the experiment

the price of whispering
staying at home, thinking
what is the promise, the secret?
where to search for the favourite
growing, flowering
found in the night forest
obsessively, drunkenly
the conversation turned to peace
and thanks
for the hidden sunrise
for the ordered breath
the typewriter thrilled
as we struggled with our
dangerous, sensitive


© Claire Griffin 2016

incomprehensible 2 – response to Steve Simpson’s post on “Inconstant Light”

“Found Poetry” – went through recent tweets in order taking one word from each (ok – skipped a few) – then cobbled this together with a few changes in order – mysteriously still has some sense of meaning.
Not sure incomprehensible is for me – now my brain hurts.

under a tree

under a tree
with a bug in the apple
the worm turns
as time flies out the window
birds tweet and follow
pressing the smooth skin
brings no response
no choice but waiting
willful data streams
force lassitude
as the sun warms
then slides behind the hill

© Claire Griffin 2016

incomprehensible 1 – response to Steve Simpson’s post on “Inconstant Light” – but still not incomprehensible enough…?


pleasure : poetry : day 8

grey clouds gather
the rain falls
thunder breaks
the rain falls
streets flood
and the rain still falls

I walk out into the rain
barefoot, ankle deep
choosing the attitude
of least resistance
allowing the rain
to fall where it will
not fighting against it

my senses open
as the rain falls
skin open to the wet and cold
eyes open to the shine and swirl
ears open to the splash and drip
smelling the wet earth
hands reach out
sliding over wet leaves
standing head back
savouring each drop
that settles on my tongue

there is pleasure
to be had in this acceptance
and still,

the rain falls

© Claire Griffin 2016

pleasure : #introtopoetry : day 8 : anaphora/epistrophe

another downpour, and the need to go out into the rain as part of my work – walking quickly from the car to one meeting then to another – I tried to hold this attitude in mind – “don’t resist the rain, accept it” – helped me stay relaxed but I was drenched!!
this poem is how I wish my day had been – I wish I could have tossed work aside and just messed about outside without any time pressures – enjoying the weather like a playful dog

flavour : poetry : day 7

six thousand photographs
taste of time and love,
pain and determination
who would have thought
these black and white
relics could taste so rich?

these small portraits
are bitter-sweet
and speak of a time
when you used colour
to flavour your life
paint became the spice,
the chilli, the salt, the honey
the canvas became the table
on which your life was served

love and art and pain
are the three fire dogs
on which your life was seared

scrape the spines from the nopales
crunch the slices between your teeth
slice open the papaya
roll the seeds around on your tongue
split open the watermelon
quench your thirst with the sweet juice

leave the fire dogs sleeping
live life in the raw

there is passion
in the ripe fruit,
the soft flesh
the spiky skin
describe the body
you live within

hold the bitter chocolate
in your hands
until it melts
and paint
with that
then lick
your fingers

heat the tortilla until it curls
wrap yourself inside it
like a funeral shroud
Xochiquetzal the goddess of painters
is your guide
as you walk through marigolds
Mizcoatl, Tozpan and Iiutl
the fire dogs stand guard
Huehuetéotl the old god
lights a new fire
ensuring your purification,
your transformation,
your regeneration

it was never your intention
to live within convention


© Claire Griffin 2016

flavour : #introtopoetry : day 7 : found poetry

I saw an exhibition a few days ago – “Frida Kahlo: Her Photos”, just a day or two after reading the next challenge was “flavour”.
I sat in the exhibition and wrote the first six lines. After that, I remembered the paintings of fruit and other foods, and the connection to flavour was made. Searching for information on Mexican food, I found references to the old gods of Mexico – I hope they don’t mind the way I’ve included them here.
So I’ve taken some liberties with this challenge – reinterpreting the intent of “found poetry” by finding text and inspiration in the exhibition, in her paintings, and in websites describing the food of Mexico, and I used all these to inform the poem.

screen : poetry : day 6

your words fall between us
a wall of miniature time-bombs
that don’t explode until I think
about them later, in silence

if you ever choose to listen you might find
there was never any counter-fire,
you might find that you can no longer hear
anything beyond the beat of your own heart

what might have begun for your own
protection is now a barrier projecting
negativity, and you are now trapped
behind a self-referential screen


© Claire Griffin 2016

screen : #introtopoetry : day 6 : enjambment

(this started life as 325 words and managed to edit to this 75 word version)

imperfect : poetry : day 5

leads to self-reflection
just as
the tarnished mirror
calls for introspection

the torn leaf
the broken bowl
the empty space
the wilted rose
the averted face
the fallen arrows
the lost belief
the damaged soul

depending on your
point of view
all are cause for


The suggested limerick form was just one experiment too many
– but I took on the challenge to rhyme.

© Claire Griffin 2016

imperfect : #introtopoetry : day 5 : limerick (no, no, no)

journey : poetry : day 4

the journey begins
with a thought
an idea drops
and ripples spread
(do I need to say
they are like ripples in a pond?)
this is a journey through the mind
through time

each memory
triggers another
there is no predictable sequence
more like a multi-dimensional
map of associations
(ah – there it is)
a map I create
through my experience of memories
rather than a map I follow

this is a journey
without a destination
this is a journey of trust
that I will find my own way
to wherever thought takes me
and back again to the present


© Claire Griffin 2016

journey : #introtopoetry : day 4 : simile

face : poetry : day 2

black hair braided
pulled tightly back
severity tempered
by an explosion of flowers
the rainbow halo frames
a flamboyant madonna of sorrows

the camera doesn’t capture
her soul, her certain spirit
owns the lens
controls the exposure
we are her subject
suspended in time
exposed beneath
her intense attention
her focused scrutiny

her gaze gives life to her portrait
posed, poised and passionate
disconcerting in her directness
dark eyes defined
by darker brows

(and she is …?)

© Claire Griffin 2016

face : #introtopoetry : day 2 : alliteration