Tuesday, 26 April 2011


Last night I played along with Poejazzi's twitter instructions to write a poem. It was a lot of fun and inspired me to be more creative that I usually would be on a Monday night. Instuctions for each verse were tweeted at five minute intervals with time at the end for editing before submitting it to them. I'm not completely happy with the poem-partly because the instructions given meant I ended up repeating things and taking it in directions I wouldn't have otherwise and partly because I never am- but I'm happy I did it.

Also I've tried and tried to find an image of the statue I'm talking about in the poem. We have it by the fireplace at my Dad's house and it's the second one we've had. I assumed they were reasonably common but Google disagrees. So you'll just have to imagine.


As the sun loses it's force and the colours dim
I sit adjusting.
You watch me
and glint.
My knight.
The gold takes on a deeper hue
emanates rather than reflects.
You guard the fire place
keep my memories safe
remind me of the years I've cycled through while you've stayed
thirty centimetres high
sometimes dull, sometimes gleaming, always there.

I fell once
landed on the corner of the fire place
the brick gouging my forehead
opening my eye
blood crying down my cheek.
You were taller then
and you watched
and reflected back the red
trickling down your armour.
But today only I bear the scar.

Outside the gravel crunches.
The cat returning home,
or foxes investigating the bins
(no hot ashes but there is a chicken carcass)

Or maybe it's him, returning home.
Shame faced?
Glaring or in glory?
We don't investigate.
I sit.
You stand.
Statue still.

But what if he's not alone?
What if he's brought company?
How many feet is that crunching?
And what would I do? How can I have this conversation with someone else there?
(Except you
You are always there
cold and reflecting
and scarless.)

She can see me
see in through the window
although it is dusk and I haven't turned on the light.
And I am there
just sitting
just still
just waiting.
And she wonders if I know,
and if she should feel guilty.

She shouldn't.
I don't care.
Or I do
but I can't show it now.
Everyone just acts the best way they know how
in their own circle
and sometimes that fits together like cogs linking hands
and sometimes there are better wheels to turn
And sometimes the wheel stops and it's beyond your control.
So we sit
You and I
Statue still.


  1. I love the way the poem builds. Good imagery too. I am a sometimes poet and I feel poetry is the hardest medium to do well. I refer to it as The 'Lorenzo's Oil' of literature. Keep writing. Poetry is such a cathartic thing to do. If you fancy peeking in through my poetry window I have a writing website - maybepoet47.blogspot.com

  2. Thanks very much for the kind words. Really appreciated! And I hope you keep going too xxx