Mabh Savage
Words and the world passing by; how it sings to me; how I clamour back.
NaPoWriMo Day Eleven: Yeast
I love yeast
I love the warmth of fresh baked bread
The buttery silk of a sharp cut slice,
Just cool enough not to crumble
Under the knife
I love the bubbling demijohn
Or brew bin
Singing in the night
A watery siren
That paradoxically pulls you closer
Once silent.
I love the jar on my kitchen side
Full of power
Potential
Preening itself as I feed it daily;
Home-cultured yeast,
From practically nothing
The oldest magic.
NaPoWriMo Day Ten: Numb
I describe myself as numb
To others
Because it’s easier
Than describing
The inexplicable drama
Banality
Humdrum hurricane
Of feelings fraught with April frost
Invisible beasts
Cold sunshine
Bubble-less yeasts
Tasteless sweets
Coffee that just makes you
Sleepy
A hiccup of anxiety
Expelled like a drunk’s belch
To describe all that…
I’d rather be
just numb.
NaPoWriMo Day 9: Bright
She said
What shape
Should this poem be?
Will it twist and turn and wind
And cover me in thorns, barbed words
To sting and recriminate, burning and cutting
Before sneering away to hide behind smug curtains
Of arrogance, cold and diamond-like, sharp and laser-made?
Like a diamond, crystalline and angular? Cold, hard
But straight lines, straight up, direct, you know,
No messing around, no false hope
Just right to the point
But painful
And too
Bright
NaPoWriMo Day 8: And Tales of Human Blood
Content Warning: Blood, donating blood, sickness. Inspired by the NaPoWriMo Website’s prompt to take a line from a poetry bot on Twitter and turn it into a poem.
And tales of human blood,
Oh, dear digital Shelley, these are
The tales for our times
The tales of inequality and disaster
Of poverty and desperation
Of disease not actually being
The Great Leveller
As those who are more level than us
Would allow us to believe;
Tales of human blood
Given in kindness, as donations
Given in metaphor, through effort
Charity and foodbanks
Nursing and healing and caring and even
Knocking on a door
Leaving a card that says, “I’m here”
These tales of human blood
Our history
Our legacy.
NaPoWriMo Day 7: Where the Rain is Made of Iron
Following the prompt for Day 7 from the NaPoWriMo site, sort of, as this poem is inspired by this news headline.
Where the rain is made of iron
And the sun is made of clay
See the flowers made of music
Fill the lava of the bay
There’s a mountain made of moleskine
Notebooks piled in stacks so high
The bottoms ones compressed and crushed
To coal made out of sky.
There’s a moon the size of Venus
Floating gently in the seas
While the fish of fur and feathers
Drift serenely on the breeze
The skies are always clear, they say
And hot enough to melt
The diamonds in the fox’s eyes;
The shoehorns on their belt.
Where the rain is made of iron
And the earth is soft like cloud
Dream yourself a kind endeavour
Because here, anything’s allowed.
NaPoWriMo Day 6: Date Night
He came down the stairs
In jeans and a smart t-shirt
I’d almost forgotten
What outdoor clothes looked like
Didn’t we live in
Comfies now?
Loungewear and PJs?
“Date night!” he exclaims!
And I clap in delight.
Such a thing, to be treated like this
To be given thought and attention
To be dressed up for
With nowhere to go.
So I snuck upstairs
And shucked my shameful shorts and vest
And found the stretchy dress
Forgiving to my figure
Of which I’m not ashamed,
Not at all,
But I knew the look I was going for
And I dug out my favourite earrings
And I tucked my protesting hair back
Into a half-up, half-down
Fae-like do
And sauntered back downstairs
Hovering in the doorway
Until noticed.
“Isn’t mummy pretty?”
He says to the star-eyed toddler
She’s more interested in the bricks
And that’s okay.
Date night never really happened.
All dressed up, and somewhere to stay
But the toddler got cranky and then poorly
So, the carefully crafted culinary treats
Dried out in the oven
And the stretchy dress
Helped in dashing up and down the stairs
The mountain climb of hope and healing
For our wee baby.
NaPoWriMo Day 5: Piss-Taking Weather
When, in Britain, has it ever
Been so balmy
Calm in March and April?
Warm sun, some wind but nothing really too
Forceful,
Smatterings of rain but hardly
April showers.
No deluge
No late frosts
I’d happily plant my summer bulbs out
If I didn’t think this weather
Was taking the fucking piss.
I mean, seriously,
Am I meant to believe
That it’s a coincidence?
That we’re all stuck inside and limited
To yards and gardens
Flagstones and patios
Balconies and Juliets
Or simply a window;
And it does this?
This blazing springtime glory?
Or maybe,
I have it all wrong,
And actually, we’re giving the land
A much-needed break,
Fewer cars, fewer fumes, less industry…
Could that mean milder weather?
Clearer skies?
Calmer storms?
Scientist, feel free to debunk,
Because to me, it’s just as likely
That this springtime verdant glory
Is simply a divine piss-take
At our expense.
And we deserve it.
NaPoWriMo Day 4: Tough Like Old Leather
I told a friend
“Today was tough
Tough as old boots
Tough like old leather
Tough like the steak
I sent back
And worried about the chef spitting on
Tough like the conversation
I had to have
With a toxic person
Another toxic person
Gone now
Tough like the song
I can’t remember the words to
Who wrote it?
I just.. It’s on the tip of my…
Tough like the times
I didn’t know
If they would let me go home
Or keep me in hospital
Tough like ripping phones books
Finding Wally
Getting to bed before midnight
With three kids in the house
And working two jobs
And no government help
And no help
Just each other to weather
The storm
Tough like old leather”
I said. But I smiled
As I said it
Because at least
We have each other.
In the Garden
Just a few of the things in my garden right now.
