I wrote a poem in my head today
but now my mind is completely dead
and I think back on it bleakly
hoping for that extra creative hit
even becoming unusually meditative
then it comes to me and I write furiously
my spirits to an even greater height
inspiration – the great inflater
Conte on Handmade Paper
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
tiny pin pricks in my head
threatening an incision
feeling heavy as solid lead
struggling to make a decision
reluntantly clambering out of bed
barely with any forward vision
I start the day with bitter dread
Conte on Handmade Paper
© Dawn Whitehand
YAY! I made it through the month 🙂
I remember the first time I saw poverty
a shrivelled old woman sitting hoveled, I remember
I remember the first time I felt hungry
a calculator in hand at the supermarket, I remember
I remember the first time I saw powerlessness
a faceless person in a mindless queue, I remember
I remember the first time I felt passion
a niggling feeling slowly awakening, I remember
I remember the first time I saw needless suffering
a forlorn mother cradling her child, I remember
I remember the first time I felt outraged
a life changing epiphany, I remember
Pastel on Handmade Paper
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
Today’s prompt www.napowrimo.net – to write a poem based on things you remember.
transforming a peaceful existence to one of ultimate hell
the phone rang loudly bearing tragic news of untimely black death
a comfortable house nestled amongst freshly mown green grass
the eager twitter of tiny birds flitting from branch to branch
warm yellow summer sun rising in a mellow sky
it was supposed to be the best day of my life
Pastel on Handmade Paper
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
Prompt from www.napowrimo.net – to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning.
the slippery grass was a glossy green on the east side of the hill
where the golden sun sparkled happily in the early morning dew
casting rainbow reflections upward and outward toward a blue sky
but the west was shadow ridden and forlorn, dismally bleak and dry
a desolate landscape blighted by greyness within a warped quagmire
of slimy bog and smelly sludge, relentlessly encroaching forward
the microcosm of a world fuelled by mindless ideology
increasingly doomed, forever bent on terminal self destruction
Pastel on Handmade Paper
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
Todays prompt form http://www.napowrimo.net
The Irish poet Ciaran Carson increasingly writes using very long lines. Carson has stated that his lines are (partly) based on the seventeen syllables of the haiku, and that he strives to achieve the clarity of the haiku in each line. So today’s challenge is to write a poem with very long lines.
I have taken on board the seventeen syllables and used that as a starting point.
all in all,
to bedevil night missions
ruefully deny the pompous,
because they give us
a certain pause,
to catch our breath.
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
I stumbled upon a wayward thought, altogether forgotten, and dreary,
what if the world were safe, forever colourful, and cheery,
where would my mind go, wandering on, discovering anew,
uncovering latent ideas, a final encore, before the final coup,
of government betrayals, and midnight deals, a corporate shrew.
Pencil on Paper
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
Prompt for day 25 from www.napowrimo.com
“write a poem that begins with a line from a another poem (not necessarily the first line), but then goes elsewhere with it” – so I chose The Raven by Egar Allan Poe … most of my poetry is dark and Poe is a great inspiration to me…. 🙂
day 24 - eyes bulging hang weary
prompt 24 - my mind screams mercy
April 24 - one week to go
the words won't come
shipwrecked in the moment
a seeping quagmire overrules
desperately I await inspiration
Conte on Handmade Paper
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
Whilst walking in a meadow last weekend,
I found a flower of strange appearance.
Its stem delicate yet strong would not bend,
Growing in the middle of a clearance.
With misshapen leaves stripped in orange fur,
And prickly bells smiling up at the clouds.
I tried to pick it, impaled on a bur,
and was quite unaware of the mass crowds,
Big black cows watching me from a distance.
Curiouser they crept ever closer,
As fickle beasts I need no assistance,
In backing away no nonsense, no sir!
But alas the object of my desire,
Trampled and crushed a flower never more.
Digital Drawing
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
Prompt from www.napowrimo.net – a sonnet
golden leaves falling
memories of past Autumns
greyed by politics
Frottage – Pencil on Paper
© Dawn Whitehand 2016
Prompt from www.napowrimo.net – write a poem dedicated to Earth Day
Poems and Drawings 