Category Poetry

All Whipped Up – dVerse Meeting the Bar

freyathewriter 42 Comments

Here’s my latest entry into the dVerse Meeting the Bar. This week, Gay is urging us to explore American Sentences, 17 syllables of deliciousness a little like haiku, but sentence-style and jazzed up, beat poetry style. Allen Ginsberg, anyone?

My selection are inspired by the sudden cold-snap we seem to be experiencing (I love a clear night sky with a bright, white moon!), plus a remembrance of the Great Storm of 2013 we were hit by a few weeks ago. Oh, and the sea, because that’s where I live!

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– All Whipped Up –

My beach is glorious in winter, few choose to brave the elements.

My cheeks, whipped raw by sand and spume, rosy testament to Nature’s gifts.

My waves suck and draw shingle, crush shells, shred seaweed, salt crusting old boots.

My shuttered shops, empty carousel, cacophony for eyes and ears.

 

Rubicon – dVerse Open Link Week 122

freyathewriter 16 Comments

Here’s my latest entry into the dVerse Open Link – why not take a look at all of the other wonderful responses?

Please don’t panic – despite the tone of the poem, it isn’t a reflection of how I feel. Offline, I am writing dystopian fiction, so I was pondering how a particular set of characters might feel in this world that I have created for them. This piece came from there, nowhere else.

Let me know what you think…

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– Rubicon –

Render me empty,
Sackclothed and dull
Darker than ditchwater
Coated in oil, rainbow-hued surface
Hidden depths that boil,
As I blunder, lamed, from crisis to fall
Render me empty
Sackclothed and dull

Render me hollow,
Empty my skull
Vacuous, ransacked
Littered with spoil, nutrients stolen
My still waters roil
As I falter, blinded, beleaguered, I fall
Render me hollow,
Empty my skull

Render me soulless,
Eviscerated, null
Grey, empty, mourning
Exhausted with toil, eyes bloodshot red
From life, I recoil
As I stumble, burdened and buried, I fall
Render me soulless
Eviscerated, null

Remembrance Day

freyathewriter 8 Comments

I was not just enshrined in black and white
trained to react to a whistle
and launch myself over the top
I didn’t just stare at No Man’s Land
jumping at every falling leaf
nerves shot to pieces, trembling with fear
I was not just shipped hastily to Europe
attempting to aid our Allies
in facing down the Nazi machine
I was not just despatched to the Mediterranean
sand-whipped and sweating
to fight in a theatre far flung from home
I am not a romantic notion of old boys and idealism
telling war stories of camaraderie
I am not decades past.
I am the young man hobbling down the street
I am the hands held out for a bit of spare change
I am the woman bound to a wheelchair
I am the mental health patient facing down the day
I am sitting next to you on the bus.
I am here.
Remember, I am here.

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Tomorrow is Remembrance Sunday here in the UK, and of course Monday is 11th November, Armistice Day.

Copyright - Nicola J Cutts

Copyright – Nicola J Cutts