26th October 2016
A couple of weeks ago two poems went missing from the original AMMW (now ammmw) post. A couple more have now disappeared and it's possible (but not entirely probable) that one or two more may go before the end of October.
This is not a virus - some strange, poetically targeted, internet illness. This is because I have finally started listening to my Mum (it's only taken the best part of half a century for this phenomenon to occur) and entered a poetry competition.
The rules of The Poetry Society's National Poetry Competition state that the poems entered should be previously unpublished. I'm not sure if this little blog counts as published but it's probably best to err on the side of caution and remove any entries 'just in case'.
I'm not sure what I'm expecting from this venture. Certainly not to win (I am after-all a fledgling) but it does seem strange to send these small scraps of my self out to be judged. After the initial fear of allowing the words to escape into the outside world had been overcome; first by showing the poems to my Mum & Dad, close family and some friends; then stepping forward and speaking the words out loud to Mum & Dad, close family, some friends and close colleagues; I can now stand and speak words which I have written, out loud to Mum & Dad, family, friends, colleagues and strangers.
A small crack let in the light and now the rock has split wide open. Rather like the effect of water being frozen in a tiny crevice, forcing the rock to split and reveal the secrets hidden within. Will it hold a sparkling crystal? A rare and ancient fossil? Or is it just the same smooth, beige-grey inside as out? A solid but dull revelation.
To wring out the rock/crack/water/frost metaphor to its breaking point; if my family and friends were the water that got into the crack, then the cancer was the frost. It made me brave. I have always been an extrovert but (surprisingly to some) have always found exposure of my inner, vulnerable, soft-self uncomfortable to the point of pain. The extroversion a shield to protect the parts of me I do not want displayed or which I want to hide away.
These dark and uncharted parts of myself are drawn to the surface when I write. They are part of the reason why I write. The world becomes too sad or too complicated or too wondrous and to make sense of it words come out. Sort of. And in doing that, in untangling the knotty bits of life, hidden things inadvertently come to light.
Two more (as yet) untitled poems
I am utter
I am a
My feet beat and
Carry me happily
As I walk
Bubble and flow
Inside pours out
Heart does not
Shrivel but grow