InkyBlots

*I apologize for the technical difficulties we’ve had lately. They seem to come and go, and they also seem to only affect certain people at certain times. Weird stuff, but hopefully it’s all sorted now.

I have just come back from attending a poetry reading in Bath. Sharon Olds held the room spellbound as she read her poetry and talked about writing. (I highly recommend a poetry reading if you’ve never been. It makes poetry into something completely different!)

For some, the word poetry conjures up terror; other people’s mouths begin to water in anticipation. Very few people feel nothing about it. Either way, your assignment this week is to write some – whether you like it or not!

Oh wow. I used to write poetry – most of it fairly angsty stuff, really. For this impromptu occasion, I think I’ll go with a limerick.

I am rather fond of the trees
and the way they capture the breeze.
They sway and they sigh
as I’m walking by
and always act such the tease.

Yeah, I know. Not so good. Let me try again.

I married a man from down under,
who was not a man who could plunder.
He fumbled and foiled,
his crimes were all spoiled,
but at least he never did chunder.

A little bit better, but not by much.

To make up for those, just for your reading pleasure, here is a poem that was selected to be in The Oddville Press.

Coffee Shop Poet Wannabe

Door stalked, admired, cursed
from across the tar and cracked pavement.
Should I? Could I? Dare I? Oh, yes,
for today, my sweet coffee shop,
today is the day of reckoning.

Jingle-jingle, jingle-jingle of the door.
Ah, a new girl, just a little bit of something,
perhaps sweet or perhaps spice
for the usual, eccentric pot.

“Um, I’d like a bottle of water please,”
as if the purchase of water
is a sensible action rather than
a dollar twelve for a plastic bottle.

“And the turkey…” mumbling ‘sandwich.’
“The turkey panini with the gouda?”
Go with the gouda! Go with the gouda!
Don’t break code! Possible emergency evacuation!

“Yes please,” and with no voice wobble,
no long stares, just glances and whispers.
Thank the benevolent coffee shop deities
for their small yet wondrous favors.

Order filled? Empty table? Affirmative.
Sitting down slowly, laser beam stares.
‘Flannel shirt, blue jeans, foreign body accepted,’
and a return to muffled conversation.

Put down my water, sandwich, and notebook.
A notebook? Ah. Acceptance melting into welcome.
Losing myself in the words, objective completed,
writing, wondering what the hell a panini is.