The prompt for Day 3 of this ‘write a poem a day’ challenge was: a poem in the form of a fan letter.
I could think of lots of people I’d like to write such a letter to, mostly writers and artists who have inspired me, but I just couldn’t find the right way to start. By the end of the day, this was all I had produced.
I need a poetry idea,
A flash of inspiration,
A clever thought, some pretty words
To boost my reputation.
My mind is blank, there’s nothing there
The muse has gone away.
Long hours tick by, the minutes too,
I’ll try another day.
Today, Day 4, was completely different. Prompt: the cruellest month.
My subconscious threw this up amazingly quickly.
The Cruelty of March
A perfect March day,
a day you’ll recall years from now
and assume you are seeing those clichés of spring
- courting birds, blue sky, skipping lambs -
through lemon-tinted lenses
that make the greens joyous.
Good journey for once,
no hold-ups, wrong turnings or
crawling behind tractors for mile after mile.
Clear roads, windows down, music on
and, at your destination,
a vacant parking spot.
Lovely room, you think,
easy to forget where you are,
a pleasant hotel bedroom or private house perhaps.
Light and airy, pastel colours, a shelf
for all her cards and flowers,
a comfy-looking bed.
You smile, so does she,
and give your gifts with more smiles
hoping they’ll say so much more than your words.
Family news, a strained joke, idle chat
until the interruption of tea
gives blessed relief.
Beautiful view, you say,
as you stand and cross to the window.
The gardens are a picture today, have you seen?
Daffodils, primroses, buds on the trees,
and can you hear that blackbird
singing his heart out?
You hope for a moment,
she’ll ask you to take her outside or at least
make the effort to sit up and enjoy this first day of spring.
She lies quiet, still, eyes half-closed,
and you want to bite your cruel tongue
for talking of new life.
I’m sure it can be improved, and I’ll keep it in my ‘to be edited’ file, but I’m quite pleased with this first draft.