The Gathering

We’ve had some full-on weather over the past few days, and the night before last, the wind was really eerie. So I thought, why not freak everyone out a little bit more with a seriously creeeepy poem? You’re welcome.

The Gathering

The dusk hangs all jowly with menace and blood, the air
Shudders with creeping despair as the heave
Of the laden sky speaks of decline and disease
And the trees, glancing anxiously heavenwards
Whisper a prayer.

While a face at the glass
Tells the tale of a heart
That’s caressed by the fingers of fear
Deftly strumming
It’s coming
It’s coming
It’s coming
Can’t stop it
It’s coming
It’s coming
It’s coming

All at once the sky yields to the merciless press
As a death rattle rips though its chest, it relents
And the wind, too impatient for fanciful gusts
Simply ROARS. Timbers creak, while the curtain is thrust
In and out of the room with a suck like a labouring
Lung, and the carefully collated possessions we’ve gained
In our small, boxed-up years are snatched up with disdain
To be smashed on the walls of the dreams we were sold
Thinking we were the ones in control.

Then the rain comes in waves like the souls of the drowned
Streaking angrily back from the clouds, down and down
With revenge in their water-logged eyes. “HAVE A CARE!”
Scream the clattering bins and the torrents that pour
From the gutters, the walls that stand battered and sore
And the gardens that shiver as cold, laughing shadows
Wash light from their life-giving skies.

And the face at the glass
With its fevered eyes cast
To the roof of the world to which all life is clinging
Cries out, as it feels something visceral singing…
We’re coming
We’re coming
We’re coming
Can’t stop us
We’re coming
We’re coming
We’re coming

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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Photo by SHTTEFAN on Unsplash

Mariner Girl

 

Mariner Girl

Take me away, said the mariner girl,
From the islands of ought-to which circle the sea,
Let me be lady and lord of my world,
And let all obligation sink gladly from me.

The valleys are flowing with nonsense and noise,
As the hills raise their heads to command and cajole,
The air is a millstone which crushes my joys,
I will sail from the land, or else forfeit my soul.

Send me a star, said the mariner girl,
To blaze through my darkness and show me a path
Through the waves, to a place where my mind can unfurl –
Just me, and the sea, and my brave little craft.

The currents are flowing with maybe and might,
And the swells are a surge of why-not and just-be,
The salty-skinned air gives a kiss of delight,
As I sail from the land and join hands with the sea.

Farewell to you, restless mariner girl,
For I’ve neither a boat, nor the courage to sail,
As the land keeps me bound, so the sea claims its pearl,
But your spirit shines on in this dream-spinner’s tale.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Photo by Ahmed zayan on Unsplash

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Six Word Fairy Tales

Something cute for a tired Sunday night… six word fairy tales. These tiny poems also made “Poem of the Day” on PoetrySoup.com  today!

SIX WORD FAIRY TALES

Cinderella
Pumpkin turns carriage
Prince offers marriage

The Elves and the Shoemaker
Business lacks clout
Shorties help out

Rapunzel
Scaling her tresses
Young prince impresses

The Three Little Pigs
Wolfie wants bacon
Brickwork frustrates him

Puss in Boots
Smooth talking feline
Princess makes beeline

Sleeping Beauty
Hundred year nap
Ended by chap

Beauty and the Beast
Loving what’s ugly
Renders it lovely

Hansel and Gretel
Candy trap foiled
Witchy gets boiled

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Photo by Sandra Ahn Mode on Unsplash

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School Sport

This a “concrete” poem – a poem shaped like the thing it’s describing. If it doesn’t look like the picture above, turn your phone on its side or get a larger device (wink wink). Now – gym knickers on, and let’s proceed.

School Sport

.                       School sport,                                           Tick tock,
.              simply a torture form                                 Tick tock,
.           a notch or five above the                           Oh watch
.        norm, the most horrendous                      the clock,
.        cruelty designed specifically                  When will
.          for me, who has no puff &                    this finish,
.            cannot aim – picked last                     this quest
.               in every single game:                      to pillage
.                       School sport.                             pride and
.                                                                              joy and all
.                                                                            respect??
.                                                                          In half my
.                                                                        lifetime, I
.                                                                      expect, as
.                                                                    this is just
.                                                                  a wheeze
.                                                                to squash
.                                                              my will, to
.               bring me                     to my knees;
.                  for sticks and balls may hurt
.                      us all, but double games
.                                will break me.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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There Are Days

There Are Days

There are days… when each moment crushes
While everything rushes
To some futile end

There are days… when every voice mocks me
My solitude shocks me
I’m blind to my friends

There are days… when I feel luck has played me
And choice has betrayed me
For giggles and thrills

There are days… when my ceaseless fixation
With self-reformation
Just worsens my ills

There are days… when fear shakes its rattle
Each step a tired battle
Of me versus me

There are days… when perhaps it’s all worth it
My mess is as perfect
As screwed up can be

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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