Written for tonight’s MTB – Hopscotch with Anapestic tetrameter at dVerse. Anapestic tetrameter is by far the hardest meter I’ve tried so far, but maybe I just haven’t gotten into the rhythm yet. I chose to break the 12 syllable lines in two to get in an extra internal rhyme.
Old lady who’s homeless who goes into spoons for a coffee every night by John Law
The lad was sad, so sad Because vegetables was all he had Grow on the sill to his tiny pad
He wished, oh how he wished He had some coin for meat or fish Something to make a filling dish
But his mind was set, firmly set He would give something to the homeless old lady he’d met She smiled like his nan and called him pet
So he gave her a salad to eat Then offered his bed, so she wouldn’t sleep on the street Don’t want to burden, she said, but thought him sweet, so sweet
I really felt devoid of inspiration yesterday. Nothing came to me, so what did I do?
I started with the salad picture, listing what I imagined I saw. I mean is it a cucumber or a zucchini? Small tomatoes or radishes? I decided upon salad of some sort, cucumber, sweet peppers and radish. Then I started rearranging the letters in each word to see which words I could find. Then I let that list of words stew in my mind as I went to dance class.
On my way there I was one of the people who alerted the staff in the local traffic about a passed out homeless guy, who looked like he could use medical attention.
When I came home I wrote the poem above. Which made me quite sad to tell the truth. I wish, oh how I wish, that solving the problems for homeless people were as easy as writing a poem.
John Law
“Am 68. Live in Mexborough. Retired teacher. Artist; musician; poet. Recently included in ‘Viral Verses’ poetry volume. Married. 2 kids; 3 grandkids.”
Christine O’ConnorIs an artist working in glass, metal, fibre and paint. Sometimes her work is based on photographs, but more often, she creates in the moment. She loves to play with texture and colour.
Christine O'Connor
The crescent moon is sickle sharp Like the distance keeping us apart Then she grows, still we’re seeing her from distant shores Separated from the one we adore
The warm, golden half-moon Makes us long for passionate afternoons Then she fills, lockdown alarm shrills While we freeze as loneliness chills
The full moon, glistening on frost Reminding of all that’s lost Then she fades, taking light and hope away Spring, a made up, unreachable someday
In September last year, meaning the first month back blogging, I wrote a piece called Bad day, about the days that PTSD and my clinical depression puts me so low I would like to just go hide. (Or die depending on how bad it gets.)
Today was such a day when the fact there’s no one to reach out to, felt like the worst thing ever, all I wanted was to hide away and cry.
Instead I did my meditation, tried to go about my day as normal and dragged myself to practice (since we’re advised physical distance rather then lockdown). It didn’t really help, but tomorrow I’ll know I did most of what I aimed today. And hopefully that will give me something.
The world according to RedCat 
![Daniel Gardner [Public domain]](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Three_Witches_from_Shakespeares_Macbeth_by_Daniel_Gardner,_1775.jpg){kind=link}