Napowrimo Sixteen-  Terzanelle to Athena

Hello hello. Happy Thursday. Today’s prompt was  to write in the form known as the terzanelle. A hybrid of the villanelle and terza rima, terzanelles consist of five three-line stanzas and a concluding quatrain. Lines and rhymes are chained throughout the poem, so that the middle line of each triplet is repeated as the last line of the following triplet (or, for the last triplet, in the concluding quatrain). The pattern goes like this: ABA, bCB, cDC, dED,eFE, fAFA or fFAA.  I went for a massage this afternoon so wrote this zen like poem when I was all blissed out. I just like the idea if the goddess of war taking off her armour. Enjoy and love. X

Terzanelle to Enyo

The goddess of war

                               takes off her armour 

She destroyed two citadels before noon

Her ulcer burning 

                   a bath should calm her 

She calls

            a hand-maiden enters the room

Such pretty girls who come to supplicate 

Leave their orchards, 

                cozy chairs and their looms

To pray for war, 

                  hang flowers on her gate 

Oh what faithless lovers they must have known 

To be scorned such and seek to replicate 


The handmaid fills the bath with stone

From Hephaestus’s floor, red for energy 

The handmaid leaves

          the goddess bathes alone 


              she forgets all victories 

and vows to give away all of her armour 

She wants to be naked 

                            forget Ares

Give other lovers the chance to charm her

Napowrimo fifteen – Darling sonnet 

Hello and good evening. Posting late today because I’ve been playing out and having fun. Today’s prompt was to directly address a poem. I’m going to destroy the English or Shakespearian sonnet abab, cdcd, efef, gg.  There are ten syllables per line, apart from the last, but that’s the way I roll. Love x

              Darling sonnet

Darling sonnet, 

                           I dress you in bonnet

As I always believe you to be new

Neanderthal, new words with moss on it


                          it was I who created you

But maybe it is you who begets me

And you, have been concealed inside my bones 


     Just waiting to be free

 hieroglyphics, but still your own poem

And maybe, you have your own dreams, own mind 

Not mine, don’t want to be ballerina 

Or teacher, or writer without rhyme 

But your vowels, howl to be a jazz singer 

So darling sonnet, wear a fedora 

Play the sax, sing the blues. 

                          I still, I still adore ya

Napowrimo fourteen – conversations with a philosophical tulip 

Good afternoon on a glorious day. I was out walking in the sunshine and couldn’t help but notice the tulips. Today’s Napowrimo prompt is to write a ‘dialogue’ poem and who better to have a conversation with but a tulip? Happy Tuesday and love x

Conversations with a philosophical tulip 

She asks, what is the meaning of life?

                                          I am

You’re not the meaning of life, though you’re really pretty and perfect shade of pink. 

But I want to know on this sunny April day is why is there something and not nothing?

                                         I am 

Yes, I know you’re something, a flower and you’re pretty and pink, but I suspect that without a phd in philosophy you could be seen as nothing

I need to speak to you know, like someone who knows things because what I really want to know is do we have free will?

                                           I do

But even though you are pretty, pink and have free will, do you or do you belong to the gardener that planted you? 

And want I really want to know is, is our universe real?

                                       I am real

But even though, you are pretty, pink, have free will, are you only real in the ground, are you less real in a vase? 

And does god exist? 

                                         I exist 

Yes, yes I know you exist, are pretty, pink, have free will and are real, but you cannot answer the really big philosophical questions? 

Is there is life after death?

                                          I exist 

Can you just stop talking, yeah, because I know you are pretty, pink, have free will, are real and are seemingly ambivalent about the existence of god, but tell me tulip, are you alive or dead? 

I get the feeling you’re not realy listening? But what do I expect? Can we ever really experience anything objectively? 

                                        I am objective 

You’re a tulip, yes you’re extremely pretty, pink, real, have free will, exist, are ambivalent towards the existence of god but…

But if I plucked you by your stem from the ground and just tossed you away,  would that be my will, god’s will or your will? 

You see? Who exactly determines morality? 

Answer me? 

Answer me? 

                                I ergo I sum

                                I pink therefore 
                                          I am 



Napowrimo thirteen – A riddle in four

Good afternoon and how are you? Today’s prompt was to write a riddle. I took inspiration from the napowrimo suggest poem. Sylvia’s Plath’ ‘I am a riddle in nine syllables’ and the explosive poems by political poet John G Hall. See below for his wonderful, wonderful book. Have a gorgeous day. Love x


       A riddle in Four

I am more yang than ying

Six pomegranate seeds

Homer, Ovid 

And Ullyeses 

I am both water – wings


I slip secrets

In submarines 

I am all countries

my palette crude 

I am the sound


I am modern vampire

No crucifixes

Blind me. Liars

Both gods and men 

Napowrimo Eleven- Sappho in the gallery 

Happy Saturday and how are you? Today’s prompt was to write a Sapphic poem, which is incredibly difficult. You have to get your head round dactyls and trochee’s, a strict meter that alternates between stressed and unstressed syllables. I don’t think I’ve managed it fully but have at least achieved eleven syllables for first three lines and five for fourth line of quatrain (all that counting had given me a headache). One of my most favourite places in Manchester is the Manchester art gallery, which houses quite a fierce picture of Sappho. I thought it was fitting to write a Sapphic quatrain about her painting. Love. X

Sappho in the gallery 

Brooding slave in gallery, earth-dark doe eyes 

hostile beneath gallery lighting. All lies.

Gentle doting poetess made bitch by cage

Gallery hostage 


John Lennon’s alphabet poem 

I found John Lennon’s alphabet poem written in  1969 and wanted to share it as it fits with today’s prompt. I’ve already written today’s poem but I can’t wait to play with his lines, especially ‘a is for parrot which we can plainly see.  I have love/hate fascination with John Lennon but I can’t but help but love the sheer quirkiness of this poem.  Love and happy reading. X


By John Lennon (Feb. 1969)

A is for Parrot which we can plainly see
B is for glasses which we can plainly see
C is for plastic which we can plainly see
D is for Doris
E is for binoculars I’ll get in five
F is for Ethel who lives next door
G is for orange which we love to eat when we can get them because
they come from abroad
H is for England and (Heather)
I is for monkey we see in the tree
J is for parrot which we can plainly see
K is for shoetop we wear to the ball
L is for Land because brown
M is for Venezuela where the oranges come from
N is for Brazil near Venezuela (very near)
O is for football which we kick about a bit
T is for Tommy who won the war
Q is a garden which we can plainly see
R is for intestines which hurt when we dance
S is for pancake or whole-wheat bread
U is for Ethel who lives on the hill
P is arab and her sister will
V is for me
W is for lighter which never lights
X is easter—have one yourself
Y is a crooked letter and you can’t straighten it
Z is for Apple which we can plainly see 

This is my story both humble and true
Take it to pieces and mend it with glue

Napowrimo ten- alphabet meditation

Hello and happy Friday. Today’s prompt was an abecedarian poem, which is structured around the alphabet.  Each word or each line should follow the alphabet and I stated writing an entirely different poem and was struck my the mindfulness of the activity. I hope you enjoy this tiny offering. I’m off to do my yoga and chant the alphabet. Love x

            Alpabet mediation 


breathing calm




greed, hate, injustices,jealousy 


loving mindfulness 

nourishes planets, quasars, 

rockets & stars





Xi zen

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