NaPoWriMo 4.1 – The Crumb Museum

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“A bright seed…”

It’s April – and that means National Poetry Writing Month…And I’ve decided to really commit again this year.

I’ll be putting up brand-new just-written poems, some of which I’ll then take down and polish to send off elsewhere, some of which will stay as forever works-in-progress. (Because that’s how it works…)

Some days I’m going to use the NaPoWriMo prompt, and others I’m going to try out new ones (from various resource books), those from Jo Bell’s 52 Project or – at the wise advice of Philip Gross in a Poetry School podcast – to delve back through my notebooks at fragments, details, early ideas, and see what might come of them with a bit more focus.

Yesterday’s prompt was to write a Lune – which is actually 5/3/5 syllables. But in a Friday rush, and probably having had a Friday beer, I thought Lunes were 3/5/3. (And this does come from an earlier fragment (crumb?) in my notebook.)

So I present a poem in Inverted Lune form – still a form, just not quite the one I’d intended:

The Crumb Museum

I shook it
upside-down, that day
it caught fire:

its archive
from the black basement
billowing,

setting off
the smoke alarm’s song,
charcoaling.

But beneath
its unplugged structure - 
The Curator.

Reclusive,
her eight able limbs
busily

catalogued
these relics of bread.
The sour-dough

of last year.
Hovis Best of Both
(reduced aisle).

A bright seed
excavated from
a bagel

like a jewel
in a bright casing
of new silk.
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Love The Words on ELFM

I went along to ELFM Towers yesterday for a chat with the ever-gracious Peter Spafford on his monthly extravaganza of all things wordy, Love The Words.

You can hear our conversation and my poems (on topics ranging from red kites to exam invigilating and pirate-spiders) by clicking on this link. I hope you enjoy it, or some of it, or even just click on it to find out…

You can also hear an interview on the same programme with excellent Leeds writer Rommi Smith about her residency at the NHS, which is well worth a listen.

Pirates

Image

Last Saturday, I went on a workshop with the Canal Laureate, Jo Bell, about whom you can read more here.

We spent some time talking about detail – using specific canal-furniture names (boats, bridges, places) in writing – and then moved on to ‘becoming’ various combinations of watery figures. Myself and another writer became a poet and a jogger – both of whom were horrible people. But hey – they’re often more fun to write as (maybe).

Another boat-related idea had been flitting around in my head, which I’ve just had another go at. Having not been sure how to approach the topic, I epiphed (all over the place) on the way home. 

It was some speed-writing (thanks Natalie Goldberg, for the encouragement – from a book nearly as old as me – ‘Writing Down the Bones’) generated an image – so I went with it…

 

Pirates

 

My friend, like so many,

fears them intensely,

so when she asks me,

a glimmer of hope:

“Are you safe from them

on boats?” I’m obliged to say

No.

 

For never before have I existed

so closely alongside them. Shipmates.

Brushing my teeth in the morning, in the

lower-right corner of the window,

in one swings with a toothless grin –

its rope dewed with the white

frothy grog that is splashed

from my chin.

 

Attracted by the dusky glint

of our black-gold chimneys,

they hoist ragged sails there which –

gaping in the trading winds –

display the body-parts of victims.

 

At night, they are not as sociable as

popular images would have us think.

Don’t gather together to eat or drink

their pillaged bounty; engage in a customary

YARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Instead,

they loiter under gunwhales,

bristle between the welds of steel,

biding their dark-clad time. (Though

on the vacant ship next-moor

they’ve moved in – squatting – on a riot

of their crystalline rigging.)

 

So my friend says, “Oh Gina G!

I had thought you might be safe at sea.”

But no, for ours is the realm of the

Pirate: their map and their maws;

their plots and their prey;

their own many-cutlassed laws.