Escape

Prompt: Use personification and alliteration.
Prompt: Write a poem involving an emotional reaction to some event that seems to be about something else. Talk around your strong feelings; don’t declare them directly.

As I complete my plummet
from the cliff edge,
the water welcomes me
in a cool,
dark,
silent embrace.
Smatters of salted sunlight
grapple with the murk,
as I close my eyes and
slowly
s
i
n
k.

Cyclone Bola

Prompt: Winter is here and you are now trapped.

The paddocks were sodden,
each hoof print a puddle that
rippled and overflowed with every
driblet of water that fell from stony skies.

The excess swept over the grass,
blades bent beneath the heavy weight,
and slowly the water forged a path
down the hill.

A deluge the colour of clay,
with the unmistakeable fragrance of
cow shit and mud,
poured across the gravel road
just below Prior’s farm
in a rush to reach the swollen creek
which had long breached its banks.

Avid eyes and bright smiles watched
from the safety of the farmhouse windows,
because we knew the school bus
would never get through.

And Mum worried about practical things
as Dad shifted stock to higher grounds,
but at least the water tank was full.

Distraction

My feet ached in blue suede heels
I’d bought on sale at Westgate,
but I was distracted by the way
the evening sun caught the Auckland skyline
as I drove over the causeway.

 

Yep, this is another poem recorded while driving home.  See, I told you I am more inspired when driving than any other time!  Ha ha!

I wish I could have taken a photo for you, as the Auckland skyline really did look amazing in the evening sunlight.  There’s a spot when you’re driving along the Northwestern Motorway, just as you go over the causeway, where the Auckland Harbour Bridge lines up perfectly with the Auckland city skyline.  Unfortunately, there’s nowhere safe to stop and take photos, so instead, you just have to take my word for it.  🙂

Creative ignorance

I finally had a chance to type up the poem I recorded on my phone last month while driving home from work.  🙂

 

If you squinted hard enough,
and used the generosity of spirit
required for the earnest appraisal
of a child’s fingerpainting,
the clouds painted feathery angel wings
across the sky.

I was too busy focussing
weary eyes on endless streams
of sparsely decorated tarseal
to notice.