Lines. National Poetry Writing Month Day 30.


Here it is, the final day. I’ve made it to the end, 30 poems in 30 days. Now I need to sort out what works what doesn’t and needs to be relegated to the drawer of no return, the line recycler maybe. With that in mind, I’ve played a game today and re-used all the first lines for a bit of randomness in this piece. A bit of a cheat? Possibly but it has been 30 days, I need all the help I can get. I will be replying to everyone next week, thanking you all for comments and awards, but for now, a small pause until normal service is resumed.


Ghost in the machine, I will be back tomorrow.

We’ll start here with the footpath I walked until the sun went down,
looking at the fresh mountain snow. Tendrils of low cloudy fingers,
it might be raining soon and I want to stay here as the rain comes and goes.

Sometimes, I could barely understand all the young faces,
the children from before we came to be people and songs.
The things that stay with us echoed in everyone here,
in beer bars and TV’s and do you want chips with that.

Remember the woods? The trees are just squandering the time they have.
Autumn has turned you into your destroyer, so take each silence as we travel
and soon there is nothing but the sea, just the headlights rising and falling
across the dark roads, when walking will bring you closer to the landscape,
to look a little more in detail, like looking from the window on a rainy day.

I’m not sure why we do it, making a paper animal, the quintessential curves
of a feline hunter, he’s standing there on top of the world at sunset,
arms out, feet close, line stable.

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