Nanowrimo: And it has begun!

Today is the 1st of November.  I have chosen to take the step which might lead to insanity, but I may also end up with 50 000 words towards my novel.

It is with some trepidation that I begin: butterflies in my tummy, less than helpful thoughts floating through my head.  There is also excitement: the anticipation, adrenaline pumping, raring to go! Continue reading “Nanowrimo: And it has begun!”



Heat from the pavement rises up my feet
              or is it from the bodies pushing, nudging, jostling
handbags, backpacks, paper bags 
   are instruments of pain
bruises blooming
words forming, 
   stopped before they are borne to cause more harm
Roar from traffic
              or is the stampede of thoughts that 
              race through my head
red cars, yellow taxis, silver, grey, black, white
all the same, noise pollution, air pollution, soul pollution
the sound box churning, 
swirling with acrid smoke and cracked mirrors
words floating, never landing

Glare from the sun 
              or from the many faces that look but do not see
black, white, short, tall, wide, heartshaped, blue, brown
reflecting sadness, emanating pain, stifling pain
words unspoken, words lost
words to define, to give shape, to validate 
until the words are found, there is only the void.

Intro to Poetry, Day 2: Face

How are you?

Brows furrowed in consternation,
                    reschooled, rearranged into too bright a smile. 
"You look fantastic! So much better now!"
   follows all too quickly
A shuffling of feet. when can i politely take my leave? 
   without seeming rude, ungrateful,
   without causing worry, offence?

"Are you resting enough?
How are you feeling?
Are you eating well?
Are you back to normal?"
              i mumble something or other,
   eager to get away from
   the concerned glances that are shot my way.

Am i fine?  i feel fine.
But i guess
   the scalp peeking out from my closely cropped mane,
       the scar adjacent to my lip, mostly faded, but still mocking,
           the shadows under my no longer sunken eyes,
                                            hinting at darker days
surprise, shock, evoke concern & sympathy
from those i chancely encounter.

I am fine.

Where are the Dragons?

Shhhh … under the bed.
Is the dragon under the bed?
Look! Look!
Oh… he’s not there.

Maybe he’s off flying through a deep blue sky
Searching for his next quarry, his next meal.
Flying free, flying fast,
Watchful for anything that
Moves far below him.

Shhhh … in the closet.
Is the dragon in the closet?
Look! Look!
Oh … he’s not there.

Maybe he’s fighting a knight,
All shiny, metal-tasting and clanky,
Toying with this quarry, with this next meal.
Fighting free, fighting strong,
Invigorated by the challenge of this champion.

Shhhh … outside the window.
Is the dragon outside the window?
Look! Look!
Oh … he’s not there.

Maybe he’s lying amidst his hoard, in his far off cave
Full of treasure, twinkling like stars in the darkness.
Heaving, gasping for his next breath.
Fighting free, fighting long.

Where have all the dragons gone?
They have left our our skies, our lands,
our deepest, darkest corners.

The Dragonslayers, conniving, skilled,
insistently memorising the face of each mesmerising dragon,
hunting them down mercilessly.

The end of legend,
the end of imagination,
the end of possibility.

The Dragons are driven out, one by one,
pursued, desperate, cornered,
until They have no choice but to grow up.