Day 1: Christopher

Ken's Auntie Janey Scrubs The Carpet

One who was forever toiling 
deserves to be announced in capitals:
Auntie Janey and Uncle Jim 
tried so hard to make up 
for Ken's Dad so often gallivanting 
to his other family.

We minded not a bit
as they were forever
gathering up our little
gang – Ken, Peter, me
and David when he was around
to bundle us in their van.

Transport us to Wesham Hospital
for another hour of Janey being kind –
we never saw the visited patient,
but hung about in the grounds,
waiting for our evening treat:
the beach and wooden jetties

at Lytham, deserted Open Air
Swimming Pool at St. Anne’s,
a playground for cops’n’robbers,
cowboys’n’injuns. Or when the
weather kept us indoors at Ken’s,
his mum at work, Janey would be

so often scrubbing the carpet in
the lounge while we got our knees
damp as we crawled behind settees.
For all Janey’s loving care, Ken’s love
of racing around meant a motorbike
as soon as he was old enough –

and an open stretch of road on
the borough boundary beside the airport,
a twist of his wrist for the throttle,
the throaty roar shouting “I’m here! I’m here!”
speed snatched him from our lives:
this evening he did not make it to St. Anne’s.

© C. J. Heyworth April 2012

Day 1: Shaun

I have been itching to get on here and start posting a poem a day ever since I found out about the idea. I'll do my best to get something almost finished up daily but, I suspect it could be a tough month. Good luck to all the local writers trying this out, I think it is a great idea to have us posting on the same page. I'll try not to be the one that lets the side down. Enough of my rambling though, here is my poem for Day One.

Penny. 

At the back of your drawer

behind a Gideon’s Bible and a pencil case

I peeled off the old Penny.

Blu Tack masks a once proud coat of arms

while stern faced Edward looks away,

revealing none of his secrets under inspection.

He is worn out, his face in anti-time

bears not one wrinkle, only thumbprint

felt out by my own hands as I pushed him back.

I cleared that drawer some time ago.

Dated and reasoned that a coin worth next to naught

Was her final witness to time once spent;

The time once lost, forever sought.

Day 1: Ashley

Today begins NaPoWriMo

and I figured I’d give it a go

with a short limerick

(cos they are poetic).

If you like it then comment below.

Day 1: Lara

It is day one of National Poetry Writing Month, and I'm starting off with a poem inspired by my time in the Lakes a couple of weeks ago. It is only a fragment. I feel that it needs more, that I've not quite managed to say what I want to say. But it is a starting point; something that can be edited, tweaked and expanded upon. Something that stops the page from being blank and daunting.

Camp Site Breakfast

An old skip is bubbled and scratched with red rust,

the company's name is missing some of its letters.

It is filled with a hill of tied up carrier bags:

packaging, empty tins and left-over meals.

Each morning, the tabby farm cat jumps in,

scavenges around for bacon rind, burnt sausages.

Thank you for joining me here and I look forward to reading other people's contributions.

Lara