Disposition

8 Replies
Be gentle with yourself!

I do – I don’t

I can’t, I won’t

I will get stoned

 Be authentic!

I might, if I tried

but my hands are tied

– I’m afraid I’ll die of fright
Go love yourself!

I would if I could

I know I should

– never mind, I’m good

 Turn the other cheek!

I can – It hurts

I will – still

Bring it on – I deserve it

The prompt today at octpowrimo.com was What do you want, one of the suggested forms a dialogue. This is where it led me. The form happened because I felt this is not a linear poem, and the stanzas can change position. I rarely rhyme, and I think this poems shows why 🙂

Disposition - by Angela van Son

Inflection

17 Replies

Once upon a time there was a girl
who became a boy
He lived happily ever after

Bonus poem 1
Once upon a time there was a boy
who became a girl
She lived happily ever after

Bonus poem 2
Once upon a time
there was a world
where you could be
who you want to
without people
making a fuss of it

The prompt at octpowrimo.com for day 18 was fairytale, the suggested form a fable. I became very concise instead. I just felt the story was told after three lines… I’ve written longer ones before: https://unassortedstories.wordpress.com/tag/fairytale/

Maybe the portrait I chose for this poem deserves some explanation. I’ve been practicing my drawing by using pictures of the fabulous photographer Valérie Belin as reference pictures. She creates amazing portraits of people, things and dogs. In all of my drawings the gender of the model became harder to read – through lack of skill on my side. Unintendedly, this seems to be in line with her (highly skillful!) photography, as I just discovered in this article.

Here’s the link to the picture I used for my practice (I used a book): https://valeriebelin.com/works/black-women I’ve seen the pictures in real life, I real size, and they just blew me away!

The other portraits I drew accompany If you were me and Fixed (original pictures here). I haven’t referenced the works of ms Belin there, because I thought the drawings too far away from the quality of her work.

Inflection - by Angela van Son

Praying Mantis

10 Replies

When Evolution
concocted mankind
she must have been
mad
SO mad

Mad at the planet
for not putting out the garbage?
Mad at god
for mansplaining?

Mad –
she must have been
–

Temporary insanity
drug induced?
Hereditary madness
her genes to blame?

Evolution
must have been
when she cooked up mankind

Survival of the greediest
wrecking of the planet

Todays prompt at octpowrimo.com was Madness Reigns. It does. In too many places and too many ways.

Face_of_Praying_Mantis
Image source and license: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Face_of_Praying_Mantis.jpg

My musical

11 Replies

The show is over
You won’t get to see
my inner personality

The actors are on strike
they refuse to play
the daily drama
of good cop – bad cop

The interrogation of the innocent
suspect
always ends left of field

Guilty by inquiry
played by the cops
inner drama over
– strike

The show is cancelled
Next up: Les Miserables

Today’s prompt on octpowrimo.com is Catch Me When I Fall. It asks about the balance between giving support and receiving it. I tend to shut down when I need support.

That being said, I dedicate today to all #OctPoWriMo participants, readers and the people who provide us with the daily #octpowrimo pages. There’s a reason why I mainly write during October and April, the poetry months. And that reason is simple and clear: your support.

My musical - by Angela van Son

Proud member of the NUA

12 Replies

I’ve got a 6-shot muzzle-loaded cap & ball umbrella*
And I’m not afraid to use it
I take my .44 collapsible shade everywhere I go
for protection, never carry it concealed
Semi-automatic, safe-action, short recoil –
everything I need to keep my hair from harm

See the beautiful fabric
stretched over hinged ribs
radiating from a central pole
with a hammer and tip-up action?
When not mounted, the stock acts as a holster
– No you can’t touch it

I will only give up my umbrella
when they peel my cold dead fingers from around it
I have a right to protect me from the rain
Ain’t no damn socialist going to take that away from me

*There are over one billion umbrellas distributed globally. About 85 percent are in civilian hands

I struggled with today’s prompt at octpowrimo.com: “If … Were an Umbrella”. This poem comes to you with compliments from the Merriam Webster dictionary and Wikipedia The NUA in the title means the National Umbrella Association. As far as I know it doesn’t exist – but I haven’t checked 😉

If I were me

10 Replies

If I were me
I’d realise how much
all of us
matter to each other
even the ones who can’t feel it

That darkness in your brain
that tells you you’re not good enough
is lying

You can often tell by how hard it works
it sends constant reminders
because it fears you’re not going to believe it

All those little things
your brain claims don’t count –
they make a difference to someone else

Maybe it’s a nod to a stranger
Maybe it’s a like on Facebook
Maybe you made someone smile
Maybe you make someone feel better

When your brain is working overtime
telling you that you don’t matter
it knows it lies
otherwise it wouldn’t work this hard

Some days the little differences you make
are the biggest ones
for someone else

If I were me
I’d let you know
I want you in my life
I support you
I care about how you feel
I’m willing to be there in bad times
I’m willing to share the good times
I’m willing to let you know my boundaries
so you know you’re always safe with me
– No lies –
Just my own inadequacies
because I’m human too

If I were me
I’d be grateful for having you in my life
exactly the way you are

The prompt at octpowrimo.com was If I were me. I doubt the poetic qualities of this piece, but I love the message and at the moment that matters more to me.

If you were me

8 Replies

If I were you
I’d hide
from my thoughts

If I were you
I’d read a book
until this life was over

If I were you
I’d love
me

What would
you do
if you
were me?

The prompt today was If I were you, the suggested form a Blitz. I do like blitzes, but wasn’t feeling blitzy today. It’s a bright sunny day, 24 degrees Celsius mid October, but I’m tired and it’s raining in my brain. I think I’ve learned to be mindful with that by now, and I’m able to enjoy the beautiful outside even when my inside doesn’t match it.#OctPoWriMo day 13 is done.

If you were me - by Angela van Son

Hereditary

6 Replies

If the apple doesn’t fall
far from the tree
maybe
the gardener
was the original sinner

Quoting from today’s prompt on octpowrimo.com: “The hard and painful parts of love are necessary for the relationship to grow. Explore the feeling of being “tortured” and how it is a necessary part of love.” The suggested form was a senryu: “A Senryu is basically a haiku but it deals with human nature and emotions rather than only the natural world.”

Somehow I ended up here…

For more info on the painting, go here: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jan_Brueghel_de_Oude_en_Peter_Paul_Rubens_-_Het_aards_paradijs_met_de_zondeval_van_Adam_en_Eva.jpg

A heroins journey

15 Replies

Each night before I go to sleep
I retell the story of my day
as a fairytale. A hero’s journey
My son waking up is a call to adventure
I’m asked to leave my sleep and head off into the unknown
I refuse the call, for fear of what the day might bring
but he is not to be ignored
so I, the heroin, get out of bed
hoping for a guide, a magical helper
a talisman that will help me in my quest
a magical appeal-repellant that makes me immune
to the pushing of requests
a cloak of silence that will dampen noise
a wand that makes people comply

Before they find me I cross the first threshold and get out of bed
crossing into the field of adventure
leaving the realm of my bedroom and stepping into a place
where rules and limits seem to be endlessly changing
Breakfast is the belly of the whale. The day swallows me.
The road of trials awaits.
Dragons and barriers, dragons and barriers –
and I’m still waiting for my aide

Here’s where the metaphor goes wrong. I am no heroin. Daily life is not a quest. I refuse to see my child as a dragon to be slain, a frog to be kissed, a beauty or a beast. I know there are no magical aides and I know I’ll have to find the answer within myself. Sod it. I’ve been searching too far, too wide, too long already. I’ve travelled many miles within myself and most certainly haven’t found what I’m looking for. The answers within myself are a myth.

The irony
The heroin appears
I just go about my day
performing my usual struggles
I can’t bear the noise – I’m glad he’s having fun
I need quietness – He needs to be accepted for who he is
I don’t want to look, listen, answer – He has a right to attention
I want to tell him to SHUT UP – I don’t want his world to be as dark as mine

After breakfast we enter the realm of chores. Neither of us has a magical aide. We need to clean the table ourselves, lunch has to be made, the school back pack packed, teeth brushed, cat litter cleaned. Where are fairies when you need them? My son is definitely no fairy. Neither am I. We both resent what needs to get done. He resents the chores. I resent trying to get him to do his part and having to work so HARD on that. He’s no Cinderella, yet I am an evil stepmother.

When he waves his sword I turn into Medusa
Snakes hiss at him
My look can kill

You see, people wonder why I’m tired all the time. This is just 90 minutes of my day. Out of bed, defences up. Dodging curses. Often cursing myself. After those 90 minutes do I go back to bed? No. The day has started. There’s no turning back. My bed has transformed into a witches cauldron. Even the fumes are poisonous. Returning there would boil me alive. So I seek another shelter.

The couch
The television
A book
Work
Each has its own perils

The couch
A siren
It’s seducing song
leading to destruction
The television

A ball
I’ll turn into a pumpkin or loose a glass slipper
Either way it won’t change a thing
Mice aren’t horses
A prince no self esteem

A book
Ah, books!
My entry into the land where
I can be king or queen
Lion or faun
I can be good, I can be evil
But will I ever return?
Will my life be led?

Work
My pleasure island
I’ll spend the whole day having fun
and turn into a donkey without realising it

More chores?
Time thieves who try to kill my Momo

I’m torn between obligation and pleasure
and I wonder
which one is the dark side?

But I digress. I was retelling the story of my day as a fairytale. A hero’s journey, containing a call to action, a threshold, a magic aide. Joseph Campbell claims there will be a goddess on my way but I can’t find her. I can’t even find the darkness in the deepest chamber of my heart. No mystical marriage. No scales falling from my eyes. My desire doesn’t find its peace.

On with the day
There’s work to be done
Relaxation to be scheduled
Chores to slay
A mystical wedding on tv
I perfume, whitewash, reinterpret.
The hairs in the soup are someone else’s fault.
There’s no lecherous fever in my cells.
I’m distracted by a purring kitten, trying to be fed.
It gets washed instead.
What’s the deeper meaning of that?

But let’s move on. The atonement with the abyss is what we’re heading towards. To confront and be initiated by whatever holds the ultimate power in my life. I look at the clock and see that I have 60 minutes left. 60 minutes before I’ll have to pick up my child from school. 60 minutes until uncensored power, pure life force will be unleashed. The beast. I’ll need patience. I’ll need mercy. I’ll need a place to centre my faith. To be a mother is to be your own godmother.

I want to be him
I want to be relentless in my demands
To feel I’m the centre of the universe
I want to be noisy and play and don’t think too much
I want my childhood back

Now I have 50 minutes left for my apotheosis. Or a trip to Neverland. Which shall it be?
Witch, it shall be. Alchemy is the way to the holy grail.

I will not send out a chivalrous search party
I will not roam the seas for a number of years
I will not spin gold from straw
I will not eat the poisoned apple

I have 45 minutes left.

I’ll paint
Just for the fun of it

I wrote this when we still had kittens, so it must have been a while ago. The last of them left the house this June. I don’t remember what I painted that day. I’m not even sure IF I painted, but I expect I did. I probably shared what I painted on Facebook. I didn’t share what I wrote. It felt too vulnerable.

I quote from today’s prompt on octpowrimo.com: “Today’s prompt is Falling through the cracks. Nothing is perfect and sometimes, things do slip through those pesky cracks. […] How do you deal with things that slip through? Is it ok to reveal our flaws?” I wanted to write something new, but I kept thinking about this piece. So I decided to share it. Even though it still feels vulnerable.

I think I used wikipedia to increase my knowledge of the hero’s journey. I know I want to learn more about it, and I’ll start by checking sources on the Joseph Campbell Foundation page.

Till death do us part

6 Replies

Who wants to cut the cake, you asked
and pointed towards me, longingly
I saw your mouth water
heard your stomach grumble

I swallowed
and wondered if the idea
to dress up as a wedding cake
for a black wedding
had been a good one

Today’s prompt on octpowrimo.com was ‘dance on air’, trying to capture euphoria. I’m afraid the euphoria in my poem will only happen after consummation…