Tomorrow we will have a feature about our Do The Write Thing event from last week which was hit by the weather but was nonetheless full of flow and energy.
Here we go with NaPoWriMo Day Six. It has been good for me (Christopher) to have some prompts for poetry. I have been losing a little impetus with this challenge recently. I think the biggest hurdle is finding something to write about every day. I don’t know how Richard Herring does it, I really do not. I need to start doing proper blog entries again soon, actually talking about things.
Anyway, here are our poems for NaPoWriMo. The prompt for today is an aubade.
A mist of half-remembered dreams clings to my eyes
as hands and toes rejuvinate
from languished darkness under concrete skies.
The digits read ten to eight.
I fling myself upright with a jolt
leap out of bed across the room – halt.
Back to the bedside drawers for underwear
and socks – the cold already gnawing my toes.
Then back across the room for a shirt that goes
with the only work trousers I can wear.
Every morning seems to go the same way.
Alarm delayed and again for 10 more minutes sleep
leads to a hurried, slapdash start to the day,
to be on time for a job I don’t even want to keep.
Fifteen minutes to be at work on the hour.
Time for a coffee – or – maybe a quick shower.
My clothes are bundled under my arm.
I pull the bedroom door open too fast
into my foot – through my big toe a blast
of pain. Rushing always leads to harm.
On the landing I strip of night time clothes
that gathered sweat, liquid tosses and turns
Now free of those which bound me in my repose
I test the weight on the toe that has begun to burn.
I limp down the stairs into the front
room, open the curtains and my situation becomes brunt.
I’m still naked for the whole street the see,
the sleep that lingers has left me in a haze.
In the view of two neighbours I blush vividly,
a deep hot red that will linger for days.
I quickly draw the curtains to a close
and realise the time is half past eight.
While gathering my things for work I wrestle into my clothes
If more wasted time drips past then I’ll be late.
No time for coffee nor a shower.
I may not be there on the hour.
On with the shoes the bag and headphones too
then grab wallet, mobile, keys and out the door
to greet the eyes of those who saw my floor
show – I dash out of sight, red-faced at quarter to.
It is morning in the wild forests of my mind.
The bark of trees thick with sleep
Yearns for light or the gentle, deep kiss of rain.
The wood behind it creaks,
As if stretching away the stillness night brings.
Nocturnal thoughts scurry for the safety of burrows or nests,
Under the fertile sensible earth,
Or in the pillars of day lit clarity.
Stirrings of the known, chartered and expected territories
Begin to marshal themselves,
I will finish that dream
When my deep dark timberland rustles
Back to life.
We also have an announcement. This year will mark two years since we started Bunbury Magazine. Two years of some of the best writing and art & photography from around the world. It has been a genuine honour to be able to bring all of this to you for all this time. As you know, we have been doing all of this for absolutely free. Now we are calling all of our dear Bunburyists for help. We are planning to mark this occasion by doing The Best of Bunbury in print. We are going to pick our favourite moments from the past eight issues and binding them forever in a beautiful tome to take pride of place on bookshelves around the world. We are also doing a book launch where we intend to bring Bunbury to life with readings, comedy and music. We are asking you for help. We have created a Kickstarter project in order to make all of this possible. We have some wonderful rewards for those who donate and cordially invite all of you to come along. We will be keeping in touch with you all about the project as it unfolds and more things are announced. It would be an honour to have your help. Please come to this link below and help us make this reality.