Sunday, 25 June 2017

short forms 25th June 2017

knowledge
her stepmother
wasn't born a woman.
Did it affect the love she gave?
Who cares?


© Rachel Green 2017

lavender
fanciful sprays
overgrown lawn


© Rachel Green 2017

all you touch
can be reduced
ashes and dust
nothing is permanent
especially not you


© Rachel Green 2017

Jiu-jitsu
the realisation
finally comes

I'm not very good
and I never will be --
too old, too slow

but I love the game


© Rachel Green 2017

she's not young anymore. That's okay.

© Rachel Green 2017

Monday, 19 June 2017

short forms 19th June 2017

gamers:
a confession
from FingerDigitThree
that they're not biologically
a boy


© Rachel Green 2017

evening fire
the heat of the day dies down
fleeting bats


© Rachel Green 2017

sent off a CV
about my writing career
looking for publication
I suspect I'm way too old
and too established a writer


© Rachel Green 2017

old friend
drunker than a box of weevils
spending the night

He becomes depressed again
drives home intoxicated
while all are asleep

I check the news feeds


© Rachel Green 2017

frogs. A whole box of them.

© Rachel Green 2017

Sunday, 18 June 2017

short forms 18th June 2017

deer, sheep, sunglasses
hard drive
wiped long ago
but never used since then.
The recovery of accounts
and nudes


© Rachel Green 2017

love hearts
spread out in the sun
strawberry-fat slugs


© Rachel Green 2017

pulled muscle
it really bugs me
that I can't walk
Jiu-jitsu, though?
work through the pain


© Rachel Green 2017

catfishing
between two minors
no prosecution

how was he to know
his online best friend
was a homophobe?

closed box


© Rachel Green 2017

Her spider egg a constant ache

© Rachel Green 2017

Saturday, 17 June 2017

short forms 17th June 2017

the texts
from a schoolfriend
why don't you kill yourself?
Ten years before the law caught up
with phones


© Rachel Green 2017

morning heat
two little girls raid the garden
strawberry theft


© Rachel Green 2017

Lu requests green tea
but we appear to be out
(apart from one ginger green bag)
I have failed in my duty
to stock the cupboards


© Rachel Green 2017

aching leg
a pulled muscle
after jiu-jitsu

It means I limp
and have trouble standing
or walking

I still do jiu-jitsu


© Rachel Green 2017

barrel-shaped dog. Abusive mother, me.

© Rachel Green 2017

Friday, 16 June 2017

poetry 2017 / 093

Third Fight

I don't remember
what our fight was about
dissatisfaction with the relationship
stagnation over the proximity
or the fact I was away all week
fingerbanging the girls from the art school
(or so you believed).
I recall we were in the park
(or maybe the cemetery)
a bench, anyway,
with you in your winter coat and scarf
and me in my motorcycle leathers.
You walked off,
home to your mother's
or to your friend Jude's.
I went back to Wolverhampton
where the parties went on all night
and smoked a joint on the tower block roof.

short forms 16th June 2017

Number 84 for sale again
chloe
seeking the men
who killed her young brother
by encouraging suicide
transman


© Rachel Green 2017

wood fire
extinguished by evening rain
full moon


© Rachel Green 2017

penguin books
looking for new authors
LGBT
Alas, I've just self published
the only manuscript I had...


© Rachel Green 2017

jiu-jitsu
improving slightly
sparring win

waiting  for an opportunity
flip guard and mount
triple attack

not such a failure...


© Rachel Green 2017

belly fat. She wobbles when walking.

© Rachel Green 2017

Thursday, 15 June 2017

short forms 15th Jine 2017

her death
seems a given
she's bleeding out -- a wound
in her stomach from a rebar
dialling


© Rachel Green 2017

dog barks
on the morning air
elderflowers


© Rachel Green 2017

evening fire
burning the old fish tank housing
end of an era
That tank was here when we bought the house
and now we're leaving


© Rachel Green 2017

working on defence
he takes that calf crush
yet again

he sets it up
from reverse cross chest
and a figure four hold

time to research the defence


© Rachel Green 2017

Her flabby stomach still dismays her

© Rachel Green 2017

Wednesday, 14 June 2017

short forms 14th June 2017

a play
about two killers
who prey on anybody
they fine alone in the locale.
Teen boys


© Rachel Green 2017

runners
the strawberry plants shoot
for the open lawn


© Rachel Green 2017

popping by
on their way to Italy
family member
Trickster goes loopy
summer garden


© Rachel Green 2017

a few days away
I request local dojos
in Newcastle

lovely reply
welcoming me to a place
in the city centre

anticipatory smile


© Rachel Green 2017

her nervousness overrided by learning possibilities

© Rachel Green 2017

Tuesday, 13 June 2017

short forms 13th June 2017

old guys
at the cafe
think they are discreet
but she can hear them quite clearly.
Nosy


© Rachel Green 2017

late aquilegia
rising above the strawberries
montbretia


© Rachel Green 2017

decision
I'll visit Newcastle
for a week
I wonder if any BJJ clubs
would welcome an interloper


© Rachel Green 2017

training
for muscle strength
and stamina

I can take bottom mount
but I can't escape it
blue belt fail

back to basics


© Rachel Green 2017

blue. The belt suits my mood

© Rachel Green 2017

Monday, 12 June 2017

short forms 12th June 2017

I think the cushion is plotting something
three boys
killed her brother
bullied him to his death
on the tracks of the Glasgow train.
Revenge.


© Rachel Green 2017

lavender
a bee clings to the flowers
fighting the wind


© Rachel Green 2017

blind dog
cries for attention
needs to be fussed
a life of isolation
among his peers


© Rachel Green 2017

shifting targets
I rearrange my gym times
to fit DKs client

honestly,
what I really need
is more jiu-jitsu

sparring request


© Rachel Green 2017

fitful sleep. She wakes up exhausted.

© Rachel Green 2017

Sunday, 11 June 2017

short forms 11th June 2017

report:
fell on the tracks
of an oncoming train
The suspicious death of her gay
brother


© Rachel Green 2017

fungi
on the rain-soaked lawn
geranium petals


© Rachel Green 2017

shopping trip
the last of my cash
until next week
Chicken and beefburgers
salad for myself


© Rachel Green 2017

jiu-jitsu blues
my skills are finite
depressing

I used to be okay
now I'm adequate
barely able to defend

"Look! You can beat Rachel."


© Rachel Green 2017

Quiet night. Burning away the past.

© Rachel Green 2017

Saturday, 10 June 2017

short forms 10th June 2017

some hope
for happiness
should be allocated
Her future shouldn't be as bleak
as mine


© Rachel Green 2017

morning rain
strawberries with slug holes
wasted harvest


© Rachel Green 2017

jiu-jitsu trial
I realise I'm not very good
kidding myself
New guy at class
higher belt than me


© Rachel Green 2017

my life
seems pointless
I am unrequired

I could die tomorrow
and no-one would mourn
for more than a fortnight

even the dogs would forget


© Rachel Green 2017

excessive weight. Terrible voice. Useless life

© Rachel Green 2017

Friday, 9 June 2017

short forms 9th June 2017

nightmares
she still can't drive
even after years
of psychotherapy and help.
broken


© Rachel Green 2017

morning sun
the reddening strawberries
eaten by slugs


© Rachel Green 2017

melancholia
fake being happy, young buddy
before it kills you
otherwise the route is
depression and suicide


© Rachel Green 2017

what now
for the fat girl?
not a lot

she wants to be better
but depression and poverty
defeat ambition

fat stomach wobbling


© Rachel Green 2017

sometime the end is welcome relief

© Rachel Green 2017

Thursday, 8 June 2017

short forms 8th June 2017

horror
as the car hits
her brother is thrown up
hits the street sign ten yards away.
Lifeless


© Rachel Green 2017

morning rain
the plump fruit of a strawberry
turning pink


© Rachel Green 2017

the cat
taking up residence
on DK's prayer pillow
She gives no fucks
about the rest of the room


© Rachel Green 2017

small products
received for evaluation
customer survey

some are useful
receive my endorsement
others less so

Soup maker, I'm looking at you


© Rachel Green 2017

jiu-jitsu. She was useless last night.

© Rachel Green 2017

Wednesday, 7 June 2017

short forms 7th June 2017

child's death
hits the whole town
flowers at the roadside
small tokens of affection are
rain-soaked


© Rachel Green 2017

early sun
the degradation of trees
night wind


© Rachel Green 2017

remake
of an old film
amuses me
I seek out the original
for comparison


© Rachel Green 2017

leg day
I add in exercises
for jiu-jitsu

whatever he says
jiu-jitsu is about fitness
and mobility

training for the win


© Rachel Green 2017

still fat. Morning sit-up routine.

© Rachel Green 2017

Tuesday, 6 June 2017

short forms 6th June 2017

sudden
her brother's death
everything slowed down
she can see his rib cage shatter
impact


© Rachel Green 2017

bin day
filling the street with litter
rain and high wind


© Rachel Green 2017

family night
all four of us out
cinema trip
Wonder woman was excellent
Gil Gadot, brilliant


© Rachel Green 2017

gym day
chest and shoulders
solo workout

to my delight
I discover I can flex
pec muscles

first time ever


© Rachel Green 2017

surgery required. Her over-large nose.

© Rachel Green 2017

Monday, 5 June 2017

short forms 5th June 2017

lunch date
seeking revenge
on her brother's killer
She befriends the grown-up daughter
Promise


© Rachel Green 2017

morning rain
on fresh-cut grass
fledgling sparrows


© Rachel Green 2017

 emptying the compost bin
the first of four
to be disposed of
I offer it for a tenner
but nobody wants it


© Rachel Green 2017

the old fish tank
in a chipboard bureau
rotting

we take it apart
stagger with the tank
down the garden

end of an era


© Rachel Green 2017

She dreams of the DSS. Anxiety.

© Rachel Green 2017

Sunday, 4 June 2017

short forms 4th June 2017

new plot
revenge is mine,
says a man who befriends
chloe after her dad kills a
young boy


© Rachel Green 2017

tomato plants
potted in kitchen compost
foxgloves


© Rachel Green 2017

gumtree
just trying to sell shit
I no longer need
trying to reduce the stuff
I can do without


© Rachel Green 2017

a plan
to clean the fish tank
and remove it

the amount of stuff on top
beggars my belief
storage boxes required

maybe a rented garage


© Rachel Green 2017

why are drunk pirates heroic protagonists?

© Rachel Green 2017

Saturday, 3 June 2017

Short Forms 3rd June 2017

grave site
not even a marker
for her deceased mother
just a common area for
ashes


© Rachel Green 2017

morning sun
obscured by clouds
lavender


© Rachel Green 2017

motorbike ride
to Sheffield and back
jiu-jitsu training
I'd have liked it better
if it wasn't raining


© Rachel Green 2017

UPA escape
practice practice practice
until it works

sometimes it's handy
to return to absolute basics
sloppy in experience

I'm really not very good


© Rachel Green 2017

her training won't reduce her stomach

© Rachel Green 2017

Friday, 2 June 2017

short forms 2nd June 2017

Samwise Bartholomew Trumperton: Cleaner of Skulls
grave site
the rough marker
where he buried her dog
to save the cost of cremation.
bare earth


© Rachel Green 2017

geraniums
bees examine the fresh flowers
overcast sky


© Rachel Green 2017

muggy day
the sweat makes my hair sticky
playing with boys
Afterwards my knees hurt so much
I skip my gym workout


© Rachel Green 2017

telephone call
selling Lu's Skoda
a bloke's promise

I'm on my way, he said
and I decline a cash offer
because it would be dishonourable.

He never turns up.


© Rachel Green 2017

her bruises will fade in time

© Rachel Green 2017

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

morning shorts 31st May 2017

old pics
of her brother
clearly photoshopped
she doesn't remember him in
glasses


© Rachel Green 2017

ornamental allium
flowering in large drifts
Chesterfield roundabout


© Rachel Green 2017

sleepless
the clock's inexorable march
toward morning
She reads about child brides
no minimum age in America.


© Rachel Green 2017

moving house
he sweat soaked sheets
hold me tight

abandoning my flat
too many possessions
to take with me

I save the art


© Rachel Green 2017

She leaves the cat behind. Asshole.

© Rachel Green 2017

Tuesday, 30 May 2017

Monologue of Mrs Reginald Hargreaves in her Last Days



It was me whom Reverend Dodgson had wanted to marry in sixty-three, not Lorina. Daddy was furious though I thought it was a marvellous adventure. “She's only eleven years old,” he shouted, so loud that we girls could hear it clear across the lawns in the cemetery, where we were playing 'Who can find the most skulls?” My father's voice was naturally loud from shouting at the boys in his school and I have no doubt he brandished his favourite cane as he did so.

Ina was horrified. I could see the tears burst from her eyes as she realised all the attention had been for my sake, not hers. I don't think she ever forgave him, and of course father forbade him to spend any further time with him.

I am grateful, though. Who knew that those handwritten pages would become so valuable? Fifteen thousand pounds is a lot of money, far more than I ever thought they'd be worth. My son Caryl has kept the bulk of it, though he took pains to see to the roof of my little house which, as you probably know, had become a source of sincere vexation since the death of my beloved Reggie. Honestly, I've never worn so many hats inside the house as I had to before the sale. Still, it grieved me to sell, for I remember Mr Dodgson fondly, even more so for the beautiful hashish he used to share with us.

short forms 30th May 2017

pictures
her twin brother
looks ever-so serious
a baby contemplating fate.
Herself


© Rachel Green 2017

wisteria
first bloom since planting
seven years


© Rachel Green 2017

hearts and bones
my recurring desire
for a stuffed crow
I'll shed more possessions
to make some room


© Rachel Green 2017

tomato plants
bought from a neighbour
all in a row

waiting for growbags
or failing that
some large pots of soil

slugfest


© Rachel Green 2017

the weekend takes its toll. fatigue.

© Rachel Green 2017

Monday, 29 May 2017

short forms 29th May 2017

she looks
through old photos
but can't find her brother.
Did her mother destroy them all
and why?


© Rachel Green 2017

aquilegia
alien-headed drops of colour
rain streaked


© Rachel Green 2017

concrete garage
sectional, my arse
still bloody heavy
My skin covered
with lesions and bruises


© Rachel Green 2017

Monday tiredness
too much work done
over the weekend

A bit more today
maybe an hour at most
and gardening

I need some growbags...


© Rachel Green 2017

She can lift more than before.

© Rachel Green 2017

Sunday, 28 May 2017

short forms 28th May 2017

her car
jacked from the lot
with the child inside
his body found dumped with the car.
Sad day


© Rachel Green 2017

morning rain
I liken it to water
on sauna bricks


© Rachel Green 2017

baby cam
set up in the house
to watch the street
makes me want CCTV
all over the house


© Rachel Green 2017

concrete shed
slow dismantle
seventy kilo pieces

each one carried up the garden
loaded into a van
two hour exhaustion

oh to be a bodybuilder!


© Rachel Green 2017

build-up of muscle. tight shirt.

© Rachel Green 2017

Saturday, 27 May 2017

short forms 27th May 2017

premise
there was never
a brother to begin
with -- just her buried memory
of self


© Rachel Green 2017

green berries
on strawberry plants
summer's promise


© Rachel Green 2017

fighting hard
I can defend for ages
but can't escape
I need to learn more moves
to get to attack mode


© Rachel Green 2017

product review
for a baby monitor
easiest set-up ever

unfortunately
you can't keep the screen on
so what's the point?

Kidnapped baby...


© Rachel Green 2017

leprous skin. her toes develop lesions.

© Rachel Green 2017

Friday, 26 May 2017

short forms 26th May 2017

handmade book shelf
tell her
what you told me
about her dead brother
then tell me if she still likes you.
Loser.

© Rachel Green 2017

honey bees
among the welsh poppies
blue iris

© Rachel Green 2017

pumping weights
after a week away
my strength has faded.
It just goes to show
you need good habits

© Rachel Green 2017

cross-chest
I forget the escape
to my cost

we go over it afterwards
I do know the move,
just forgot it

gentle improvement

© Rachel Green 2017

Her flabby stomach still disturbs her

© Rachel Green 2017

Thursday, 25 May 2017

short forms 25th May 2017

kidnapped
by child killers
his body a twisted
mass of burned flesh and bone. Her ring,
melted.


© Rachel Green 2017

rhubarb flower
tops out at seven feet
black orchid


© Rachel Green 2017

the heat
pre-summer sun
crowded studio
jiu-jitsu kimono
welded to my back


© Rachel Green 2017

past lives
struggle through regression
I was a speck of dust

whirling cosmos
the stuff of stars and planets
molecules

the birth of fusion


© Rachel Green 2017

no need to claim responsibility. Obvious.

© Rachel Green 2017

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

short forms 24th May 2017

mother
last confession
a posthumous letter
confessing infidelity.
Birth dad?


© Rachel Green 2017

yellow roses
lining the motorway
stationary traffic


© Rachel Green 2017

Royce Gracie seminar
a long-assed drive
to Surrey
Lovely dojo, though,
it needs some fans


© Rachel Green 2017

odd dreams
wake me in a panic
searching for memory

I can't remember the term
for 'fingers of god'
in nature

Crepuscular rays


© Rachel Green 2017

bone tired. Her days of jiu-jitsu.

© Rachel Green 2017

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

short forms 23rd May 2017

nothing
can prepare her
for the truth of his death
and the stupid reason he died.
Daddy?


© Rachel Green 2017

strawberry flowers
making a promise to the future
registering to vote


© Rachel Green 2017

a week
away from the gym
leaves her weak
She can't pull the weight
she was used to before


© Rachel Green 2017

he works all day
seeing client's on Skype
without a break

at three he nips out
a supervisory session
an hour in person

I mow the lawn


© Rachel Green 2017

unexpected bruise. She cites the garden.

© Rachel Green 2017

Monday, 22 May 2017

short forms 22nd May 2017

looking
for her brother
missing and presumed dead.
She can't help wondering if he's
alive


© Rachel Green 2017

oriental poppies
displaying their wares
consumer bees


© Rachel Green 2017

Stokholm
city of islands
and innovation
Even basic amenities
are gender neutral


© Rachel Green 2017

a carvery
for a friend's birthday
(veggie option)

Old friends
with grown-up children
and a big dog

delightful afternoon


© Rachel Green 2017

hunger. She recognises signs of depression.

© Rachel Green 2017

Sunday, 21 May 2017

short forms 21st May 2017

school friends
become adults
are just as much a twat
as they were as a teenager.
Flirting


© Rachel Green 2017

rain
segues into sunny skies
red peonies


© Rachel Green 2017

My sunburn fades
after two days of England
sunny Stokholm
I put away my jumpers
unworn in Sweden


© Rachel Green 2017

happy dogs
pleased to see us return
we're not dead, after all

Moose has a problem
lumps of poo don't sit well
on his long furry trousers

surprised squeal


© Rachel Green 2017

she weighs the same. Looks fatter.

© Rachel Green 2017

Friday, 12 May 2017

short forms 12th May 2017

Chloe
wants the business
she needs to make money
for her escape from Laverstone.
Death trap


© Rachel Green 2017

morning rain
strawberry flowers don't care
sheltering bees


© Rachel Green 2017

holiday packing
whatever I take
I'll regret
No doubt I'll forget
Something important


© Rachel Green 2017

a list of chores
left for the housesitter
mostly dog related

I gaze at Jack
wondering
if I'll ever see him again

I always think that.


© Rachel Green 2017

last minute panic. Jiu-jitsu exercises.

© Rachel Green 2017

Thursday, 11 May 2017

short forms 11th May 2017

What time is it?
visits
from her brother
at least, that's what she thinks.
The vulnerable mind of a
teen girl
l

© Rachel Green 2017

morning sunshine
providing heat on my back
the radiator


© Rachel Green 2017

overslept
It feels like 9AM
but it's actually 10
Oh dear. forgot to wake DK
now he's late for work


© Rachel Green 2017

running late
the whole day thrown out
patient dogs

breakfast
walk
gym

anger management


© Rachel Green 2017

holiday planning for a cold climate

© Rachel Green 2017

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

short forms 10th May 2017

Home is where...
mostly
she wants someone
to treat her properly
(or at least how she wants to be
treated)


© Rachel Green 2017

white flowers
greeting the morning bees
wild garlic


© Rachel Green 2017

poetry
falling like leaves
from my brain
alas, it's the structure I need,
not just the words


© Rachel Green 2017

hungry dog
stares at the general space
where I might be

oatmeal for breakfast
a light whined reminder
"I, too, like oatmeal"

his love, unrequited


© Rachel Green 2017

still fat. Still unhappy. Slight;y stronger.

© Rachel Green 2017

Tuesday, 9 May 2017

short forms 9th May 2017

Sleepy Jack
she sings
of broken hearts
and the violence of
her brother's desperate ending.
Burning


© Rachel Green 2017

overcast
the threat of rain
thyme seedlings


© Rachel Green 2017

France
a pin against the tide
of alt.right
Already Russian newspapers
label Macron as 'gay psychopath'


© Rachel Green 2017

weeds
across the patio garden
forget-me-nots

I pull them out
making way for self seeded poppies
and summer bulbs

the buds of fresh wolfsbane


© Rachel Green 2017

back and biceps. She's too weak.

© Rachel Green 2017

Monday, 8 May 2017

short forms 8th May 2017

rhubarb in flower
the ghost
of her brother
returns to comfort her.
Dad pays for psychotherapy
Guilt trip


© Rachel Green 2017

welsh poppies
hiding their heads from the rain
reluctant schoolchildren


© Rachel Green 2017

time wasting
exercise videos
lead to diet ones
*note to self*
photograph all food.


© Rachel Green 2017

a seed
of excitement
growing

a hook for Chloe
in a literary novel
that includes horror

floppy fudgesticks swears


© Rachel Green 2017

His floppy fudgestick? Her gay brother.

© Rachel Green 2017

Sunday, 7 May 2017

short forms 7th May 2017

old ghosts
return to haunt
The house she grew up in
hasn't changed since her teen years
Saddened


© Rachel Green 2017

fading tulips
over the rain-soaked lawn
falling petals


© Rachel Green 2017

writing
always a struggle
more so now
Another baby goes out
failing to make a splash


© Rachel Green 2017

gym buddy
is a phone app
full of exercises

some of the abs ones
seem impossible
for a fat girl

I try, anyway


© Rachel Green 2017

She wonders where her determination went

© Rachel Green 2017

Saturday, 6 May 2017

short forms 6th May 2017

over
her brother's ghost
laid to a final rest
The memory of her father
typing


© Rachel Green 2017

long grass
the strawberry flowers
hidden


© Rachel Green 2017

Lu decorating
for an ex of DK's
Nicotine yellow
Now has diarrhea
nicotine poisoning


© Rachel Green 2017

messages
left on paper scraps
and burned

Communication
with the recently dead
casting bones

Good Intent


© Rachel Green 2017

Her absolute limit becomes casually broken

© Rachel Green 2017

Friday, 5 May 2017

short forms 5th May 2017

chloe
is transgendered?
Or is that just a trope
that the bullied kid turns out trans?
Thoughts, please.


© Rachel Green 2017

thyme seedlings
in the recycled compost
nasturtiums


© Rachel Green 2017

blind dog
won't stop crying
fuss or food?
I give him both
but he's not satisfied


© Rachel Green 2017

writer's block
when writing short poems
over breakfast

how can I struggle
over a few lines of rubbish
that nobody reads?

I look at dog memes instead


© Rachel Green 2017

fading friendships. Reasons, seasons. Not lifetimes.

© Rachel Green 2017

Thursday, 4 May 2017

poetry 2017 / 092

Almost Anonymous

Miss Scarlett
in the kitchen with the dagger.
Let's face it,
it would save so much time
except in my scenario Miss Scarlett
is not the killer but the victim,
and her name isn't Scarlett, is it?
You know who it is,
and I'd slip the blade horizontally
through your left armpit
until it pierced your cold, black heart
and even then you'd go on living,
your Facebook page a shrine
still posting horoscopes from the grave
along with Bejewelled requests
and chain memes:
'Ten places you loved and one you hated,'
and it still wouldn't include Hell
though no doubt you'd be running the place in weeks,
and being passive aggressive towards Satan
and yes, Julie, I do mean you.

short forms 4th May 2017

she lives
with her father
after her mum has died.
He tries to understand her life
but can't


© Rachel Green 2017

peony buds
moved by the wind
crisp packets


© Rachel Green 2017

opening
her deep red lips
oriental poppy
exposed sexuality
among the dandelions


© Rachel Green 2017

boxercise
a one-off class
while jiu-jitsu on hold

at the end of it all
I'm exhausted
in a good way

muscles ache


© Rachel Green 2017

the delight of a hot shower

© Rachel Green 2017

Wednesday, 3 May 2017

short forms 3rd May 2017

her friend
comes as a ghost
in the literal sense.
Why didn't she pick someone else
to haunt?


© Rachel Green 2017

bending birch
in the meadow
a cloud of dandelion seeds


© Rachel Green 2017

a new project
is always difficult
after one is done
I  need a period of mourning
for departed characters.


© Rachel Green 2017

footnotes for Chloe
a first person story
made like John Salt's.

A young protagonist
less capable than Stevie
but more devious

Lying is a habit


© Rachel Green 2017

Promised to cut out sugar. Reneged.


© Rachel Green 2017

Tuesday, 2 May 2017

short forms 2nd May 2017

small tales
to set plot points
extending overview
a mix of prompts and newspaper
headlines


© Rachel Green 2017

crescent moon
over the dawn of summer
a light frost


© Rachel Green 2017

breakfast error
out of milk, bread
oatmeal failure
entirely my own fault
I didn't go shopping


© Rachel Green 2017

rejected cushions
from the front room
go on dog sofa

the dogs are happy
and it gives me a ramp
to sleep without curling

afternoon naps


© Rachel Green 2017

jiu-jitsu cancelled. What'll she do?

© Rachel Green 2017

Monday, 1 May 2017

short forms 1st May 2017

dead friend
never gives up
haunts Chloe forever.
Not such a long time after all.
Short life.


© Rachel Green 2017

apple blossom
falling in showers
cold rain


© Rachel Green 2017

long day
out to a fetish club
in Walsall
scene participation
consensual non-consent


© Rachel Green 2017

a book released
on Kindle Direct
mediocre response

paperback edition
comes out as expensive
as 400 pages make it

I can't afford a copy!


© Rachel Green 2017

Fat. Her love of pizza. Unforgiving.

© Rachel Green 2017

Sunday, 30 April 2017

poetry 2017 / 091

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “The (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “The Poets,” “The Good Guys,” “The Bad Guys,” “The Last Thing She Said,” and so on.

Last Slap (I)

The time you slapped me
so hard my cheek split open on my tooth
was the last time I ever let you.
I walked out that day
and even though you told the police
I was a 'missing person'
I was easy to find
at the local hospital.

Last Slap (II)

I pulled the punches, the kicks.
I was told to hurt you
but I didn't really want to
and you cried anyway.
Consensual non-consent
anything goes, so long as it doesn't damage
or leave a lasting mark.
I think I was more shaken than you,
though the last smack
made you yelp
and to be honest,
my hand stung, too.

poetry 2017 / 090

Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something that happens again and again (kind of like NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo). It could be the setting of the sun, or your Aunt Georgia telling the same story at Thanksgiving every single year. It could be the swallows returning to Capistrano or how, without fail, you will lock your keys in the car whenever you go to the beach.

Through the Crescent

They know the houses where the dogs live.
Every day, pulling at the leads to get to the collie's house,
the black lab's house; the shepherd's house.
Later it's the Jack Russel's house, the spaniel's, the Doberman's
and that little dog behind the gate that barks unseen.
Pull, pull
bark, bark,
pull, pull,
bark, bark.
The third dog is blind and deaf.
He doesn't care about where they live
just what scents they've left behind.

short forms 30th April 2017

coverSally
lost forever
a victim to the end
as dead as her brother became
Thanks, Dad


© Rachel Green 2017

white flowers
the delicate heads of wild garlic
delicious


© Rachel Green 2017

fortune telling
at the bottom of a vitamin drink
powder scum
I can see my future
heart attack and stroke


© Rachel Green 2017

publication
my finest novel
released to the wild

all I have to do now
is sit back and watch
is it sinks to oblivion

no point in writing


© Rachel Green 2017

the diet progresses. The flab increases.

© Rachel Green 2017

Saturday, 29 April 2017

poetry 2017 / 089

For today’s prompt, write a metric poem. Most of the world uses the metric system to measure things out; not so much in the States. But there are meters and liters, and the occasional millimeters. Also, poetry uses metrics (the study of meter in poetry). And metrics, in a general sense, can measure various things by a common denominator–even inches and/or teaspoons.


Travel Metrics

a photograph
of my long dead mother
faded into seventies amber
like the walls of my father's house.
Taken when I was...ten?
Sent off, processed, printed,
sent back by second class mail
(transport, weather and strikes permitting)
admired
stuck in a album
left in a drawer until my father died,
stored in a cardboard box in my sister's cellar.
During a clearout
she scans it, emails it;
a packet of data sent by a path
calculated by router metrics
for path length, bandwidth, load and hop count,
path cost, delay, MTU, reliability and communications cost.
I receive it seconds later.

poetry 2017 / 088

Today, I’d like to challenge you to take one of your favorite poems and find a very specific, concrete noun in it. For example, if your favorite poem is this verse of Emily Dickinson’s, you might choose the word “stones” or “spectre.” After you’ve chosen your word, put the original poem away and spend five minutes free-writing associations – other nouns, adjectives, etc. Then use your original word and the results of your free-writing as the building blocks for a new poem.


Benwell Boys

Our mam was still alive
when we were a skinhead;
bleached jeans, polished Docs
buzz cut over a tee shirt
(and no jumper – they was for southerners).
We listened to the bands what made us pop
Ska and Punk and some of the Glam gurus
Ziggy Stardust and Alice
and we hung around Granger Street
playing coins-against-the-wall
and wasting tens on the Asteroids machine
in the warmth of the chippy.
I never went a bundle on the racist shit
but them lads from Gateshead
were the scum of the earth in our books
we'd be belting down the back streets
looking for a bin to hide in.

short forms 29th April 2017

secrets
let out at last
only to discover
they weren't his secrets after all
They knew.


© Rachel Green 2017

moonless night
illuminated by garden lights
black tulips


© Rachel Green 2017

Looking for Sally
released to the wild
transman issues
spoiler alert:
John's hiding something


© Rachel Green 2017

phone call
"Your computer is sending malware"
I settle in

The poor call centre dude
becoming more irate
as I explain his own scam

Eight minutes before he hangs up


© Rachel Green 2017

She feels lazy today. And fat.

© Rachel Green 2017

Friday, 28 April 2017

poetry 2017 / 087

For today’s prompt, write a poem about a smell. Similar to Day 6’s prompt about writing a poem about a sound, today’s prompt involves thinking about the various good and bad smells that fill the world. Pick one smell (or a variety, I suppose), and write a poem.


Catherine 1979

She wore patchouli
and a ragged hippie skirt
drinking lager by the pint
and telling stories of her youth.
She was all of seventeen
and I loved her passionately
albeit briefly,
like the flourescent stars
on her bedroom roof.
Thirty years have passed
and more
but the scent still makes me smile
and wonder what happened
to my darling Clementine.

poetry 2017 / 086

Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem using Skeltonic verse. Don’t worry, there are no skeletons involved. Rather, Skeltonic verse gets its name from John Skelton, a fifteenth-century English poet who pioneered the use of short stanzas with irregular meter, but two strong stresses per line (otherwise know as “dipodic” or “two-footed” verse). The lines rhyme, but there’s not a rhyme scheme per se. The poet simply rhymes against one word until he or she gets bored and moves on to another. Here is a good explainer of the form, from which I have borrowed this excellent example:

Existential Guinea-pig

Existential Guinea-pig
in a cage, not too big
waiting for a music gig
that never comes. Fig.
Not that he can play a note
but what he wrote
would float your boat
arranged for quote
string and voice unquote
contents devote,
beloved sounds
in squeaks and bounds.
Beloved clowns
in rainbow gowns
surround the towns
and charge a measly forty pounds
to watch them jig
to Existential Guinea Pig.

short forms 28th April 2017

Parents
Who would have them
when they're decrepit crooks?
Time for some hard thinking about
plot holes


© Rachel Green 2017

thyme seeds
sprouting madly
I foresee tea


© Rachel Green 2017

new TV show
The Handmaid's Tale
dystopian future
As compelling as the novel
and as modern as Trump


© Rachel Green 2017

throwing practice
he shows me variations
on Uchi Garame

There's one I can't get
thanks to my flat feet
and broken knees

dance move practice


© Rachel Green 2017

bulging stomach denies her positive mind

© Rachel Green 2017

Thursday, 27 April 2017

poetry 2017 / 085

Many poems explore the sight or sound or feel of things, and Proust famously wrote about the memories evoked by smell, but today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores your sense of taste! This could be a poem about food, or wine, or even the oddly metallic sensation of a snowflake on your tongue.

Throwdown

Blood fills my mouth
sudden, unexpected,
the sharp tang of iron
sweet; sugar in a cup of mead
when I was five years old;
the tang of parsnip wine
when we got back from Midnight Mass
with my mother in her best fur coat
and the promise of Christmas on the morrow.

The grating of one tooth out of alignment
sandpaper on rough enamel.
I can feel the chip with my tongue.
Too late for a guard
(She should have kept her mouth shut)
Penny cracking me across the face
and a quick trip to the A&E for stitches.
You can still see the scar.

The razor blade that caressed my skin
when I was at my weakest
felt like blood tastes.
Thin, metallic, something only noticed
when out of context.
How often do you think about blood
in the course of a normal day?

Don't take my word for it,
I'm anything but.

poetry 2017 / 084


For today’s prompt, use at least 3 of the following 6 words in your poem (using a word or two in your title is fine); for extra credit, try using all 6:
  • pest
  • crack
  • ramble
  • hiccup
  • wince
  • festoon

Sometimes

Sunlight in the window attest
to rainbows jumping from scattered prisms
hung on nylon strings and plucked
in off-key melodies dancing upon the crack
of an eye.

She sleeps fitfully, a scramble
amongst dreams that leap and twist like a mandrake
on a hot griddle. The frogs don't care
but move their feet among the sausages
and mushrooms
wondering why they came.

Tadpoles have no conscience. They hiccup
from memory to prescience. Mayfly larvae prown
the depths. A wince of pain
hungry mouths beget hunger
while water spider watches close; fies
of embarrassment – blushes festoon
the rough walls of her life.
It matters little.
When everybody dies.

short forms 27th April 2017

Kung-fu
Stevie points out
an eight year-old black belt
with no concept of rectitude.
Scornful


© Rachel Green 2017

magpie
on my windshield
evening gnats


© Rachel Green 2017

editing Sally
the mystery of Stevie's dad
finally solved
But will he find Sally
in the last thirty pages?


© Rachel Green 2017

friend's birthday
but what to get
a jiu-jiteroo?

I find a book on Kindle
and buy it for myself;
give him my hard copy

also: bookshelf space win


© Rachel Green 2017

Realising she's only a white belt

© Rachel Green 2017

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

poetry 2017 / 083

For today’s prompt, write a regret poem. Most people regret some action they’ve taken over the years, whether it’s saying the wrong thing, making the wrong choice, or putting off something for a tomorrow that never comes. Write about your own regrets, or the regrets of others

Regret

I wish I hadn't hurt you
I wish I hadn't let you down.
When you were trying to retain my love
I was hoping you'd reject it.
We didn't understand
relationships.
We were both too young to say
for sure.
The taunting of the other boys
became too much--
I didn't want to be that way.
You were proud to be the person you were
but I could never be the same.
Perhaps we could be happy
if I hadn't been a coward.
I should have seen my self from your eyes
(at least the one you still retained.)
I still have that piece of art you gave to me
I'll never let it go again.
Wherever you go
a piece of me will follow –
a shadow of my past
desecrated ground will sprout again.

poetry 2017 / 082

Have you ever heard someone wonder what future archaeologists, whether human or from alien civilization, will make of us? Today, I’d like to challenge you to answer that question in poetic form, exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist? The object or site of study could be anything from a “World’s Best Grandpa” coffee mug to a Pizza Hut, from a Pokemon poster to a cellphone.

Maus

Screws and buttons
a long wire to connect to--?
Obviously a machine of some sort.
A robot's hand?
One of the early designs;
late twenty first century?
But why, then, no appendages?
Not an android's hand, then, but
ergonomically pleasing to fit a hand
but one with only three fingers.
Were they less evolved that us?
Or more so – Our five digits
must seem an excess to these proto-humans
who must have counted in base six
(one, two, three, four, five, one-zero)
and why a window on the underside?
What a strange civilisation they must have had
and so short-lived. Hardly any time
between Mesozoic era
and the abrupt end of the Cenozoic
Almost a half-life.

short forms 26th April 2017

Young lad
out for vengeance
skins the flesh from his arm
police confiscate katana
and bones


© Rachel Green 2017

blue sky
after the hailstorm
cherry petals


© Rachel Green 2017

Old song
takes me back to schooldays
Edmund the twin
His favourite band
Electric Light Orchestra


© Rachel Green 2017

software bundle
seems to good to be true
anti malware

twelve quid for full licences
anti malware, optimiser
registry cleaner

worth a try, maybe


© Rachel Green 2017

muscles growing. Hundred pound back-pull

© Rachel Green 2017

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

poetry 2017 / 081


Write a love poem. The poem could be about lovers, but also the love of family, love between friends, or even loving your job, chocolate, or music. Or…
Write an anti-love poem. Maybe you’re a hater; that’s fine. We’ve got the anti-love poem prompt for you.

Pinterest

I used to keep a picture of you
in my wallet, among my credit cards
and loyalty tickets.
I never realised how appropriate it was
to have you next to my organ donation
until you extracted my heart
and chewed it up
like a broken timing belt in a speeding car
waiting for the wreck to happen.
Your image faded with time,
years passing with the loss of reds, of blues
until only the yellows were left
a voodoo doll to your jaundiced heart.

poetry 2017 / 080


In 1958, the philosopher/critic Gaston Bachelard wrote a book called The Poetics of Space, about the emotional relationship that people have with particular kinds of spaces – the insides of sea shells, drawers, nooks, and all the various parts of houses. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores a small, defined space – it could be your childhood bedroom, or the box where you keep old photos. It could be the inside of a coin purse or the recesses of an umbrella stand. Any space will do – so long as it is small, definite, and meaningful to you.


Stands for Comfort

Mother's wardrobe was filled with furs
but there was no back way into Narnia
no matter how hard I looked.
A darkness filled with musk
the softness of pelts
the scent of my mother.
I could almost imagine she was holding me close
her voice murmuring comfort,
still alive.
But she was long dead
and I was no Son of Adam or Daughter of Eve
to claim a throne at Caer Paravel,
Just a lonely White Witch
in the darkness of a wardrobe
and the scent of old musk.

short forms 25th April 2016

young thugs
with baseball bats
what happened to cricket?
Less aesthetically pleasing, I
suppose


© Rachel Green 2017

night frost
dissipating in morning sun
cherry petals


© Rachel Green 2017

movie night
we see a horror-comedy
"The Belko Experiment"
Ultimately forgettable
DK has a better ending


© Rachel Green 2017

a short essay
on politics in novels
by Christopher Fowler

My politics are clear:
my novels have diverse characters,
LGBTQ themes

and murders. Always murders.


© Rachel Green 2017

Breaking Bread: Manufacturing a new religion.

© Rachel Green 2017