I Am Kate Bush on the Mountain #Visual Verse Publication

© Olga Naida

Into the balmy blue of a spring wind. Premature and devouring. Earth air grows green in the midday lens. Some kind of humbug illusion. I came dressed for adventure. Where were you? I waited. Watched…

…you can read the rest of the poem here.

© N Nazir 2023

My greatest thanks to Visual Verse for publishing my poem ❤

Shared for dVerse Open Link Night.

If You Know What’s Good for You

© John Towner, Unsplash

The season brings a delirium of time
shifty as quicksand, but I’m too far adrift to
fathom it.  It’s just so damned hard to get
into these dreary daily doings, so I’m drunk

on a procrastination of coffee.  I don’t
want to unravel, unanchored, just want to be
a charming plaything, winsome, not martyred
as house elf, one of those unseen slaves

who ensure the spick-span purification of
sparkling quarters, a place that swallows time
with its early phantoms.  Only when asleep I get
to better chase the perfect escape, a drunk

devouring wolf sleep, rogue and sham.  I stay
bed-long into Sunday morning, an earned drunk
aftermath of a night’s unspooling of limbs on
the comfort and cooling of sheets, the taste of wine

iron scent in my hair, my long-abandoned virtue
lost somewhere, a hyena of chores circling my poetry
but for now, I’ll deliquesce, vegetate, do whatever.

© N Nazir 2023

Written for Shay’s Word Garden, where we are given inspiration with a word list from the surreal poetry of Rimbaud.  Words used: season, delirium, charming, plaything, phantoms, asleep, wolf, sham, hyena.

Written also for WWW at the Skeptic’s Kaddish, where the poet of the week (Angela Wilson) challenges us to write a golden shovel poem, a form that entails us to incorporate a line or section of a known poem as the final word in each line (similar to an acrostic).  I’ve never done one before so I was keen to have a go.  I included a section of Baudelaire’s well-known poem Get Drunk.

“…Time to get drunk!
Don’t be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!”

*You can read the full Baudelaire poem here.

*Of course, my poem is not true.  Though such a Saturday night is familiar to me, it’s been a while.  Last night, I had a nice cup of cocoa and was all tucked up in bed at a perfectly reasonable time 🙂

Little Ceremonies

© Jael Rodriguez

We eat dust cake moon 
with our tea 
sipped in the silence 
of a sunny afternoon. 
Key ingredients:

a claiming of space
no gibbering, no masks
a gong resounding 
into the noon and beyond
as confetti of thoughts

dissolve, euphonious.
Here we sit 
I and fellow lunatic
at fully waxed table 
while tea leaves steeped 

in memories of the future
are herbivorously drunk 
in between bites
of body of moon

© N Nazir 2023

Written for Shay’s Word Garden, where we are given inspiration with poet George Hitchcock (words used: gibbering, mask(s), gong, confetti).

Written for Sammi Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt: Key, 71 words

I Wish I Was a Morning Person

When all seemed well, I stepped out.  The sunrise a bleach streak of exalted non-yellow.  ‘Twas not a normal Sunday.  I, gauche femme, frostbitten, fingerless mitten.  When the mind is loquacious.  Then pauses to drench.  Quiet jives.  Time is a slipstream.  Rendered lucid in the giddy light.  Karma’s overgrown hair blowing into spring.  A familial scattering.  And here I land – pop! – in a gasp of winter sun.  Homeland.  In motion.  But. Waiting for a bus.  Clashing colours.  Empty stomach.  Sleep-deprived.  And always, always just a little bit late.  

© N Nazir 2023

Written for Shay’s Word Garden where Shay brings us inspiration with William Wordsworth (words used: yellow, lucid, overgrown).

Written also for Sammi Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt: loquacious, 88 words.

The Streets Were Deserted

but for a lone hobo and his dog.  
I went to say hello, it was on my way
after all. He didn’t look well

nor did the hound, who I petted anyway.  
Come to the shelter, I said
you’ll get a hot meal and a warm bed.

The hobo shook his head
they don’t let you in with a dog.

Oh, I didn’t know that. Sorry. So trite 
to wish him merry christmas after that.

I’m sorry, I said again and gave him some change
little good it did, everything closed on the eve.

Then I walked to the shelter, huddled against the wind
late for my shift at the kitchen.

© N Nazir 2022

*Thankfully, this rule has now changed and dogs are allowed to stay with their owners if they check in at the homeless shelters over the Christmas / New Year period (in the UK).

Shared for W3, hosted by David, where Murisopsis, the poet of the week, invites us to write a poem of exactly fourteen lines on the topic of poverty (moral, romantic, financial, etc).

Shared also for dVerse Open Link Night, hosted by Linda.


And here’s my Throwback Thursday for you. I love this band. Couldn’t Care More by the Fine Young Cannibals from their album with the same name, first released in 1985. What have you been listening to lately? 🙂