writing

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the wrist and the door

I wave to you from across the road
every turn of my wrist
an invitation and a farewell
a door opening and closing

I cannot decide
whether to use the weight of my heart
as a doorstop to wedge this door open
or to keep it closed

daily prompt – wrist and door – from Sarah Selecky  https://www.storyisastateofmind.com/

©clairegriffin2017

 

 

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the window and the paperclip

this window opens and catches
between its edges the colour of trees
and the sound of birds
it holds a place in time and space
a marker in the book where I live
when I need to find my page
I lift this twisted bookmark
and my book opens to the perfect day

I signed up for a month’s collection of daily prompts from Sarah Selecky.
This was my response to number one.
If you’re interested check her website: https://www.storyisastateofmind.com/

©clairegriffin2017

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June


shift your rhythms / attend to the night / tune in to moonrise and moonset / fluid and regular / dark in the light / light in the dark

Here’s my calendar page for June. I’ve been so busy and distracted by 9-5 work that I almost forgot to post this. 

I’m definitely feeling the need to shift my rhythms – to accept getting up in the dark, getting home in the dark. I’m trying adjust to winter – to slow down and not push myself to do too much. 

I welcome those bright clear winter days when they visit – but today is cloudy and cold – just me and a book bundled up keeping warm. 

I’ve got some writing ideas underway – just taking me ages to finish things. 

©clairegriffin2017

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night-quiet

unable to sleep
I sit by the window
looking out into darkness
into my knowledge
of what lies beyond the glass
my eyes see nothing
but the soft black mounds of hills
given shape by the merest light
of moon and star
filtered through cloud

and there is stillness and quiet
the night-quiet when the wind has calmed
and tree ferns hang their fronds down
relaxing their leafy arms into the dark
while the birds sleep in the trees
there are creatures about
snails edging across the driveway
cats patrolling their borderlands
and a moth that stumbles across this page
on its way towards the torchlight
that lights my pen

 

©clairegriffin2017

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“kill your darlings”

Finally finished writing a poem I began at the end of last year – “killed a few darlings” yesterday – and freed them to begin life in some new work 😊 Phew!! 

It was something I just had to complete – but I feel its been blocking me from engaging with anything new.  

“Kill your darlings” is a phrase I learnt earlier this year, meaning that when revising your work, sometimes you’ve got to let go of some of the words/phrases/paragraphs etc that you love the most. Damn that was hard! But I knew that things weren’t working while I kept trying to include these. 

So – after shifting from poetry to prose and back again, with attempts to merge the two, I tried to be ruthless, kept the bits I thought worked the best, ignored some of the original sequence and rearranged lines and verses, and crossed a few things off completely. It’s taken me weeks !!! 

And at the end of all this – two and a half pages of 11pt verse. I hope I never get the urge to write a novel – it would take me years !!!

What I’m excited about and what came as something of a surprise, is that the “darlings” I had to cull immediately began to take on a life of their own. I felt released by removing them and realised they weren’t gone for good – I could keep working with these initial ideas and bring them to completion in their own right(write). 

I’m looking forward to sharing these resurrected darlings when they’re finished. ❤️❤️

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April

The first day of the month spent at a writer’s workshop. So powerful hearing the feedback from others, their interpretations, their challenges, their questions. Much that confirmed my ideas, some that surprised. 

Tasked now with the job of a major re-arrangement of text – exciting to look forward to a completed work. I can feel it in my mind, almost see it – but the work of selecting and placing text will be harder when I work on it with pen and paper, even with scissors and glue. Just realised – this work does fit with this month’s poem. 

©clairegriffin2017

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eye to eye

When she was young, she was abandoned,
she was pregnant, she was making do,
wary and opportunistic.

She was found, she was ill, her babies died,
and I had just seen the movie based on the life of Frida Kahlo,
when I saw this small, thin, lost soul in a cage,
for sale, marked down, half price.
Frida she was then, in an instant.

She came home with me.
She was half-wild, wouldn’t be held,
ate fast and then straight outside.
We found she’d made the compost bin her bed.

But she brought us gifts in those early times,
daily mice, some dead, some alive,
and three arranged in the driveway
like an installation artwork.

There was the rat, that looked like someone’s pet.
There was the tui, injured, flapping,
that I drowned in a bucket, while I cried
and she stretched out in the sun

There was the day I realised she was using mirrors
as a way of watching and staying safe.
There was the day she walked into the room and stopped,
and looked, eye to eye, heart to heart.
It proved to me, that patience is worth it, that patience heals.
Two years of waiting evaporated in her eyes.

Today she sleeps.
She sleeps and when she’s not sleeping, she wants to eat.
Having an appetite is a good thing.

And she has developed the habit of scratching the sofa, or trying to.
It’s a dance now, that we both share.
She stretches out a paw and looks my way.
I say no, and her leg lowers. She holds eye contact.
After all these years, she uses her eyes to get what she wants.

I move to the kitchen and squeeze cat food from the packet.
She eats, she climbs on me, and sleeps.

She knows who I am now.
She snores a little
and every breath
is the sound of trust.

Frida

©clairegriffin2017

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discoveries and intentions – reflections on 2016

I’ve taken up the suggestion to reflect on this year. I hadn’t intended to, but once I read Michelle W’s suggestions on The Daily Post, it immediately seemed such a helpful thing to do.

discoveries
This year is the first time I’ve really committed to writing and what I’m most proud of is the amount I’ve written throughout the year, and that I’ve stuck with it. Although its interesting to note that my posting peaked mid-year, I wonder why…?

I like getting feedback – and responding to others’ work. From being initially so hesitant about posting anything, this year has seen me grow in confidence, and much of that is due to the positive feedback I’ve received. So thank you to all who took the time to write something to me – it means more than you might realise.

Realising that getting only a few likes on a piece doesn’t mean its un-liked – it may just have gone unseen.

I’m getting better at using tags, and this may help bring my work to more people.

Participating in challenges eg: “intro to poetry” (responding to daily prompt words) was indeed challenging, but also rewarding. It pushed me to explore my work, and question my habits. It provided opportunities for increased interactions with other writers.

It was interesting to look through this year’s posts, and follow the suggestion of using the ten with the most “likes” to make a wordcloud. These aren’t necessarily the ten I would have chosen – so I made two wordclouds – most likes and my choice.

intentions
Be brave and keep sharing my work with others. Make the most of opportunities eg writing workshops. Set up regular writing cafe sessions with a friend who writes. Send some pieces out to magazines etc – and/or self publish?

I’ve been working through this year’s crop of poems – and its interesting how I can work on crafting these now – much more objective – more able to think yes-that stays, no-wrong word-change it, no-that doesn’t belong-cut completely.

Tidy up the photography section of my blog – and add more to this. It was meant to be a stand-alone category, but I found that the photos I took became integrated into my writing – so I need to think about whether I even keep it. I still need a photo of a “list of birds”.

And – I realised I never did write something for Bowie – this may well come early January next year – “its been a year …” – listening to Blackstar and thinking about the lyrics eg: “spirit rose a metre and stepped aside”, “you know I’ll be free”.

I welcome the new year – I wonder what it will bring?

 

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the day begins

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surfacing from the dark
feet cold on the hard floor
black sky softening
trees a muted green
birds waking, calling, invisible

she is there, waiting
but she turns her face away

All this week, hoping to catch a glimpse of her promised glory and now, there are only moments between clouds when she shines.
Before this week, her face would have been welcomed. It was all romance and possibility and a sense of the future. Now, I can’t wait for her to leave. I am waiting, I am wanting, I am denied.

street lights fluoresce a pale orange
a row of miniature suns
marking a runway, a landing strip

see – here – here you could land
you could bring yourself to earth
and let me hold you
and let me be held

scaffolding surrounds the house
a white plastic chair glows in the half light
the stream is full with the run-off from the hills
and birds call
birds call
and the trees are moving

5.30am update / buildings are closed / people evacuated / sea life threatened / seabed raised / the weather is clearing with a forecast of morning showers / southerlies / 15 degrees

she hasn’t moved
I am waiting for her to drop
to slide behind the hills
but she is contrary, stubborn
hanging still as clouds pass by
like so many unsuccessful suitors

at least I see her
but I wanted so much more
I am disappointed
that she waits til now to show herself
all week, going about her business undercover
a beautiful anarchist
creating chaos
mad woman of the sky
you have betrayed us all

clouds glow apricot pink
and draw attention to the left
yellow eyes watch from across the room
a shadow, a black cloud
full of anticipation and patience

6.00am parliament / questions / earthquakes / recovery / entry to the drift

There has been enough waiting and as the sky lightens, I return to warmth and comfort, shining one small bright light into the darkness. And I read “This moment is all there is” and I think, here it is, synchronicity at work.

this book of light
is full
and slow to respond
full of dead poets
Rumi, Tuwhare, Cohen

There has been so much loss in so little time. Storytellers and singers, poets and priests, all are slipping away. The ground moved and we looked to the heavens. The rains came, and our tears were added to the flood. Myths abounded as we looked for reasons to explain the unexplainable. The moon that came too close. Too much moon, too much gravity. Facing the inevitability of time and the pain of too much love, too many memories.

Whatever the cause, the reality is – the very ground we walk on has proved unstable. We have a fragile peace between aftershocks when we take a ragged breath. We do not know if it will be safe to breathe out…

the black shadow sits heavily across belly and hips

6.40am Kaikoura / slow cooking using bricks from the house

bricks re-purposed
from a broken home
necessity brings invention
disillusion gives way to hope
disenchantment never quite took hold
the sun has risen
the cat is fed
and so

 the day begins

(the result of a writing workshop with Pip Adam – to focus on the details of one day – Friday 18 November 2016 – to observe, record and then transform. This is the result of the writing done the following day, Saturday 19 November. Still working on it – currently in prose, fewer “voices”, and managing to get past 6.40 am 😉)

©ClaireGriffin2016