A Proper Title

*sings to the tune of 'Oh, Canada'* "WORLD POETREEEEEE DAAAAY OUR HOME AND NATIVE LAAAAAAAND!" 

Yes, everyone, it's World Poetry Day. It's almost as if I timed my challenge to coincide. That sounds like sarcasm, it's not, I didn't. What I have done is gone and rit you a poem about being a poet and what it means and ting. I hope you've read lots of other poems and written loads yourself and just given poetry to respect it deserves for at least one bloody day out of the thousands you have/will live. 

Peace and poems guys!

Day 36

On Being a Wack Poet, Yo!

I mistook a set of garden furniture

for a small urban horse.

It was all downhill from there, really.

Like complimentary porcelain figurines

the words purchased themselves

and stood in the living room of my pages.

It’s one of those chapter-less books,

so I never know where I am

or when to stop.

Day known as One

Hello chums!

In a break with tradition, I've decided to do a bit of serious blogging for the next wee while. A thought occurred to me today as I sat puzzling over what to give up for Lent. Having already gorged on sweets and having used Facebook and my phone just as much as usual, I thought, "Hey Marianne (which is my real name for those of you who don't know me - fun fact #1, this is the first time I've said it...on this blog, not ever in my life), why give something up, when you could in fact TAKE something up, like writing a new poem on your blog every day for 40 days? You know, it might help you in your plight to become a serious poet. Or it might alienate all your avid followers who only tune in to hear you mock and belittle this wonderful world we live in, but isn't that what Lent is all about?" And I thought, "Yes, Lent IS all about alienation and poetry! I WILL write a poem every day on my blog and try to force people to read them!"

So there you have it folks, for the next 40 days I'm going to -try- and post a new poem here on the Rattle Bag (fun fact #2: The Rattle Bag is a 1982 anthology of poetry edited by Ted Hughes and Seamus Heaney and is obviously where I took the name for my beloved blog all those years ago. See, I AM really into poetry after all). There may or may not be drawings photographs along the way, only time will tell. Right now, my graphics tablet camera and I have been separated, so you'll be gettin' a whole lotta nuthin' for the next wee while at least.

Anyway, HERE IS POEM NUMBER 1. Appreciate it, or else.

On Going Back

I have found patterns

woven on these pages

enough to paper a wall

and call it nouveau.

I’ve been hiding amongst them.

I sit, lonely as a bowl of trifle

after all the children have vomited

and gone home.

I don’t want anyone to see me

like this; a cherry pip

with its flesh chewed off.

History has planed away my armour,

and every vein in every finger

lies open now like some ancient burial ground

uncovered by diggers

and optioned for a show on Discovery UK.