Day 15 – NaPoWriMo – Musician

black and white bus stop sign
Photo by Autumn Dunne on Pexels.com

Ted Blaine, musician
After Gabrielle Calvocoressi

I journey back sometimes
and remember when I was riding
up front in that hot metal can.

I could see her in the rear mirror,
patting down here hair
and fixing her lipstick.

I should have done things
differently, little things,
like carried her bags

into the service elevator.
Let her know that I didn’t
think it was right, the way

they treated them Negroes.
One time, I heard her humming
while watching the world whizz by.

It was awful sweet the way
she could drift off into the music.
My mama was the same when she

had breath in her body. Sometimes
I dream of singing. Mostly
it’s that Billie’s comes back.

We’re traveling in the hot tin bus
but we’re upfront together
and she’s telling me

a thing or two about improvising
as the trumpet runs off
dancing with the piano.

Day 14 – Did you notice the Primroses at the edge of the path?

Their influence upon me was unacknowledged.

A light touch, with the hint of lemon,

at times translucent like a petal.

It was only when someone pointed out

a cluster of her words and his images

sprouting between mine

that I made the connection, that I caught

their dark shadows napping within my lines.

I had to apologise as I went about pulling

them out by the roots , laying out new foundations

in order to breath life into my own creations

growing from my gut to my heart to my hand.

Day 6 – Curlew, Sphagnum Moss, Peat

a spongy carpet;

clusters of green stars

holding water

storing carbon

amongst cotton grass

big rosemary and cranberry.

Curlew, Steng Moss Bog

peatland upland graasland.

blue stockinged long long legs

wading curved bill down.

I miss the air

against my skin

flicking hair impressions.

before they breed

the male bubbles a call

high pitched across the greyish mist.

threatened they skim

mudflats and dig for shrimp.

this closeness to nature

of cream of buff

of feather is like love

being ripped out

from the roots and fashioned

to fit the narrow folds of life,

yet still being golden and wild.

Day 4 – Dreamscape – Our own longing for silence is the rhythm of fire

Someday soon, in the distant past,

with an evening the colour of falling

maple leaves, I am trapped in a windowless

room – the desert is within us all.

I pose, pleased with my skin of darkness

and I will speak to you in lizard tongue

and shining face.

But night is still night to conjure

a backdrop of Georgia O’Keefe’s

bleached bones and bountiful blooms,

I come to you with my wild soul

thirsty for sugared water with fruit

nestled into my indigo hair.

Day 3 – NaPoWriMo – Music doesn’t always have to be about love

Trying to eat crayons,
I lower my carbon footprint
by losing weight

Working against the yellow of the sun
I circle the moon buttoned into the night;

warm as blossom,
silver as fish.

It’s hard going over pebbles
and shingles, jagged and raw.

Their shouts disturb my sleep,
Fuck off and go back to where you come from.

Is he referring to me?

Not even Harlem has this sorry soundscape. Halfway through life,

an awkward texture between the air and me, I’m too blind and too mute

for the ugliness and
violence found in such beauty.

My Blissful List for April

1. My DryRobe – This is a must have for when I’m going on a sea visit. I just slip my cossie on underneath and I’m out the door. Sometimes if the sea is far out, I’ll wear this robe right up to the shoreline, snuggled into the furry lining, soaking up the last few ounces of warmth before I throw it off and dive into the cold North Sea. And then I know it’s waiting for me when I come out, to soak up the wet and keep off the wind and rain and get me all warmed up. This was a gift to me from me and it just keeps giving. I love my DryRobe hugs.

2. My footed mug. – It was a special red, hand planted one with birds from Anthropologie but I broke it the other day. I was mighty upset. Making do with this little beauty from Tesco’s for now. But hot coffee on repeat. Just the ritual of making it, popping the kettle, rinsing out the cafeteria and putting in two scoops of decaf coffee and pouring the water on and allowing it to brew. The smell in the kitchen, the rising steam. Small simple pleasures.

3. My turquoise plush blanket. – When I left my last teaching job they brought me a gift voucher for Debenhams as a goodbye gift. I took it, I think £30, and bought this comfort blanket as it was a luxury item and I felt I’d just gone through a few months of hell teaching full-time and deserved a little treat in my life. This blanket is super cosy and has been my hygge go to ever since then.

4. Books and more books. – Growing up I used to hoard books. I used to buy them thinking by just having them in my possession I would be intelligent and knowledgable. I now know I have to read the books to gain their insight and message. And this is what I love to do. Anywhere really. Sitting room, bedroom, the bath is a favourite. And I love my physical books but hells bells if I’m going somewhere and packing is tight, then Kindle books will do for me. I just get lost in books, and inspired and cheered up.

5. Paper and pens – Yes I like my fancy journals and fountain pens. But when it comes down to it, just give me any scrap of paper and a pencil and I’m happy. I can then create. Lists are my go to in times of trouble or doubt. If I can brain dump whatever I’m carrying around in my head and body onto that paper, I feel better in the process. I can get things organised, I can let down my load and walk away feeling lighter, calmer and happier.

What is your Bliss List for April? Give me 5 items or more. just follow your bliss and see what you come up with. What makes you happy? What makes you glow from the inside out?

104 postings and counting

I missed the checkpoint. I’ve been so focused on posting here daily, and sometimes twice a day, or today three times, that I missed the 100 day/ posts achievement. Isn’t that usually the case though? Too busy doing the thing / reaching for the goal that we miss the opportunity of celebrating the achievement of success when we do so. Typical.

Here I give time and space to acknowledging the achievement. Well done Sheree, good effort. Take a pause and savour this moment …

Yes I know 100 days are not up yet. That’s going to be April 7th. 100 days from Jan 1st. But I’ve hit the mark of 100 postings and then some a couple of days ago.

In the past, I took on the challenge of posting something creative everyday on my blog, Everyday Creativity, it was called. I’m not sure how I managed it then as 365 days seems such a long time. But managed it I did as I saw it as practice as well as accountability. Taking up this challenge this year, has reminded me of how much can be gained from staying committed and consistent with creativity daily.

I’ve already mentioned here that I intend to continue blogging for another 100 days as I’ve just gotten started really. Just finding my stride as I’m interested to see what happens next, where does this space go next? And what will this challenge do for my practice? Even though, we’re in lockdown in the U.K. I’m finding that there is plenty to keep me busy in doors as I take on a number of creative challenges for the month of April. Looking forward to sharing the progress here with you. So here’s to the next 100 postings and thanks for coming along for the ride.

K

My Sister, My Wound

While the lockdown has been going on, I’ve been leaning into my creativity. One resource which has been helping me with reading and writing is the Social Distancing Writing Retreat hosted by Amanda P Moore.

Each day, there are four parts to each prompt. First there’s a poem to read followed by an essay on craft. Bearing these two in mind, there’s a writing prompt followed by an outlet, a place to publish your creations recommended.

I’m behind in the prompts but I’ve been finding this retreat a rich oasis of inspiration for my writing.

Here is a piece, I’ve redrafted today after following the readings for Day 6.

My Sister, My Wound after Ross Gay

No matter the mauling.

No matter the removal of face awaits.
There is no coming back
from coming to you.

My body betrays me
offering myself just like that.
With arms furred with pollen
like bright things at your feet;

marigold, opal, purple kale.
Biting my tougue, smile open
singing my insides our like an angel,

for you, to you.

I place my head into your mouth
knowing I’ll lose my head,
just like the sky biting down
into my torn flesh.

Sharing Your Work – 003

“ When women speak truly they speak subversively – they can’t help it: if you’re underneath, if you’re kept down, you break out, you subvert. We are volcanoes. When we women offer our experiences as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change.” – Ursula Le Guin