GloPoWriMo2019 Day Twenty-seven

Today we rewrite the bard, with a twist.

And when you're older, darling
And wrinkled like an unironed shirt
Those guys who stare at you now
Will seem to matter not at all.
And if they ask why you are ugly now
And why have you not taken care to age well,
Then say, from within the depth of your soul,
That the fools have shamed us, now folly wins
And the ephemeral beauty of a firework
Lasts longer than the beauty of the fool
And his child will know naught beyond the excuse
And will inherit the earth by folly laid bare.
     If only we knew then what we know today
     How different might our actions be today.

(c) 2ndwitch, 27/04/19

("When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
     This were to be new made when thou art old,
     And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold."
Shakespeare Sonnet II )

GloPoWriMo 2018 - day twenty-three

Today the prompt is to write a poem based on heard material.


it is an inherent part of being human that we listen
    and that when we listen we interpret
        what we hear according to our own understanding

so when we hear the call of whales
    or the song of the soaring curlew
        we attribute to it meaning

but what if there is no meaning and if the sounds we hear
    are nothing more than simply sounds
        and the sounds themselves are mocking us

although surely the mockery would be wrong as that
   would in turn attribute meaning
        to the meaningless beauty of sounds

GloPoWriMo 2018 - day twenty-one

Today the prompt is to write a poem based on the myth of Narcissus.

(I am treating this subject VERY laterally!)

There are many forms of beauty, as many as there
Are people who can see or hear or feel, and then
Some more beside.
But for me the epitome of beauty can be seen in
The hands of a skilled craftsman, in the grace and
Deft movements they employ.
And however the musician may consider himself
Above the ordinary mortal, his hands and the beauty
They create remain.