I’ve heard a number of women on social media fretting over how to get their hair coloured during lockdown. I’m afraid I can’t really relate, as I don’t colour my hair, and view my grey the way I imagine a silverback gorilla does. But it inspired today’s poem.
Yesterday was Monday, and normally I would have written my weekly blog post at the cafe next to work in the hour before I start. Obviously, that didn’t happen, on the fifth day of our national lockdown.
But as I pledged to do last week, I’m focusing on the positive. My pandemic poetry, bad as it is, has caught the eye of the neighbours who walk past on their daily outings.
“Mum! There’s another one!” a little girl shouted yesterday.
Mum took it as an opportunity for some homeschooling, having her child sound out the tricky word pandemic.
So the poems are doing exactly what I’d hoped, giving at least a few people something novel and upbeat to discover every day. Easing the strain of our forced solitude, and maybe even eliciting a chuckle now and then.
And when this is over and we can actually go and meet our new neighbours, we’ll have a way to break the ice. I can hear it now …
“Oh, you’re the ones with the poems on the fence!”
Last Friday was National Poetry Day. Unfortunately, I didn’t get around to posting a poetry blog on the day, but I did work with my students on poetry all week.
When I give my students a writing challenge, I like to do the challenge alongside them. That way, if they’re shy when it comes time to share what they’ve written, I can share my writing first. Usually, they’re willing to share after hearing my hastily-written first-draft junk.
So, needless to say, I wrote a lot of poetry last week. A lot of silly, poorly thought-out poetry. Here are a couple of them that made my students giggle.
They think I have a superpower
A skill that’s so superb,
It rivals every other hero.
Villains it perturbs.
I smile inside because I know
They are all mistaken.
The only skills that I posses are
Smiling well and faking.
Cat by the Fire
He worships his god,
Prostrating himself nightly
Before the fiery altar,
His rumbling prayer
A tuneless drone.
His faith and devotion
As he attacks any
Who prevent his adoration
Of the winter god.
In the Fish Tank at the Library
There once was a mermaid so fair
Passersby all stopped to stare.
She hated the looks
And hid behind books.
A book-loving mermaid is rare.