Mango: vase

.

Day 22 – 2021
Prompt:
Mangoes have become a sort of shorthand or symbol that writers use
to invoke an entire culture, country, or way of life. 
The mango is a literary device, especially in Asian literature,
to symbolise unspoken thoughts and feelings or
those which can’t be conveyed anymore.
So in this part of the world it’s a developing concept.
So I’ll take it my way.

.

Mango: vase

.

The vase it was
the vase on the table
the table in front of the window
with tulips
growing like she was feeding them far more
than love and attention.

First straight,
like a young child
reaching for the sun
then bending
like I’m bending now I’m growing old

and finally touching
the tablecloth
caressing the way they are
and almost like she pushed away her hair
when she was tired and sat down

The vase it was
smashed in the bin by my mother
who didn’t care
that a simple vase might be a treasure

In my mind now
it stands on my table
with weeping tulips
touching the wood
Telling me
there’s also a table cloth she touched
and you didn’t care for.

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

.

.

Featured post

Shankha Ghosh

The Bengali poet and critic
Shankha Gosh
born Chittapriyo Ghosh
died from Covid today.
(5 February 1932 – 21 April 2021)

.

Shankha Ghosh

.

.

And then he walked no more
the soft whispered poetry
stopped creating the rhythm of his life

the intuitive mind
the heart and soul
the breath
flown into space
on a whift
of eternity

the poet
silence
lingers
his soul
drifts away

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

Featured post

They’re free

Day 21 – 2021
Prompt:
write a poem that
uses lines that have a repetitive set-up.

.

.

They’re free

.

.

They complain they can’t be free,
then protest on the streets. Strange according to me.
They complain they can’t go to school,
and refuse to learn online. Strange, or am I the fool?
They complain they can’t eat what they want,
but limit their choices, but that doesn’t make me rant.
They complain they can’t decide about the vaccination,
but they refuse. My smile is near elation.
They complain about the curfew
but they just walked by, in a group. I had a good view.

They complain about their freedom taken away.
They’re free to complain all day.

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

.

Featured post

Almost a dancing sijo

.

Day 20 – 2021
Prompt:
Write a sijo.
This is a traditional Korean poetic form, has three lines. Typically, they are 14-16 syllables, and optimally each line will consist of two parts – like two sentences, or a sentence of two clauses divided by a comma. In terms of overall structure, a sijo functions like an abbreviated sonnet, in that the first line sets up an inquiry or discussion, the second line continues the discussion, and the third line resolves it with a “twist” or surprise.

When writing poems like these, for me, the rhythm should come from within.
But with so much disturbances as today, I left the poem as it was.
So nothinbg artificial to adjust to the prompt, but in a moment … from within…

.

.

Almost a dancing sijo

.

.

She dances in inward concentration. Twirling around the axis, the center of herself.
The lightness of the veils around her, seem to hide fairy or gracious elf.
When movement stops, the fading breeze is her farewell.

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

.

.

Featured post

Mouse and me

.

Day 20 – 2021
prompt:
Write a sijo, a traditional Korean poetic form.
Has three lines.
Typically, they are 14-16 syllables, and optimally each line will consist of two parts – like two sentences, or a sentence of two clauses divided by a comma.
The first line is usually written in a 3-4-4-4 grouping pattern and states the theme of the poem, where a situation is generally introduced.
The second line is usually written in a 3-4-4-4 pattern (similar to the first) and is an elaboration of the first line’s theme or situation (development).
The third line is divided into two sections. The first section, the counter-theme, is grouped as 3-5, while the second part, considered the conclusion of the poem, is written as 4-3. The counter-theme is called the ‘twist,’ which is usually a surprise in meaning, sound, or other device.

.

.

Mouse and me



I look close. ‘Where are you now? Tiny sweet mouse, little sweet mouse!’
I hear you, and you see me. Who will escape? Who will be free?
Without fuzz, a spider moved fast, jumped quick on us, friends now, aghast.

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

.

.

Featured post

Blabber Sign

Day 19 – 2021
prompt:
write a humorous rant.

.

.

Blabber Sign

.

.

Blabber blabber blabber blabber
Finally some silence
when I empty my bladder
it’s (a) relative

When I open my mouth
I won’t attract a crowd
not even one

You keep on showing
how intelligent you are
by flooding the earth,
but for what’s it worth:
you knowledge reaches nothing,
fits in a small jar.

I want to shake it,
and break it,
and show you how small
your contribution to humanity
is after all.

But kindly I seem to listen
while my thoughts drift away
Maybe I plant some
to grow large
in good places next May.

I give them some meaning,
even double maybe,
and place a small sign
with a few words, quite benign,
for for everyone to see:
‘Inspired by blabber
but not by me.’

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

.

.

Featured post

Can’t read it

Day 18 – 2021
Prompt:
Stephanie Malley, challenges to write a poem
based on the title of one of the chpaters from
Susan G. Wooldridge’s
 Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words.
I tried to read the titels, but couldn’t
due to bad eyesight.

.

.

Can’t read it

.

.

I am supposed to see the words
italic, small, like badly written
seeds that don’t know yet
what to become.

I have wandered in my mind
to find
creativity of another
but found my silence
and the utter sound
of wonder

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

Featured post

Eulogy for a Prince

.
Day 17 – 2021
Off prompt

.

.

Eulogy for a Prince

.

.

His feet
touching seas
and sands
and royal ground

walked through the lives of many

his hands
pointing out the trees
that had grown old
and wanted a much disputed
final rest

touched the lives of so many


and joking, talking, observing,
walking just two steps behind
but always there
a generous support
a loving companion,
the wrinkles, the smiles,
just like in the elderly
so close to us

Come dad, welcome him,
pat each other on the back,
and remember the old days,
that linger in the morning sun
and stare over the waves of time
and become always present
yet again.

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

.

.

Featured post

Mooncycle

.

.

Day 17 – 2021
Prompt:
a poem about or involving
the moon

.

.

Mooncycle

.

.

The campfire
songs and tall trees
and a warm embracing moon
casting our shadow
like we had a future

Years later
the same wood
the moon trodden
and Max joking
I was the fairy
dancing on the rays
singing
in the silence
of the night
if I had known
I would still be singing

and then the nights came
of remembering
of reaching out
and never touching
the sad choice
of age and loneliness
the past
or dreaming in the glowing gold
of mystery and magic

the moon
drifting away
No shadows
a tree stretching out
whispering with empty hands
I love you

The golden circle
fading
in the misty day
.

.

.

Syl©2021

.

.

.

Featured post

No habit

.

Day 15 – 2021
Prompt:
from Juan Martinez.
Think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents,
write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit,
before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit.

Strange enough a quick read of the prompt made me think
I had to write about a mutual habit of them.
Couldn’t find any…

.

No Habit

.

.

‘Whipe your feet’ and ‘close the door’,
‘Don’t throw stuff on the floor.’
That’s what my mother had to tell,
Oh yes, I remember well.

Daddy listened, and so did I,
but now I ask myself: why oh why?

Dictatorship, unfriendliness,
She was unkind, and even less.
Towards others she smiled so nice,
but towards me she was pure vice.

So I decided to lead a different life,
be a proper mother and a far better wife,
To respect my children and treat them well,
so none of us walked through the same hell.

.

.
Syl©2021

.

.

.

.

Featured post

Spooky Fib

Day 7 – 2021
Prompt:
Fibonacci poetry was founded by Gregory K. Pincus last year
1 syllable for first line
1 syllable for second line
2 syllables for third
3 syllables for fourth
5 syllables for fifth
8 syllables for sixth

.
Spooky Fib

.

.

I
dream
faultless
except for
nightmares that colour
the day into endless horror

as
ghosts
appear
in every
sound and sight to me
grasping hands never leave me be

.

Syl©2021

.

.

.

.

.

Featured post

A photo and a rhyme

Day 4
Prompt: photo

.

.

A photo and a rhyme

.

You left no footsteps
when you entered out of time and space

did we have a past
a place to go?

or are we just frozen in time?

do you greet me
or guide me

or are we just frozen in time?

when do you walk away
or disappear
to empty the photo
or end this rhyme?

Syl©2021

.

.

.

Featured post

Duality

Day 3 – 2021
Prompt:
Personal Universal Deck. One word per card.
Shuffle it a few times.
Select a card or two, and use them as the basis for a new poem.

Duality

his ego stood
as shining as a lighthouse

the fairy
guidinglight
blueberry dances
on waves to hide

it’s the sea
that embraces
duality

Syl©2021

.

.

.


.

Featured post

Passing by

prompt:
a poem about your own road not taken

Passing by

Lost in time
drifting
and losing my purpose

no arm
the empty chair
with stranger

I am my twin
lost in time

No road…
I didn’t see a road!!

and still my feet
don’t find a path

So there I stood
like frozen

at the horizon
black silhouettes
walking
playing
singing

my voice
a whisper
from time
passing by

leaves will fall
and flowers grow
and none
none will know
the twin in me
behind the smile

Syl©2021

.

.

.

Day 2 – 2021

Featured post

Fly

daily prompt:
Sometimes, writing poetry is a matter of getting outside of your own head, and learning to see the world in a new way. To an extent, you have to “derange” yourself – make the world strange, and see it as a stranger might. To help you do that, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem inspired by this animated version of “Seductive Fantasy” by Sun Ra and his Arkestra.

Fly

Downtown
tingeling
turnaround
raven

never fly
the crawl-in tom

erupt
eyes
of trauma

to butterfly
ancient
afar

and then
after the pit of silence
loneliness perhaps
she awakes
curled up in the rain

a seed?
a seer?
or just the dream
to be

to be
existence.

Syl©2021

.

Day 1 2021
https://www.napowrimo.net

Featured post

The Poppy Leaf

The Popppy Leaf

.

The old book
almost fell from the shelf
just like I
feel all day
at remembrance day

it’s like holding on
to some support
and there is none
gravity always wins

the past always wins
after my mother
threw away
his medals
his photos
and his ashes
none is left

a tear
touching
a small dry leaf
on the floor

long ago
he put
a poppy leaf
in a book

I didn’t know

.

.

Syl©2020

.

Featured post

Remembrance Day UK 2020

Remembrance Day 2020

.

I will remember those
who have no grave
who died
under a bare sky
and were never found

and those
who walked the long road home
and lived
with memories
and were never honored

They survived
and never got a statue,
never a memorial
and never the last post

I will remember
my dad
who has no grave

I can’t find him
anymore

.

Sylvi© 2020

Featured post

Feels in me

.

.

Feels in me

.

You were there
you never told me
nor the world
you were there

part of history
so far away
but it is
our present freedom
our future

You were there
you carried in your heart
the pain, the grief
the exhaustion
never told
never heard
but felt
and now it feels in me

You were my dad
but also one of the boys
who cleared this world
from evil and oppression
I didn’t inherit the stories
but the feelings are in my genes

You were there
you never told me
nor the world
you were there
but it feels in me

.

Syl©2020

Featured post

VJ Day 2020

.

.

VJ Day 2020

We shouldn’t only honor those
who died
but also those who survived

When your friends
are beaten to death
left in the sun to dry
days on end
without food or water

when your friends
gaze at you
without seeing
without remembering those
they deeply love
before dropping dead

When you have no friends anymore
and you have lost yourself
then there is no war
because power
kills human beings



I have seen them
dragging their mind
and soul
behind them
screaming in the night
when they converge

lost in history
lost in themselves
war is never over

Syl©2020

Featured post

Relax

.

Relax

.

The rope
two clouds
blinding sun

one feet
grasping
air

two toes
just to relax

re….lax

relax
rest
quietness

clouds closing
the rope
floating

eternity

.

.

Syl©2020

Featured post

Share a message?

.

Share a message?

.

Share a message?

they walk past me
like life is a railway station
all absorbed
in their own important lives

to sit and watch
increasing alienation

I don’t hide
am like a statue
in the middle of the road
noticed
but unseen

I’m not lost
as none misses me
I’m just an addition
to their lives
they can sweep aside
and forget

.

.

Syl©2020

.

.

Featured post

My hands

.

My hands

.

My hands
open
a cup
for leaves to fall in
in autumn

spring left blossoms
soft pink
and some white
light as a feather

then summer flowers dropped
kissing my head
with their fragrance

I’m standing here
for winter to come
to freeze everything
to memories
to keep

the circle almost full
the whispers
a veil
against the cold

fruits without seed
no wind

my hands open
while snowflakes fall

.

.

Syl©2020

Featured post

Downstairs

.

Downstairs

.

They want to live in your house
but don’t want to keep you company
They want to eat your dinner
but don’t want to do the dishes

they want you to do the laundry
but when you ask to fold it,
it’s 5 teatowels, on a pile,
but not where they should be,
because going to the kitchen,
is like walking the 4 days marches

In the past
the housekeeper
sat downstairs
in the present
the kids
sit upstairs

Nothing has changed…

They once were babies
nothing has changed…

and when you’re old
they cry
in front of the carehome
during the Covid crisis
because you need a hug,
they say…

You just need something from me
to turn around
content

.

.

Syl©2020

Featured post

Think before you protest

.

.

Think before you protest

.

You’re not
imprisoned in your home
you’re asked
to selfdiscipline

your rights are not taken
you’re only asked
to exercise the
right for health
for everyone

you’re not asked
not to live
you’re asked
to enable others
to live too

remember that your freedom
has been earned by others
and was given to you
millions have died
so you can experience freedom

so why can’t you
stick to a few rules
like social distancing
for a couple of months
to give freedom of health
to others?
You don’t even
have to risk your life
for it!

.

.
Syl©2020

.

.

Featured post

Veterans’ Day 2020

.

.

Veterans’ Day 2020

.

My dad,
my uncle,
my nephew,
a friend of my son I saw growing up and was nearly killed,
the boy I played with when I was a little one, and who became general,
my father’s friend who was army chaplain and educated me to listen and above all to hear, and to guide veterans into a balanced life,

and all those I’ve spoken to during my life.
The angry ones,
the happpy ones,
the ones who trained and never went
the ones who were bombed
the ones who flew
the ones who saved others
and the ones who were pulled out of the combat zone and lost the ability to ever walk or talk

All those ones
that wander through my mind
every day
here and abroad
and every night
when they wake up
screaming
or can’t get out of that dream.
the ones who found happiness in the Invictus Games
and those who roam the streets and feel no one cares

You are the army of my freedom
you always walk and walk and walk
and make me fight
against discrimination
for respect for life
You make me never give up
no matter what happens
I thought of you when my babies died

You are those who give me the days
I should cherrish,
just like the afternoons in London
when we drink our beers
and the sounds of my best friends’ medals
are like a concert
for all who can’t be there.

Thank you.

.

Syl© 2020

.

Featured post

If my skin

.

Written
after a white person
told me that
because I am white
I will do this
and will do that.
In fact
I am completely different.


If my skin

.

If my skin was transparent
would you value me
for who I am
or search for the image
a kind of plastic cover
so you can
ascribe
all sorts of
characteristics to me?

.

.

©Syl2020

Featured post

All Lives Matter

.

All Lives Matter

.

of the little child
that was taken away
from her parents
and she doesn’t know why

of the small girl
who was raped
because he could
and she doesn’t understand why

of the woman
who was hit
a blue eye and broken bones
because he had to
and she still doesn’t know why

of the black man
who was killed
because the police could
and none understands why

of the white woman
who was told to shut up
because she said all lives matter
in a time she should say
black lives matter

power to kill
power to exclude
power to include

my heart cries for those
who suffer from injustice
all lives matter

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

Empty streets

.

Empty streets

.

The streets were empty
because of a deadly
disease

People were hiding
for something small
they couldn’t see

Now the streets are empty
because of an even
more deadly disease
murder
violence

a president
who needs people
to be hurt
to hold the Bible
just like hitler

that’s the disease of
abuse of power

not wanting people to live in peace
is the worst disease.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

She is silent

.

She is silent

.

She is silent
her city is burning
trashed in rage
excitement
rioting
looting

once she called for violence
after another black man
was murdered by police

I told her
a reverend
never should call
for racial confrontation

She told me to shut up
after so many years
of friendship
true sisterhood I thought
she called me a racist
because I was white
deleted me
defined me
on my colour

and now
another man has been killed
hearts are burning
but burning hearts
don’t set a city on fire

desperation
makes people depressed
or angry
acting out is a choice.

She could have called
for silence
She could have taken
a place
on the stairs
calling for respect
for the dead man

she just kept silent
and watched

.

.

©Syl2020

Featured post

Tell them

.

Another black man died
by the force of a knee
George Floyd.
He was handcuffed,
on the ground,
4 policemen present,
who did nothing.
Someone filmed it
otherwise
The world wouldn’t have known.

.

.

Tell them

.

So you’ll tell your children
their father is a killer
a murderer
one who had plenty of time
to think and reconsider
one who forgot
that all men are equal
and colour doesn’t define
what kind of person you are
one who takes the breath
during covid time
when others risk their lives
to save other people
no colour involved
just the colour
of their protection robes

So you’ll tell your grandchildren
you had no empathy
no compassion
when a man
handcuffed
warned you he was dying
that you didn’t even
give him an equal fight
but you just killed
because you could

You’ll tell them
a life doesn’t matter?

You’ll tell them a life
doesn’t matter?

You’ll tell them
you would have killed them
if they had been black

You’ll tell them
they have the genes
of a murderer inside them

And you didn’t have the guts
to be your own judge.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Derek Chauvin

Mr Chauvin had his knee on Mr Floyd’s neck for eight minutes and 46 seconds – almost three minutes of which was after Mr Floyd became non-responsive.
Hennepin County Prosecutor Mike Freeman: ‘Mr Chauvin was charged with third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter.’

Featured post

Sing louder!

.

Sing louder!

.

Sing louder!!
I can’t hear you
but I feel the melody
it massages my soul
and makes me want to be me

Dance broader!!
I can hardly see
that you’re on stage
I can feel your urge
to touch the sky
but I don’t understand
why?

Jump higher!
I can’t see you pull gravity
as an elastic band
but I share your need
to escape this heavy world
into the realm of phantasy

come on
let’s both
be me

.

.
©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Rose’s Child?

.

Rose’s Child?

.

mamma,
didn’t you know
I was your child

did you think
I was Rose’s child?
a second hand baby?

Why did gram
find me
not breathing
in the crib
right beside you?

You hadn’t noticed it?
You hated gram.

Later you said
that you wished
I’d never been born

You used to hit me,
try to make me as small
as a grain of sand
You walked all over me

You did the same
with my children
and I went away

You never made me your child

And when dad died
you took away the promisses
and un-childed me
in all possible ways
you destroyed dad’s past,
his promisses,
and threw his ashes away

You took my childhood,
you took my mother,

but you never took my dreams

.

.
©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

How can a nation

.

How can a nation

.

How can a nation
ever forget
to see their brothers
their sons, uncles and friends
leave for war

the kiss,
the hug,
the ‘say goodbye’
the turn
the first pace
and then the empty space
like air
had forgotten
to be breath

the waiting
the fear
the secret watching
down the street
if ever
he might come back

there might be a letter
a telegram
or someone knocking at the door

and some words on paper
his farewell
written with a young mind
expecting
a bright future
after war

Some did return
many did not

some suffered sudden death
and others suffered life
night after night
noise after noise
with their friends
marching before their eyes
unseen by others

It’s what we can’t see
which is not celebrated

it’s freedom
written on walls
and in generations

and yet
many
can’t see

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Transparent wall

.

Transparent wall

.

empty space
no one

transparent wall

searching dates
where is a partner
grasping out
like a spider
no web

transparent wall
inside being
the child
oh the child
that child

transparent wall

some can’t look
through a transparent wall
all they see
is a wall

life is already there
but when
will the transparency
be overcome?

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Remembrance Day 2020

.

Remembrance Day 2020

.

empty streets
empty square
the King and Queen,
and a few to assist them,
a girl reading a poem
she did well

…remembrance…
the last post
echoing over empty pavements
lingering in the air
as the last sounds
of a Lancaster
but lighter
the birds fly free

while people are hiding
behind their doors
for the first time
experiencing liberation
in another way

Maybe we’ll learn
from the war within

I still feel grateful
humble
remembering my gram
telling me
at the kitchen table
‘and then we were free,
but the true freedom was
when you dad came home
and embranced me.
Then I was free.’

I feel
like waiting
for my dad,
but he’ll never
arrive again.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

Hiding

.

Comparison
between WW2 and Covid-19

.

Hiding

.

running
running
hiding

someone with a gun
is hunting me down

the attick
safety?
silence all day,
not a sigh
of the floorboards

No sock
touching
another toe

Don’t scratch your head
don’t sneeze,
don’t cough,
when they hear you
you’re dead

someone
demolishes the door
hurts you
your family

kills your mom
kills you

and you think
hiding for Covid,
reading,
gaming,
eating,
coughing and sneezing,
singing and dancing,

you think that’s the same??

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Statistics

.

Statistics

.

They want to be free
do what they want
they want touch,
talking,
sitting and walking
where they see fit.
That’s it.

They don’t see
the opportunities,
the challenges,
the offer of life,
to stand still,
to learn who they are,
to understand themselves,
and the ability to care
to safe a life
or more.

They want to risk death
because they only know
a small part of life

They don’t understand
that a small part of statistics
might be one of them
or more.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

Blossom 2020

.

Prompt:
A mom asked me to write
a very simple poem
to practice
reciting a poem
in english
for het little daughter

Blossom 2020

.

they will return
those petals
of flowers on a tree
of blossom
so beautiful
that I forget to see the clouds
or hear the birds sing.

This is arrival of spring

even return
and repeated return
means change
as the blossom
flowers different again
so beautiful
that I forget to see the clouds
or hear the birds sing.

This is arrival of spring.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

Featured post

His return

.

Prompt:
write a poem about
something that returns.
I made it:
someone who returns

.

His return

.

He arrived at the gate
by none seen
but heard by the dog
and the birds in the sky

His memories covering
the world in his bag
his pain, his fallen mates,
and then he placed his leg

just forward
to the future
like he could forget
the war he’d been

He looked like the person he was
but the other ‘him’ we’ve never seen.
His smile a bit smaller,
his eyes less deep
but vivid his own war
even in his sleep

He survived
and we’re glad so
but we’ve never seen
the skies, the fields,
where he has been.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Day 30 – 2nd poem
http://www.napowrimo.net

Featured post

Dutch Kisses

.

Prompt:
write a poem about
something that returns.
Well, I made a lot of returns
in it.
For fun!!

.

Dutch Kisses

.

We Dutch we are famous for our kisses
one, two, three,
I kiss you and you kiss me

Then corona came to be
and now this mrs
missess kisses

not one, not two, but three
You can’t take it away with a cup of tea
not even with a day at sea

I don’t like the cheap fixes,
a whisle, an elbow, or smiling at me,
they are a lot less delicious

than the Dutch famous kisses
but nevertheless my wish is
to see you next year and we’ll be free

I wish you many days with lots of blisses
and I send you a real spree
of virtual Dutch kisses
to take with you, from me.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Bobby

.

Prompt
Write about a pet

.

Bobby

.

My gram’s Bobby
protected me
with a growl and a bark
he left a mark
on my mum’s ego
and had her go

He could whimper to inform her
even when she was behind the corner
that he knew what she did to me
and she’d better leave me be

This loving doggie became a bear
creating justice, was lawful fair,
and a nannie to this baby
he treated me like a real lady

So whatever happened in my life,
be it pain, hunger or unpleasant strife,
the safety he created in my person
never made my confidence worsen,
because he made me feel I was worth to be protected
and I was never truly neglected.

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

2 isolation rooms

.

Prompt:
Describe a bedroom
from your past

.

2 isolation rooms

.

The measles

.

White room
white blanket
white?

even the floor was white

the window
in the door
grey
small

part of a face
peeked through the haze
dad!!!

and gone
a white nothing

thermometer
it dropped
mercury
awesome to play with
moving drops
when bored
moved them under the table
it was white too

I still love silver

.

.

Rubella

.

woke up
from a black world
young doctor leaving
what did he do?

steel bed
in a white
box
*
4 steps,
4 steps,
2 steps,
table, bed,
bed, a halve step
repeat from *

imprisoned again
I’m a danger
in a children’s home

no thermometer
folding sheets
making windows in them
angry nurse

I feel a caged animal
contageous
none wants me

The sea is near
can’t hear it
can’t see the flash
of the lighhouse

just a flash
when I quickly open
my eyes in the bare light

even in the night
it flashes
so I don’t need the light

Aunty brings
plastic beads
simple small tubes
and a rope,
wooden beads
and beauty
are not allowed

a white world
is never
innocent

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

My cardiologist

.

Prompt:
write a poetic review
of something
or someone
that isn’t normally reviewed

.

My cardiologist

.

He smiles,
high fives
and listens well

His large paces through the hallway
compensate
for his small wrinkles
of
concentration
when the waves of the EKG
create a language
in his eyes

he reads me
by my heart

I love him
for tuning in
with my need
for brainless fun

he makes my heart beat

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

King’s Day 2020

.

Prompt:
write a poem
in the form of a review

.

King’s Day 2020

.

King’s Day,
a lonely national hymn
sounding from my kitchen door
all doors should be breathing
the same tune.

People on TV
celebrating
it’s not an alien world,
just the past

a tiny virus
more mighty
than our King’s Day
nothing magestic in that

Tradition
broken
is breaking news

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

A rose

.

Prompt:
fill out, in five minutes or less,
the “Almanac Questionnaire.”
Then, use your responses
as to basis for a poem

.

A rose

.

a breezy sun
one rose
houses close together
at the border

dolphins sing
parachute jumping
and the sun as a golden coin
soft touch of a true lover

the unknown
fighting against
or for
happiness

drawing a full circle
on the playground

the queen burdened by
a peeking neighbour
minks tested positive for corona
and the love you
manatee
like Tim and Tom
climb the mountain
maybe now welcome
the poverty of living in the past
and stare down from the bridge

walk on
walk on
nothing happening here

but a rose
in the breezy sun

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

No prompt

.

Prompt:
Todays prompt involved
poets reading their own work.
It’s like seeing a movie before reading the book.
I want a poet to take me into his world, make my phantasy fly, my creativity rumble like lava in a volnaco, before a magestic eruption.
Not that I consider my soulfluffs something special, let alone a magistic eruption. But I hope that once in a while someone is touched, made to think, or just takes a moment wo hear a bird whistle or watch a cloud pass by.

It’s when Max ridiculed me that I decided my poetry is nothing more than my expression. I won’t let others decide for me, guide me, tell me what’s right or wrong.
So many things in my life were the consequence of what is decent, kind, nice…. as I was supposed to be all that. One could substitute a robot for me.
It left me with a feeling of loneliness many poets would envy.

I’m not happy with my life… I know I can be more relaxed, happy, more myself.
It’s not my motivation that is lacking, nor my imagination, nor opportunity.
There’s has always been the lack of money. Not a lack of money, but THE lack of money, like a dominant feature in my life that keeps me pinned to my chair, hidden in my cluttered house and above all imprisoned in a way of life that after all these years still feels alien.

Max succumbed to life itself. Cancer has a way of taking over the process. And even though he always stood beside daily life in the city, he was a part of it, and became more part of it during the last years of his life.
He didn’t want me to witness it.

And now I’m stuck with all those images of him being different from others, trying to make me free.
I was shy, limited by what others wanted, bordered by my own expectations which were almost always outside myself.
I now see it as being pulled away, always being pulled away from what I needed, should do, deserved…
Only a bit of fluff blown away in the wind, dancing, free, just fading out of sight.

Not having the money to move to the UK, where I belong, no family members who leave me the inheritance of a small cottage, not even a job luring in a corner so I can use my talents…
It’s like I’ve been born to be small, be silent, be nothing.

And even though Corona hasn’t changed a lot in my daily life, – it’s always about caring for others, unseen, – I’m tired.

All I have is my imagination. Are my dreams of writing a book at a small table in a cottage garden, rumbling around, hearing the birds, and the waves of the sea. Walking through the sand, with maybe a beagle or another dog.

I don’t ask much…. just a bit of me….



Featured post

A lemon

.

Prompt:
to describe a fruit
as closely as possible

.

A lemon

.

In Italy
they were young
and happy
and sweet to eat

but more north
the skin wrinkled
like an old gnome
was holding it’s last hand
dangling on the tree

fallen and sliced
a mathematicians delight
triangles with rounded edges,
circles, circumferences
radius, diameter,
and in the centre
white…
and even that seems right

to squeeze is to drip,
to heat is smell,
and to eat
is like pulling
the ears to the teeth

I love the yellow drops
in cake and tea
so tell me
what I might be!

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.


Featured post

English skies

.

Prompt:
Fruit.
Not quite the way
I used it in this poem.
But it needed to be written,
So I am free to write
right on prompt
later this day.

.

English skies

.

Thinking of blueberries
makes me cry

I so long for my aunty
I’ll tell you why

When I was a little child
shy, and sometimes a bit wild,
My dad took me
to see the skies of England

Aunt Cathie
taught me to speek english
and showed me hot to cook
she made me sing old songs
and din’t forget
to make me look
to the skies of England

She made me taste vinegar and salt chips
and pickles with dips
cucumber sandwiches and
blueberry pies
and in between
we looked at the English skies

We smiled and we laughed
we had so much fun
she taught me jokes and an occassional pun
and when I came home,
all I talked about,
were her blueberry pies
and I missed the english skies

.

.

©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

The Dragon

.

Off prompt.

.

The Dragon

.

He had a dragon once,
hidden under his pillow
but only when it was dark
so it was never seen.

When his mom wanted him to eat
he told her to wait, because he had to feed,
the monster of insecurity
so it would keep silent
when she told him to do this and do that,
eat his roast, and don’t put aside the fat.

Then came the day of a sweet girl
He called her soon ‘his pearl’
she danced, seeemed happy, and loved him dear,
until another boy came near
and acted like bad herbs,
It wouldn’t stop, not in a week,
until the dragon told him firm to seek
the sword of words.

And so he didn’t use his fists,
but impressed all with his wits,
and very swift he learned
to speak, until he overturned,
that bully of a boy
and knew: ‘I can destroy’

Strangely the dragon disappeared,
and he no longer feared,
his mom, the roast, but he never ate the fat,
and he smiled when his wife told him to do this and that,
thinking she’ll never be
a dragon to me.
.

.
©Syl2020

.

.

Featured post

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started