Poetry Corner
Poetry is an artform that I haven't had much experience with. However, I have done some dabbling. Some of my dabblings are pretty okay, so I have placed them here. Enjoy!
Third Year Poetry Module - Final Project: Feelings of Guilt and Shame
This sequence of poems was written as the final project of my third year poetry class at university. It is a reflection of the various stressors of my life at the time; severe anaemia, an ongoing feminist awakening, and reflections on the passing of my grandmother.
The name of the sequence derives from a post flare from an ex-vegan support subreddit that I frequented at the time.
Three Horseshoes
They don’t I.D the grieving
Seventeen, and barely so
But wretching down pints
Cause’ it’s what she would’ve wanted
And the cupcakes on the counter are a deathly sickly sweet
Their rice paper roses wilting limply in the heat
And the lilies in the corner shed their petals to the floor
Their grim morbid miasma soaking into every pore
The regulars ignore us
That awkward, polite ignoring
Where they don’t even care to look
And they talk like it’s normal
Just a day among days among days
I resent their casual jollity on the worst day of my life
Downing drinks and laughing so close to my families’ strife
And I won’t forgive that single act of paramedic negligence
That ended her, and brought us here
Gathered in tipsy reverence
Bloodmouth
Did it feel good?
When you bit the hand that feeds?
And your dad, breadwinner
The unwilling slaughterman
With the whiff of blood on his coat
And the trodden white down in the soles of his shoes
Because he couldn’t do anything else
You were adrift
And you wanted something to cling to
Like a sunken sailor clings to timbers
So you learned all the chants
And stuck the stickers and posters with vigilant eyes
That judged the meals that you ate all alone
If you ate at all
Newsflash, idiot!
There is no ethical consumption!
They lied! You were tricked!
The world can’t be saved with microwave meals
No matter how green the label
Because you are an animal
An animal among animals
Who was born like any other
And hungers
And will die just the same
You, little girl
Who has nightmares of needles
Do you know how often you’ll be down three vials
With the scars of what you’ve done in your very blood?
And hair. And bones. And heart.
And damn the vile capitalist cult
That groomed you to martyr yourself
For stinking farm animals
Because I know you are better than this
And I know it’ll take you a decade to see it
But it won’t matter
Because by then it was too late
Arctic's Daughters
(A reflection on the 1854 sinking of the SS Arctic, where male passengers trampled women and children for access to the lifeboats. No women or children survived.)
Never let them forget, my sisters
That you were not saved from the waves
On the sacrifice of their brave boys
Who gave themselves up on the promise
Of your safe seat on the boat
A lie is a lie, no matter how noble
And this is a chivalrous fib
Woven round you like ribbon
And bound in a bow at your mouth
With intent to drown dissent
In satin-soft ideals
When Arctic died on Vesta’s dread bow
Her selfish sons sought salvation
Only for themselves
While daughters drowned
Sisters, I warn you
Shun these fools-gold martyrs
Who will tell you to cut the collar of law
That binds those mad-dog men
Who would crush you and then never pause to mourn
If it is no longer women and children first
Then there will be women and children no longer
They will make sure of it, and how…
Merely Incidental
(A reflection of my discovery of an academic paper proposing the idea of "whole body gestational donation")
I try not to make a habit out of
Poisoning the new-born day in its cradle
But today it was inevitable
Eight AM, earl grey hot at my side
Peaches sweet in a bowl on my lap
And the hellbox, asleep in its charging place
It stirs with a purr, and I heed its soft call
It bears a message from a friend of a friend
“This is unbelievably messed up!”
And a link, which I click
“Whole body gestational donation”
Words to be unwrapped like a parcel
And inside them a proposal
That comatose women
Should be taken from hospitals
And made pregnant
For money
And my blood now runs cold
Tea soured, fruit rotten before my eyes
And they take me, those ancient anxieties
Thought long screwed up and shut
In the darkness at the back of the wardrobe
The fear that whoever I am, whatever I live to do
My hopes, my wants, my dreams
My soul
Are just incidental
And merely entertained
Like child’s play
And if a day comes, which it might
When I can no longer fight for myself
Then will all pretences of soul will be stripped away?
And make me a machine
That makes men
A Sharp Scratch
You are just as she was, the bloodletter says
Paper-white, lifelines buried deep
Harder to bleed than a stone
And she joked too, in this chair, as you joke
Cause’ it’s balm on the wound, just a little
And you’re sick just as she was
But brave, and striving
Because tomorrow won’t stop coming any time soon
Even if tomorrow no longer has her in it
Third Year Poetry Module - Mixed-Media Project: Songs of Reflection
This sequence of poems was a homage to William Blake, and an artistic response to his "Songs of Innocence and Experience."
I was particually inspired by how his words and paintings combined to make a visual whole, and attempted my own (rather clumsy) watercolour paintings as tribute.
The titles of two of these poems come from Toki Pona; a constructed language devised by linguist Sonja Lang as a sort of minimalist experiment. I liked the melodic quality and ambiguous meanings of the words, and thought I could experiment with them in my poems.
Assorted Poems From My First Year Of University
I also took a poetry module during my first year at university, though it was considerably more general and rudimentary. I produced a few poems for this module that still stand the test of time and experience. Here they are!
A House With Thin Walls
We both live together in a house with thin walls
Which is unfortunate, as it makes you an unwilling audience to
All the nicknames I call our cat when I think you're not listening
My apologies to you, and to Mr. Stinky
We both live together in a house with thin walls
Which is regrettable because I'm pretty sure you heard
The way I spat and swore when I dropped that big heavy mug
My apologies to you, and to the stain on the hallway rug
We both live together in a house with thin walls
Which is tragic because I know you were listening
That time I cried after we'd fought over nothing
My apologies to you because I know you hadn't meant to hurt me
A Morning Walk
As I walked out one morning
The sun shone bright and true
Tree branches waved in greeting
And buds shimmered with dew
I walked the garden daintily
My footfalls didn’t make a sound
For I’d never want to cause unrest
On these lovely, hallowed grounds
Camellia (A Haiku)
Untouched by the years
Forever bright and vibrant
Love blooms eternal
Rain Rain Come To Town
Rain rain come to town
The grass and trees are turning brown
We've had enough and it's not fun
To swelter here beneath the sun
We need a cooling drop of rain
To make us all feel good again
So come and quickly gather clouds
To rain down water on the boughs
Of forest trees and farmer's crops
And all the plants in flower shops
We won't curse your good name again
If you give us just a touch of rain
Come on sky, it's not that hard
Or do you like to disregard
The lives of us who live below
And want some rain or frost or snow
Please have mercy, sky above
Show us just a little love
And if it causes you no pain
Send us lots and lots of rain
The Donkey and The Lion Skin
(This poem was written for a "ghost companion" project. We chose a deceased poet to be our "companion", studied their work, and the attempted to create a piece in their style. I chose Roald Dahl; attempting to replicate his moralistic edge, humour that occasionally borders on grotesque, and tendency to re-write classic fairy tales. This poem is also inspired by one of Aesop's fables.)
Of all the furred and feathered beasts
Do you know which one is liked the least?
He's greedy, stubborn, rude, and crass
A dirty beast known as the ass
Though sometimes when he's feeling wonky
He does prefer to go by Donkey
He didn't care for disrespect
He found it closer to neglect
He said "I'm handsome, strong and tall.
Why am I the most wretched beast of all?"
Donkey got out his computer
And bought something to make him cuter
A suit and tie of lion skin
To hide his ugly body in
It came next week inside a box
Delivered by wise Mr. Fox
"Online shopping?" Foxy asked
The big old hairy hoofed outcast
"What a silly load of tosh,
you equine fool who thinks he's posh."
"You'll see, Fox." Donkey gasped
"I'll look so smart beneath this mask."
With that, Foxy walked away
He'd laughed quite enough that day
The box opened, and there within
Was Donkey's suit of lion skin
Then the Donkey put it on
Eager to begin his con
First came the lovely golden vest
That part surely was the best
Donkey looked so trim and svelte
Underneath a lion's pelt
Then came a hat made of the mane
Which made old Donkey look urbane
The tie was made of lion's tail
Which Donkey knew would never fail
To make him look smart and dashing
The ensemble really was quite smashing!
Then there was a final touch
Which could've been a little much
A trendy set of fluffy mittens
Made out of the lion's kittens
Now wearing his majestic gown
Donkey strode out into town
"Ah hah." He called "Now it's fair."
"Perhaps I'll get the lion's share."
First, he saw Miss Henny Penny
And her brother Rooster Lenny
They ran a stall where they sold sweets
On the corner of the street
"It's a lion!" Penny cried
"Do we have our best supplied?"
For chickens know the finest things
To make a dish fit for a king
"Tis I, a lion." Donkey said
The regal mane upon his head
"And I will not even think to budge,
until I've got my bag of fudge."
"At once, my lord." Penny squeaked
Thinking her career had peaked
It's an honour to serve fudge
Fit to feed his royal pudge
"For most men I charge 20p,
but for a king it must be free!"
Rooster Lenny bagged the goods
For the ass in a royal hood
Without a care for those he'd conned
The cheeky Donkey did abscond
With fudge of the finest kind
From the birds that he'd robbed blind
Next, he went for Mrs. Groat
A lovely, kindly nanny goat
Though Mrs. Groat was getting old
She sold fine cheeses, free of mold
"Hello sweetie." The old dear said
Pointing up to Donkey's head
"My, what do you call that?
It makes you look just like a cat."
To Donkey, this was no surprise
For Mrs. Groat had poorly eyes
"I'm a lion!" The ass complained
"Can't you see my royal mane?
I want my belly full of cheese
Could you go and get some please?"
"Yes sir," the old goat bleated
Without a clue she'll soon be cheated
Out of all her lovely cheeses
It's not just her that theft displeases
Goats worked hard to make that stock
With milk from the entire flock
But Mrs. Groat just loved to flatter
Presenting the entire platter
"For you, your highness," she announced
And then the Donkey swiftly pounced
He ate it all in one big bite
Copying a lion's might
Then the Donkey rudely burped
Without a care that he'd usurped
Mrs. Groat's business needs
She had ten grandkids to feed!
How would she ever feed her flock?
Now Donkey's gobbled all the stock!
"My my," she said. "Now that's a hit!
I thought you'd take a little bit!"
But Donkey craved a lion's feast
He had no care for who he fleeced
"Goodbye." He said, running away
"I'll come again another day!"
He laughed with glee and licked his chops
"Perhaps I'll go to Mr. Fox.
I do not like that old vulpine!
I'll make him feel so asinine."
He stalked right up to Fox's house
His hoofbeats quiet as a mouse
But as the Fox opened the door
Donkey gave a lion's roar!
But Foxy really wasn't stressed
Because the man was truly blessed
To see through almost any trick
Especially from those as thick
As Mr. Donkey's addled mind
And Fox could see what laid behind
That silly golden lion frock
Was nothing more than equine stock
"Hello Donkey," Foxy laughed
Pulling off his lion scarf
"You think you'd fool me dressed like that?
I know full well you're not a cat."
"Drat and blast it," Donkey cursed
Foxy really was the worst
"How did you see through my disguise?
It worked so well on other eyes."
"Mr Donkey, can't you see
You'll never get a thing past me
I noticed when I heard you neighing
A true lion never stoops to braying!"
Now I hope all of you know
Snazzy dress might hide a schmo
Any fool can wear a suit
And learn to walk the walk to boot
But listen close to what they're saying
And if you hear a donkey's braying
That's nothing but a common crook
Who countless others have mistook
For a smart, upstanding guy
When they can't spot his silly lie
He'll take all of your stuff away
If you're not smart enough to say
"Leave, you liar! You're so crass!"
Don't fall for such a common ass!
The Beast Migration - A poem inspired by the Lascaux cave signs
(I have never written a single poem that requires so much explanation, but here it is. This poem is in response to a lecture we had about myserious symbols found in the Lascaux caves in France. The symbols, dating from the Upper Paleolithic, are not direct depictions of animals and plants, and instead more abstract symbols with a less direct implied meaning. These symbols are believed to be a form of protowriting.
I chose a selection of these symbols and made my own interpretations of their potential meanings, before inventing a very primitive 'grammar' of how they could be organised to convey meaning. Finally, I used this simple 'language' to write a poem.)
Symbol Interpretations
Directional Markers
I have interpreted these characters of being indicative of compass directions. The orientation of the character indicates the compass direction the described object is moving.
I have also interpreted the symbol as resembling a bow of some kind, and the number of ‘strings’ in the bow indicate the speed of an object’s movement.
Aggression Markers
I have interpreted this character as resembling an axe. When it is oriented upwards, it resembles how an axe is held when in use, so it represents aggression, activity and danger. When it is oriented downwards, it resembles how an axe is held when not in use, so it represents passivity, inaction, or defensiveness.
A lit campfire.
An extinguished campfire.
(Character resembles water being poured on something.)
A hut, camp, or home base.
Location Markers
These characters resemble locations in nature. The left character resembles a pair of pine trees, indicating a forest. The right character resembles a grass stalk, indicating grasslands.
Footprints
Since a footprint is a tangible mark left by an animal as it moves, much like writing, I have decided that these footprint characters indicate various creatures. The left character is a hoof print, the middle character is a human footprint, and the right character is a bird footprint.
Time/Visibility Markers
I have interpreted these two characters as resembling a rising sun and a moon respectively. These symbols can be used to indicate time of day, but also visibility by extension, indicating light and dark.
Grammar
If present, directional markers are always first in a sentence. This hypothetical culture would be hunter gatherers, they would value the tracking of family, foes, and food above all other things, and would consider this information the most important.
The aggression marker goes before the noun when the writer is acting upon the noun. The aggression marker goes after the noun when the noun is acting on the writer. If a noun is acting on another noun, the aggressor goes before the marker and the victim goes after the marker.
Nouns relating to location are usually placed last in a sentence. Since this hypothetical culture is tracking-focused, the physical location of an object is secondary to the speed and direction it is moving in relation to the reader.
The herds migrate westwards through our lands
They move with great swiftness in bright and sunny meadows
But they falter blind in the shade of piney thickets
We strike when they stumble, lost in the forest
Smother your fire, as the beasts are keen to the scent of smoke; bolting wildly
A bolting herd is of great danger indeed
Man can triumph over bird
Man can even triumph over other men
But it is a challenge to battle a beast
Once the beast is vanquished
We return to our lands
We hang up our axes, and relight the fire in celebration
Poetry From The Old Version Of This Site
Poetry corner has been a part of The Teabox from the beginning, and there was even a poetry corner on the old version of this website! I have added a few of the poems here, along with their original descriptions, but let's just say there's a reason they are all the way down here at the bottom.
Nightshade
This poem was originally written for a university poetry class, after being instructed to research a species of plant. I chose L. atropa belladonna, or the Deadly Nightshade.
The tomato and the aubergine are lovely in their way.
But they have a little secret that they just forgot to say.
In the corner of the garden, where most men cannot see
Is their cruel and ugly sister, the hateful little me!
My fruit looks oh so lovely; shiny, and delicious.
But just a single bite will make you get suspicious.
Pretty soon I'll be your doom when your heart begins to die.
Lying deep within the garden, my leaves quite hard to spy.
The craftiest of witches have always been my friends.
And none of us will hesitate to send mortals to their ends.
I'm prettier than Gaia but just as dark as Nyx.
The undisputed evil queen in my realm of stones and sticks.
So if there's a certain person you think really needs to pay.
Why not sneak me in their fruit bowl and send them on their way?
I am the deadly nightshade, and I just wanted to say.
My potent poison's power might just end a life today.
Dillon's Lockdown
This is a poem from the point of view of my cat, Dillon, and the many frustrations he has faced at the hands of the COVID lockdowns. He doesn't like being around his family 24/7, and he misses the ability to sneak and scheme in total privacy. Poor Baby.
Whenever I pitter-patter my paws across the floor
One of them is always there to get in my way
They pick me up in their big dumb stupid arms
And stop me from eating from the bin
Why can’t I have those chicken bones if they don’t want them?
They are supposed to go to work or school
One of those nice away places that’s out of my territory
So I can do all of my sneakings without being disturbed.
But they’re home
All of them
It’s been almost a year and they haven’t left.
Why won’t they just go?
The human may cook the foods
The human may clean the messes
The human may even pay the bills
But cat is boss
Everybody knows this
And I want them to leave!
The Great Night Cat
This piece was written for a university class, during a task that involved writing a short piece based around a favourite painting. This is a painting by the weirdly wonderful Louis Wain, an artist who has always been a favourite of mine. I've always interpreted this piece as having a very celestial aesthetic, which inspired the creation of a character called The Great Night Cat.
The night sky is a terrific place to be. I can look down at all the little matchbox houses, and think of all the people who are sleeping in their beds.
But there is one man I know who isn’t asleep.
He is unwell and has been unwell for quite some time.
He is so unwell in fact, that they took him away from his home to a place where he can get better, but I think he’s only getting worse.
He’s one of the lucky few I’ll show myself to. He stares up into the night sky and sees me in all my glory.
Tonight I peer through his window and into his room.
He has a canvas on an easel, and I watch as he paints a Prussian blue sky in glossy oil paint.
He fumbles for a smaller brush for a moment, marking the page with two amber circles.
I purr as he starts to make fine lines of white gouache with a horsehair detail brush.
It’s me! he’s painting me!
He continues tracing my white lace fur until dawn breaks, because when dawn breaks I must go. But I’ll be back. I am the great night cat, and I am persistent.