against the blue
two sparrows
© Rachel Green 2016
he cries
for no good reason
Jack
He wants some attention
but I'm busy writing
© Rachel Green 2016
writing steps up
to a half-decent level
fifteen hundred words
half being operative
I want to double that
every day for a week
time jump required
© Rachel Green 2016
the dog cries. She breaks inside.
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 24th January 2016
1. crying out noisily; clamorous.
2. characterized by or uttered with vociferation:
a vociferous manner of expression.
"go in the garden"
prompts vociferous dismay
"but it's raining..."
Spent the morning helping Liane at her house -- shaving doors and tip run
Facebook Haiku
January 24: yore
petty spurge
my father's father's cure
for warts
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
lots of writing done. I have a week to finish Gilded Cage
Also first coat of paint on the dresser.
Written today:
poem - 019
Gilded Cage (1400)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Sunday 24 January 2016
Poem 2016 / 019
short forms 24th January 2016
life in Cornwall
proceeds as normal as
it can be with an old demon
let loose
© Rachel Green 2016
no sparrows
to grace the garden
hungry cat
© Rachel Green 2016
overnight visitors
the dog on high alert
nervous barking
she's terrified of one
a gentle man
© Rachel Green 2016
too fat
from inactivity
depression
pressure sores
on my stomach skin
lazy
must.find.classes
© Rachel Green 2016
sanded and undercoated. her distressed future
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 23rd January 2016
selenology [sel-uh-nol-uh-jee] noun
1. the branch of astronomy that deals with the nature and origin of the physical features of the moon.
Ambrose was once a great
advocate of selenology
but grew old, and forgot
Neither Jack nor Trickster ate today. Trickster was ill in the night but perked up on our walk.
In a bit of pain today. Couldn't concentrate on writing. I am fail.
Facebook Haiku
January 23: yoke
night cries
beautiful vixen won't let go
screaming fox
for http://www.facebook.com/pages/NaHaiWriMo/108107262587697 NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
DK's new 'rad' hairstyle
Falling down the stairs the other day has damaged by toe to the point where it's difficult to walk.
I was never really into train sets but this is amazing; You Can Now Explore the World’s Largest Train Set Using Google Street View
Sanded the reclaimed chest of drawers and undercoated it
Written today:
poem -
Gilded Cage (600)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Saturday 23 January 2016
running into Da
coming back from the mine
what's he been doing, out so late
puzzled
© Rachel Green 2016
bright spot
behind the grey clouds
glory
© Rachel Green 2016
the cat cries
desperately hungry
begging
she hasn't eaten for two days
turns her nose up at everything
© Rachel Green 2016
Trickster
dejected
tail down
she's been sick in the night
worried I'll be cross
doesn't want breakfast
I hope she cheers up
© Rachel Green 2016
overdue novella. She tries really hard
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 23rd January 2016
1. a sunken area in the snow marking a backward fall of a skier.
Apple batteries
climbing its product mountain
beware the sitzmarks
Facebook Haiku
January 22: YON/YONDER
moving lights
over the mistbound marshland
northward geese
for http://www.facebook.com/pages/NaHaiWriMo/108107262587697 NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
Cards against Humanity with Rosie and Bubbles
The scariest TV show when I was a kid Television drama "Escape into night"
Amazing Land Art Simon Beck
Written today:
poem - 17
Gilded Cage (1000)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Friday 22 January 2016
2016 / 018
Short Forms 22nd January 2016
on her left palm
from before memory
loose screw on her childhood pram
telling
© Rachel Green 2016
morning frost
on the top of the compost
dead worms
© Rachel Green 2016
the cat, hungry
won't eat her food
no interest
even the best brands
won't tempt her
© Rachel Green 2016
early dawn
outside the window
a sentinel
the telephone wires
invisible in the darkness
just the pole
always watching
© Rachel Green 2016
A brace of dogs. Poor cat.
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 21st January 2016
1. the practice of coming to work despite illness, injury, anxiety, etc., often resulting in reduced productivity.
2. the practice of working long hours at a job without the real need to do so.
her work discouraged
presenteeism -- illness
shared by all workers
early shopping while I had the car
Facebook Haiku
January 21: YOGA
downward dog
produces surprise and dismay
angry cat
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
Getting to grips with the story at last
ordered some sanding discs and a paperback copy of 'White Lies' from Amazon
TV, gaming.
Amos does not like being brushed.
Written today:
poem - 17
Gilded Cage (1150)
Rolling In (250)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Thursday 21 January 2016
Poem 2016 / 017
Rolling In
Morninf Short Forms
for cowpat field
they go the long way round
across the open Bodmin moor.
Terror.
© Rachel Green 2016
scraping windows
in a bed of morning frost
blackbird footprints
© Rachel Green 2016
fuckwittery
in the checkout line
call assistant
Tesco self service
hates Lidl's bags
© Rachel Green 2016
I worry
about the length of time
it takes to do anything.
Halfway through the novella
and nothing's really happened
to our protagonist
adding a demon now...
© Rachel Green 2016
Dogs. Best start to a day.
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 20th January 2016
[ap-uh-sahy-uh-pee-seez] Rhetoric.
1. a sudden breaking off in the midst of a sentence, as if from inability or unwillingness to proceed.
she demonstrates her
aposiopesis in
conversation with...
laundry, gaming, writing, bathing Amos, writing, gaming
Facebook Haiku
January 20: YOLK
sudden freeze
ends the January spring
discarded eggs
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
Writing.
The snake tank was collected - one less piece of clutter.
Written today:
poem - 16
Gilded Cage (1000)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Wednesday 20 January 2016
Poetry 2016/016
Morning Poetry 20th January 2016
bursts of laughter
in the ancient kitchen
where three friends are smoking good weed.
Censored?
© Rachel Green 2016
in the east
a glimmer of lighter clouds
gull's cry
© Rachel Green 2016
Amazon sales
my Bluegrass Mandolin book
for a fiver
It cost three times that
twenty years ago
© Rachel Green 2016
will I be sad
when my ex dies?
will I grieve?
will I remember
the times of laughter
or the anger?
the broken jaw?
© Rachel Green 2016
ghost tales scare less than husbands
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 19th January 2016
1. Informal. to cease functioning, especially suddenly and completely; fall apart; fail:
As soon as the storm hit, every light in town went kerflooey.
an inch of snow and
Britain goes kerflooey. Time
to invest in skis?
Facebook Haiku
January 19: Yoda
old fisherman
gutting herring on his boat
flocking gulls
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
The bin men taking all the accumulated cardboard
Ah, 1000 or so words written, but yesterdays re-written. I've taken out the folk-tale of Old Nick and replaced it with fairies
Written today:
poem - 15
Gilded Cage (1000)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Tuesday 19 January 2016
Poem a Day 2016 / 15
Morning poetry 19th January 2016
of old legends
with the one of Old Nick
being a primary source of
honour
© Rachel Green 2016
pink skies
give way to dark clouds
magpie chatters
© Rachel Green 2016
from the cliffs
the pure blue-green of the sea
emerald clarity
a broken pine tree
silhouetted
© Rachel Green 2016
major film
Leonado di Caprio
American Hero
the plot starts well
with no explanation
lots of action
then just drags on and on
© Rachel Green 2016
lounging dogs echo her lethargy. Depression.
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 18th January 2016
1. eternal; everlasting.
aeonian matter:
everything he does and
whatever she says
Facebook Haiku
January 18: yikes
tenant's phone call
mice in the lounge and bedroom
cat allergies
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
Getting some writing done.
Cinema with Dk. "Revenant" Tedious.
Written today:
poem -
Gilded Cage (600)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Monday 18 January 2016
Morning Poetry 18th January 2016
knuckling down
to finish the story
in the next two weeks. Plan it like
Nano
© Rachel Green 2016
barking dogs
race around the house
nonchalant cat
© Rachel Green 2016
fabulous weekend
in the depths of Torquay
long walks
the clifftops afford views
cormorants and penguins
© Rachel Green 2016
sleeping
in the back of the car
reading
a tablet
enables night journeys
to faraway places
motorway lullaby
© Rachel Green 2016
pictures of herself. She's too fat.
© Rachel Green 2016
Friday 15 January 2016
Morning poetry 15th January 2016
a piggy back
to his dad's new lodger.
Even his sister can see love
coming
© Rachel Green 2016
glum school child
marches along the pavement
wind-blown chip tray
© Rachel Green 2016
she does tests
on the computer
asks me for help
not to cheat in any way
but to confirm her answers
© Rachel Green 2016
stress test
gives me a headache
eye pain
I don't mind maths
but when I have time pressure
it drives me crazy
the person next to me is gibbering
© Rachel Green 2016
Weekend away. She misses her dogs.
© Rachel Green 2016
Thursday 14 January 2016
Daily January 14th 2016
hebetude [heb-i-tood, -tyood]noun
1. the state of being dull; lethargy.
hundreds of toys and
games. The hebetude of kids.
The cries of 'I'm bored.'
Took Trickster to the vets. Oddly, the vet was Dina from Jiu-jitsu. How cool. Trickster's got a throat infection and should be fine in a day or five.
Facebook Haiku
January 14: YEOMAN
Grace Lee Whitney,
her sad demise eclipsed.
Leonard Nimoy
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
My novel "Sons of Angels" appearing in paperback when I was under the impression I had the print rights to it.
Into town for usual shopping
Not a lot achieved today.
Written today:
poem - 14
Gilded Cage (400)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Daily Poem 2016 / 014
Self Portrait at 7:00 AM
Light on, eyes focused
my naked body in the mirror
in the few seconds before the shower
steams up the glass.
My hair, more traces of silver every day,
ratty from sleep. I should have bound it
while I slept the hours away.
My eyes, lighter than I remember,
encased in puffy flesh like two blueberries
in a sackful of croissants
and my huge nose and thin lips
I am at least thankful for the lack
of (visible) facial hair. All could be worse
and further down it is. My breasts still high and firm,
the benefit of smallness though one nipple
remains permanently adolescent.
My belly hangs lower than it used to but
entirely my own fault. Too much food. Too much tea.
Certainly not enough exercise.
My hips are still narrow and boyish
my bum tight as a drum and my legs
are still muscled pistons from all the walking.
Maybe tomorrow I'll do better.
Maybe tomorrow.
© Rachel Green 2016
Morning Poetry 14th January 2016
cow pats
a barrier
to a pilgrim's progress.
She accepts a piggy-back ride.
young love.
© Rachel Green 2016
lone magpie
hiding in the grass
too-early eggs
© Rachel Green 2016
woken by
Tricker's tortured breathing
snorts and swallows
I comfort her in the darkness
and worry about her heart
© Rachel Green 2016
their new sofas
arrive at nine PM
two guys in a rented van
they 'forgot' the paperwork
so DK makes them write a receipt
on a sheet of printer paper
Happier people
© Rachel Green 2016
Her face, left on a shelf.
© Rachel Green 2016
Wednesday 13 January 2016
Daily 13th January 2016
1. a wether or other male sheep that leads the flock, usually bearing a bell.
2. a person or thing that assumes the leadership or forefront, as of a profession or industry:
Paris is a bellwether of the fashion industry.
3. a person or thing that shows the existence or direction of a trend; index.
4. a person who leads a mob, mutiny, conspiracy, or the like; ringleader.
John Siddique remains
my personal bellwether
poetic talent
Facebook Haiku
January 13: YEARN
gulls
over the schoolyard
the sound of waves
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
Putting clothes into the new wardrobe, emptying and getting rid of the two old chests of drawers.
Busy day doing stuff.
Alas, I got a bit ratty at one point. Sorry.
Written today:
poem - 113
Gilded Cage (390)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
A Poem a Day 2016 / 013
One Quarter-Tonne
The weight of books
old banana boxes full of them
twenty seven in all.
Two carloads
to drop them at the charity shop
we carry them in
I loved my books
but would I ever read them again
I kept five hundred
Such a weight gone
not only in poundage
but from my heart.
With every book that left the house
I felt a little more free.
© Rachel Green 2016
Morning Poetry 13th January 2016
the twins
born days apart
as like as chalk and cheese
but both fancy the same woman.
Conflict.
© Rachel Green 2016
broken toys
in a box of old shoes
two mice
© Rachel Green 2016
old drawers
left out for the dustmen
bin day
We take it home with us
for a coat of paint
© Rachel Green 2016
writing
at long last
the black dog leashed
a daily fight
but with luck and tenacity
I can win
until tomorrow
© Rachel Green 2016
Police helicopters. Blue veins and scalpels.
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 12th January 2016
peripatetic [per-uh-puh-tet-ik] adjective
1. walking or traveling about; itinerant.
2. (initial capital letter) of or relating to Aristotle, who taught philosophy while walking in the Lyceum of ancient Athens.
3. (initial capital letter) of or relating to the Aristotelian school of philosophy.
noun
4. a person who walks or travels about.
5. (initial capital letter) a member of the Aristotelian school.
befriended by a
peripatetic tinker
she learns to forage
January 12th: yeast
ginger plant
on a childhood windowsill
mother's medicine
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
Actually getting some writing done
Watched 'Room' with DK and Lu. Harrowing film (and a waste of a twist), Worth watching.
Written today:
poem - 11, 12
Gilded Cage (1080)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Tuesday 12 January 2016
A Poem A Day 2016 / 012
Lifts to Longbridge
Ray's driving his mini cooper, wipers
going crazy but failing to stem the wash
of torrential rain from the windscreen.
At twenty-something he's overweight
and wears a woollen cap to disguise his baldness
but in reality, it emphasises it.
The Beatles on his 8-rack but how many kids
wish they hadn't been called 'Michelle?'
She Loves You but she doesn't, does she? At seventeen
my sister stares out of the passenger side window,
lost in thought of the boy her father didn't like
while I, twelve years old and wedged in the back
am just grateful for the lift. He hangs around her
most days, his moth to her naked light and we
know he's going to get burned and then
there will be no more lifts to Longbridge.
© Rachel Green 2016
A Poem a day 2016 / 011
London Delight
They look on, these women,
the poor in headscarves while the well-to-do
display Easter bonnets; bright colours against the dirt
and decay of prison walls, their menfolk,
fathers and husbands in country tweeds,
offered the titillation of gawking as semi-clad women,
safe in the guise of merciful benefactors.
Newgate children, incarcerated with mothers
and sisters because their father's can't cope
or were hanged for the theft of a loaf
white the merchants and bankers pocket hundreds
and fire those too wracked with hunger to work.
She works alone, this gentle lady,
driven to teach by the light of a candle
and the thin grimy air from tiny windows
high out of reach and yellow with smog and birdshit.
Children learn to write their names,
women to read the Gospels
and one day, if they survive, the hope of salvation
in a five-pound note.
© Rachel Green 2016
Morning Poetry 12th January 2016
a door
padlock secured
little use when close by
is a window frame with the glass
long gone
© Rachel Green 2016
bare birch
against the gloomy sky
passing crow
© Rachel Green 2016
hunting mice
two leap out of a box
and escape
I fill the holes with hardener
that covers my hands in armour
© Rachel Green 2016
stress test
attack with a knife
I'm stabbed
a survivable wound
but if I'd relied on jiu-jitsu
I'd be dead
KAPAP defence
© Rachel Green 2016
a jiu-jitsu defence gets her killed
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 11th January 2016
inveigle [in-vey-guh l, -vee-] verb (used with object), inveigled, inveigling.
1. to entice, lure, or ensnare by flattery or artful talk or inducements (usually followed by into):
to inveigle a person into playing bridge.
2. to acquire, win, or obtain by beguiling talk or methods (usually followed by from or away):
to inveigle a theater pass from a person.
Cameron's new ruse
to inveigle extra votes
from racist Britons
Went to Liane's to get rid of the mice in the scullery. Found them. Ejected them. Filled up the hole they got through with self hardening foam which I cannot get off my hands. Euch.
Facebook Haiku
January 11: yearling
premature calf
from a yearling Frisian
stillborn
for http://www.facebook.com/pages/NaHaiWriMo/108107262587697 NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
KAPAP. And a cinema date night with DK
KAPAP rocks, though in real life I would be dead from the knife wound in the stress test.
Gah! I had every album of his. He was the soundtrack to my life. RIP David Bowie. http://io9.gizmodo.com/rip-david-bowie-the-musician-who-changed-science-ficti-1752187018
Written today:
poem - 10
Gilded Cage (250)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Monday 11 January 2016
A Poem a Day 2016 / 010
Cromarty, Forth and Tyne
Nineteen
back living with my father
the year away a fading memory
the years ahead planned
with youthful purpose.
Work for a year, then art school
drawing nudes into the night
when the family have gone to bed
and have no course to object
to the swish of dresses falling on the floor
or the whisper of a stocking at half mast.
A Book at Bedtime in the background
soft music on the radio,
The Shipping Forecast
with Dogger, Shannon and Tyne
distant places where night howls with fury
like my father
when he views the tangle of limbs in the morning.
© Rachel Green 2016
Morning Poetry 11th January 2016
© Rachel Green 2016
silent trees
in a deserted park
mallards
© Rachel Green 2016
Tesco Malties
seem to be a stable part
of my lazy diet
too many carbs
not enough exercise
© Rachel Green 2016
comfortable sofa
is the killer
of television
whenever I sit on it
the dogs snuggle
I fall asleep
what happened?
© Rachel Green 2016
Unwelcome touch. She breaks his arm.
© Rachel Green 2016
Daily 10th January 2016
cineaste or cineast, cinéaste [sin-ee-ast, sin-ey-] noun
1. any person, especially a director or producer, associated professionally with filmmaking.
2. an aficionado of filmmaking.
applications
made to a cineast
rejected Child
Facebook Haiku
January 10: yew
a flask of colour
in a winter-grey churchyard
yew tree robin
for NaHaiWriMo
Farewell to Joke (pron. yoh-kay) who returned to Amsterdam and Becky to Bristol
Lots of work in the house -- re-routing a network cable to DK's office; assembling a large wardrobe; dismantling the old sofa for collection and fetching a chest of drawers for upcycling.
Written today:
too tired. sorry.
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Sunday 10 January 2016
Morning poetry 10th January 2016
night talk
in a ruined house
I would like to live here
and have five kids grow up happy.
Daydreams
© Rachel Green 2016
lightening shy
across a rain-swept muddy field
a murmuration of starlings
© Rachel Green 2016
Jack
crying for no reason
perhaps he's hungry?
Or maybe it's Amos
taking the best sofa spot
© Rachel Green 2016
paintings
printed on aluminium
without hangers
I fail to find the best way
to display the pieces
ebay; amazon fail
I'll try contact adhesive
© Rachel Green 2016
Old lady in the new mirror
© Rachel Green 2016
Saturday 9 January 2016
Daily 9th January 2016
offing [aw-fing, of-ing] noun
1. the more distant part of the sea seen from the shore, beyond the anchoring ground.
2. a position at a distance from shore.
Idioms
3. in the offing,
at a distance but within sight.
in the projected future; likely to happen:
A wedding is in the offing.
book deal in the offing
I'll believe it when it happens
/sceptical me
Jan 9th: Yam
uneaten yams
in the compost bin
frantic activity
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
THIS SITE has pirate copies of my books. In paperback. Even the ones that have never been in paperback. I suspect Print-On-Demand and have ordered a paperback 'Sons of Angels' to see the quality. Not as cheap as if I'd produced them on Lulu, but not too bad. I should complain but... I don't get payments from the genuine publisher, either, and I'm just happy people want to read my books. It might encourage them to read AUC or LfS.
Mostly bummed about today. Black dog and all that (though I did buy a book about depression). Not done very much at all. Tomorrow will be busy, so next week is buckle down and get GC written.
THIS is fabulous. I've lost hours in there.
Written today:
poem - 009
Gilded Cage ()
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Daily Poem 2016 / 009
The Man Next Door
“Neversweat,” my father called him
thanks to his habit of wearing a cravat
whatever the season.
He had the house they built next to ours
forever in the shadow of our garden walls
and the forsythia hedge I planted at seventeen.
Lionel Leadbetter (and honestly, why would
his parents think that a good idea?) used to
drop in for a cup of tea with my father
and her mechanic friends (the long drive
could hold half a dozen breakdown trucks)
but never realised their casual cruelty.
© Rachel Green 2016
Morning poetry 8th January 2016
giggles
in the darkness
between the three people
so whose is the sibilant voice?
not her!
© Rachel Green 2016
dead peonies
cling to withered leaves
shivering sparrows
© Rachel Green 2016
new dog
has breathing troubles
coughs and snorts
time to introduce him
to the local vet
© Rachel Green 2016
sports centre
opens in new premises
sign-ups available
they picked the right time
hundreds of people
in New Year enthusiasm
we sign up
© Rachel Green 2016
Her passion for Jiu-jitsu departs
© Rachel Green 2016
Friday 8 January 2016
Daily 8th January 2016
Sybaritic or Sybaritical [sib-uh-rit-ik] adjective
1. (usually lowercase) pertaining to or characteristic of a sybarit
his rampant sex life
thought to be sybaritic
old man chasing youth
Queen's Park 5PM - self toured the new facility. We'll join.
Facebook Haiku
January 8: yawn
yawning cat
after a hard day's work
radiator naps
for NaHaiWriMo
Walked Jack and Trickster into town. Shopping
Something that made me smile today
some framing done
Helped Chris with moving our (Jali's old) table
lovely meal made by DK
Gaming.
Written today
poem - 8
Gilded Cage (0)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.
Where Did Summer Go?
I looked up, and it was autumn
where golden hues were cosseted
by warm September light
and the willows stopped being so prolific,
turning their leaves from the coming North.
Soon it will be winter
with its shades of white on roof and hearth
courted only for the relief
of a well padded spring.
I looked away for only a moment
still relishing the spring
the mind's fingers playing over photographs
where sullen rain turned to bubbling springs
and the songbirds called in the evening.
© Rachel Green 2016
poetry 8th January 2016
gi o'er
her churchyard walk
becomes a dope fuelled trip
to an abandoned old smithy.
Treagove
© Rachel Green 2016
bare branches
the peep-peep-peep of a bluetit
© Rachel Green 2016
cold road
grass verges torn up
tractor tyres
deep ruts filled
with mud and rainwater
© Rachel Green 2016
old lady
walks her Westie
past our house
red coat
dark against the winter greens
white dog
it hesitates, wanting to play
© Rachel Green 2016
her starvation diet. she craves pizza.
© Rachel Green 2016
Thursday 7 January 2016
Daily 7th January 2016
terpsichorean [turp-si-kuh-ree-uh n, turp-si-kawr-ee-uh n, -kohr-] adjective
1. pertaining to dancing.
2. (initial capital letter) of or relating to Terpsichore.
noun
3. a dancer.
assumption: contest
would be terpsichorean.
Reality: knife fight
Facebook Haiku
January 7: yak
holiday jumper
a gift from Mongolia
rancid butter
for NaHaiWriMo
Something that made me smile today:
Finding a very old 34th handmade birthday card from my ex-nephew
Took all three dogs today. That was fun. Amos is very well behaved.
gaming, writing, odd house jobs.
Written today:
poem - 007
Gilded Cage (500)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent I thank you.
Kali off Leicester Fields
She danced under the orange moon
as the smoke from burning stubble
hazed the air and made the stars twinkle
like the light in her lover's eyes. Mice ran;
a seemingly endless river of them,
escaping the flames. It didn't matter
that her bare feet crushed a few,
their spines snapping like summer-dry twigs;
a natural sacrifice for the bounty of the earth.
Her eyes shine with moonglow
as her skirts swirl above grasping fingers,
teasing them with the promise of good food
and the hissing of fat as the bones crack
to release the marrow within. Her hands cocked just so;
middle finger to thumb, a path for chi
to circle through her and within her,
drawn from the pale open eyes of her lover
as the heat fades from his body
and her footsteps tread the dance.
© Rachel Green 2016
Poetry 7th January 2016
one warm jumper
that smells of beer and sweat
(almost) guaranteed to make her
love him
© Rachel Green 2016
bare birch
decorated with raindrops
and rainbows
© Rachel Green 2016
pirate website
offers my ebooks for sale
as paperbacks
they must print them at lulu
without my permission
© Rachel Green 2016
more wire
to go upstairs
to DK's office
We debate the merits
of going outside
vs up the stairs
easy vs neat
© Rachel Green 2016
She has company today. Human interaction.
© Rachel Green 2016
Wednesday 6 January 2016
Daily 6th January 2016
1. (especially of a book or periodical) so interesting or suspenseful as to compel reading.
reading on the loo
Chris Fowler and Christmas pud.
Unputdownable
Facebook Haiku
Jan 6th: yarn
tales of chasing tigers
according to my somnambulist corgi
I let sleeping dogs lie
for NaHaiWriMo
I don't know. What did I do today?
Something that made me smile today:
Hurrah! Some writing managed.
How interesting. I found a site selling some of my books in paperback that weren't out in paperback. I may buy some.
I discovered Amos can puke his dinner up in perfect aesophagus sausages. Which he then eats again.
Written today:
poem - 006
Gilded Cage (500)
You've been reading Of Literary Bent. I thank you.