NaPoWriMo 2.29: Conviction


Twisty Tim Burton Trees…


Yes, I know I’m nearly a week late – but I really haven’t had the chance up to know to be a Completist and put the last couple of NaPoWriMo efforts up.

Here’s my 20-line poem in which I’ve done most of the things the prompt demanded…And was having a very flat day, as demonstrated by the rather bleak imagery.

It being the end of the month last week, I was running low on inspiration and so outsourced some of it to Facebook, as well as to the rather fun Brainstormer iPhone app, which randomly combines elements to give you some ideas…Worth a look – I like the animal creator a great deal.




Today will be an oil tanker named Conviction,

covered in twisted  Tim Burton trees.

Come and sit with me here, on the sixth

branch of this charred pine. You’ll see

for centimetres as the air-freshener

fumes soak into your skin, wash

beneath your tongue, rapping slicks

of black silk around the spectacle

of your mind’s eye.  We’ll suck all the

plankton from the sea  with a novelty

moustache straw, so they can’t complain about

whales anymore. Sing in Bulgarian:

“Rain, rain, go away, come again another day.”

Flick the Furry Dice of Failure so far they’ll become

two new moons. We will make this orchard

a home where only Yesterdays

are grown, in compost that whispers:

Aqui no es el problema. Today

still has shards of champagne

lodged around its name.


NaPoWriMo 2.22: Barb

“Her name is Barb. She’s never shut. The one-sided sign on the door reads: OPEN.”

So a ‘children’s poem’ very much in the vein of Roald Dahl or Tim Burton’s Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy (OK, maybe that’s not even for children).

My partner noticed a handwritten sign yesterday (in the small town we’re presently based), advertising ‘Hairdresser’s chair for hire’ (in my head, it then said, ‘by the hour’). It was directly above a butcher’s shop. And so, with Demon Barbers in mind, transposed to Mirfield…

It’s a work in progress and as such, the story is not yet complete. It’ll either get longer, or shorter…




In a blank little town

with a flat grey river

that curves across it like a frown

is a sight that’ll make you shiver.


Her name is Barb. She’s never shut.

The one-sided sign on the door reads: OPEN.

And she’ll give you the worst haircut

you’d never even imagined.


That Barb’s a beast, a crow with scissors.

Don’t go to Barb for a careful trim:

You’ll get yourself caught in a Barbara-blizzard –

a snow-dome not only of hair, but of skin!


‘Butcher Barb!’ that’s what they call her.

‘The Demon ‘Dresser’, the children say.

So what’s the explanation all the

parents look the other way?


“Oh hel-LO Mrs Trent, do come in!”

As shuddering Taylor gets shoved through the door:

“Would you like to try my savoury tiffin?

It’s a recipe I haven’t tried before…”


‘Cos Barb’s got all the parents hooked

on the troublesome treats she bakes.

That Sinister Scissorer! Guess what she’s cooked?

It’s not just the smile that she fakes…


To Be Continued…?