London Rain

I was planning to blog today about this past Sunday – i.e., the day a local library held its awards ceremony for the creative writing contest in which I took 2nd place in my category. Buuut my time got eaten by writing other things, so we’ll recap the ceremony next week. As for today, it’s still National Poetry Month, so here – have a poem, inspired by one of my Pinterest boards.

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London rain.

Water mirrors splashed across the street, holding the sky on the ground.

Look down, look up.

*

London fog.

City wrapped up snug in black and white and smudgy gray.

Make that grey. With an e. Like the earl.

*

London bridge.

Stretched across the Thames (I think).

(I hope) in no danger of falling down.

*

London clock.

Face up high, all round and glowing like the moon.

Likewise, the night’s timekeeper.

*

London red.

On the buses, double-decked. On the boxes, telephone.

Signage: Mind the gap.

*

London rain.

Slicking silver off umbrellas, filling air with petrichor, keeping company with those who walk the paths where Beatles tread, with Sherlock and his game afoot, where vampires slipped ‘tween gaslight shadows, Sweeney Todd sang dark revenge, never-grown-up boys flew star-ward and straight on ‘til morning, while a sword stood in an anvil on a stone awaiting kingly call…

Tales on tales, and worlds in worlds, all there beneath the watchful

Eye of London.

London Rain

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Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

When Is It Poetry?

April, I hear, is National Poetry Month. So here’s a Danielle E. Shipley original. Enjoy!

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I strew the words across the page

– in rage – in grief – in rapture

– in mimicry of what the poets do –

and wonder…

 

When is a thing a story,

and when a song,

and when nothing more than black noise

in the vast, white reaches of space?

 

Here: Haiku and sonnets,

There: Novels and essays,

With free-form musings, both and between.

Where do you sketch the line?

 

HERE LIES THE DIFFERENCE

as near as I can tell:

 

That which we call poetry

is but a work of art that has been

broken just so.

 

So I strew my words across the page

and wonder…

 

Am I a poem yet?

Image via unsplash.com

<<<>>>

Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!