Tag: new work

A new poem

~ bardofupton ~ Leave a comment

This is a new poem.

zipped into dresses and strapped into shoes
trapped in frills and girly things
but I’m not a girl! I think
or a boy
but unaware of alternatives (then)

without a word for what I am
it would take years to claim it
to know it
to truly become it

every day a little closer
every breath a little freer
with every heartbeat I metamorphose a little
changing into myself

a truer version
more solid more real
more me
carving my way out from the inside
revelation in skin and bones, hair and muscle
slowly rising into view from the depths of myself
sometimes understated sometimes in your face
but always always me

my clothes do not make me
but sometimes they empower me
and sometimes they confine
because society loves its boxes

the message you read is not the message I send
and you cannot speak the dialect I use
if you cannot understand me that does not make me wrong
just different
just other
just me

© bardofupton 2018

Another poem about pain

~ bardofupton ~ Leave a comment

This is another new poem.

moments of joy even in the dark
or smiling during the pain
a feather’s lighter than a brick
and yet, it balances
a single flash of happiness counters the pain
giving me strength to endure
because
after all
there’s still beauty
there’s still love
there’s more than bone-deep agony
there’s sunshine even in deepest winter

one bright flash of joy
like a half-glimpsed bird’s wing
reminds me there’s more than the insularity of pain
outside of me is the world i’m still a part of

pain steals breath like beauty does
same reaction opposed causes
tangled twisted round each other
so close i can’t separate them

sometimes life rises like a hydra from a lake
sudden and shocking and shattering
piercing the fog of my pain
and sometimes it recedes
obscured by agony
but
nevertheless
still
always
there

© bardofupton 2018

Fragments (poems)

~ bardofupton ~ Leave a comment

Some of these are old, some new. These are all things that I don’t think are going to turn into proper poems, but I like too much to discard.

———–

slivers and laughter
I shattered like glass
aground on the wreck of your love

———–

gleaming droplets trembling on orange petals
flowers after rain

———–
it’s bouncing off walls
and slamming closed doors

© bardofupton 2018

A poem on the subject of autumn

~ bardofupton ~ Leave a comment

This is another new one.

wet leaves on paving slabs
dissolving slowly to mush
autumn chill on my ungloved fingers
unprepared for rain

dry golden brown leaves
crunching slowly underfoot
the sun’s low angle
the lengthening nights

autumn enfolds me
flips warm to cold in moments
today sun
yesterday rain and fog
tomorrow uncertain
heading towards winter’s aching bones
and far from the heat of summer

© bardofupton 2018

The Perfect Word (or, Is It Ever Good Enough?) (Poem)

~ bardofupton ~ Leave a comment

This is another new poem.

The perfect word drops from the pen
From subconscious to paper in one swift movement
It illuminates and elicits emotion all at once
Dazzling the reader with its rightness

And yet, is it perfect?
Perhaps there’s a better choice
Giving a more perfect illustration

Perhaps I should start over
Revise and re-edit
Reword and replace
Search for the perfect the truly perfect word
The right words in the right order
To convey meaning so exactly it’s like telepathy

It exists, doesn’t it?
Somewhere, perfection
Waiting to be captured
Waiting to be discovered
Waiting for me

© bardofupton 2018

Writing project, November 2018

~ bardofupton ~ 2 Comments

So I thought I’d add another project to the blog. This one is going to be monthly, and the idea is that I choose a word and then write a (most likely) short piece involving the chosen word (poetry or prose, but I’m going to try and write more prose, since I already have a fair amount of poetry here). The idea is to get me writing more regularly.

The piece could be about the word, or use the word, or be inspired by the word.

I will consider suggestions, if anyone wants to make any.

This month’s word is inchoate, meaning “just begun and so not fully formed or developed; rudimentary”.

I decided to write something quite silly for the first one.

I hope you enjoy it.
____________________________________

Inchoate, his feelings swirled within him. He could not decide what to do. Should he have crisps or chocolate? He couldn’t afford both, but he didn’t want to make the wrong decision and open himself up to regret. After all, he’d impulsively bought that chilli-flavoured chocolate the other day, and he still regretted it. It was lying around in the kitchen, barely nibbled. He didn’t really know why he’d purchased it – he hated chilli. He was determined not to make that kind of mistake again.

What did he want? Sweet or salt? The crunch of crisps or the smoothness of chocolate? It was not a decision to be made in a hurry.

“Hey! You’re holding up the line!”

He jumped, startled, and looked around. A huge queue had formed behind him, and it seemed as though they were all staring accusingly at him. He grabbed the closest item, paid, and left without making eye contact with anyone.

Outside, he opened the bag to see what he’d bought. He sighed.

“Pork scratchings. And I’m a vegetarian.”

© bardofupton 2018

Inkwarriors, part 1 (Fiction)

~ bardofupton ~ 1 Comment

The first thing an inkwarrior child learns is the Code. It’s the first thing they learn when they begin to speak. The Code binds all inkwarriors, regardless of what political differences they may have.

The Code is simple to remember, hard to master. It goes thusly:

An inkwarrior writes the real, keeping it safe from chaos. An inkwarrior wastes no words, writes no lies, holds nothing above their calling. An inkwarrior goes where they are needed, shows no favour, takes no bribes. An inkwarrior owes allegiance only to themselves and to the real…

Meril paused, sighing. “Must I keep repeating this? I know it by heart!”

“If you truly knew it, you’d not be mooning over some wizard! You’re an inkwarrior, Merril. You cannot love a wizard.”

“But I do!”

“You’ve never even spoken to them!”

“I… That’s true, but it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter? You’ve no idea who they truly are. And they’re a wizard, so, y’know, evil.”

“How can you say that?”

“Wizards dabble in chaos for their own aggrandisement, Meril. Everyone knows that.”

“Well… I’m sure this wizard is different.”

“Doesn’t matter. They won’t give you the time of day. They hate us as much as we hate them. After all, we do spend a lot of our time undoing what they’ve done.” Paro sighed, seeing the determined look on Meril’s face. “You should forget them. It can’t go anywhere.”

Meril shook her head stubbornly.

“You need to study, Meril. The first exam is in two days!”

“Maybe I don’t want to be an inkwarrior.”

“So? An inkwarrior child becomes an inkwarrior. Just as a wizard’s child becomes a wizard, and a carpenter’s child becomes a carpenter.”

“And that is why our bookshelves are so wobbly,” Meril retorted, “because our carpenter has no actual aptitude for carpentry. Why can’t I become something else?”

“Because it’s ordained. Do you want to fight not just the inkwarrior guild, but the priests and the king too?”

Meril stared stubbornly back at Paro, but said nothing. He sighed, and pulled down a thin book from the overflowing bookshelf.

“Read this. Maybe it will change your mind.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the story of the last person who tried a change of career.”

“It’s not very long.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

© bardofupton 2018

Faces (poem)

~ bardofupton ~ Leave a comment

This is a new poem. It was somehow inspired by going to see The Dresden Dolls on Halloween. Not quite sure what precisely inspired it; maybe something to do with all the people in masks and costumes.

I paint one hundred portraits of myself
and cut them all to pieces
because those faces are all lies
where’s the darkness?
where’s the anger?
where’s the complexity of me?

I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve
or my sins on my face
every mirror I pass I smash
because those reflections ain’t true
where’s the hatred?
where’s the violence?
where’s the hurting parts of me?

the face in my photographs
is just skin over bone
those blank eyes convey nothing to me
where’s the passion?
where’s the sorrow?
where’s my legacy of trauma?

no image tells my true story
two dimensions is too flat
bursting through those boundaries
i’m real or i’m not there at all
here’s my weariness
here’s my wonder
here’s the whole complicated me

© bardofupton 2018

Another new poem

~ bardofupton ~ Leave a comment

This was a difficult one to write, for some reason.

words tumble around me like stones
they shouldn’t hurt but they do
words slice like icy winter winds
and suddenly i’m cold
each time someone calls me the wrong name
calls me sir calls me ma’am
it’s a pinprick to my heart
a tiny wound to my soul
peeling away my sense of self
the rightness of being me
trying to put me back into your box
chipping away at my personhood
grinding me down by degrees
and i have to put myself back together
reattach the fragments
every
single
day
and i am so very tired
weary of fighting my way through the world
struggling to be seen
acknowledged
accepted
fighting to remain myself
trying to become me
a moment a minute a fragment
at a time
life’s harder without a template
it’s not easy being free
but i can’t put the contents back in the original packaging
i just don’t fit any more
i spilled out of the box all over the floor
and there’s no cleaning me up
i am indelible
and i exist
here i am
in front of you
i am here
outside your binaries boundaries and boxes
and i’m not going anywhere

© bardofupton 2018

A new poem

~ bardofupton ~ Leave a comment

I just finished this one.

metoo
and again
and again
so what now?
victim or survivor,
and what’s the difference anyway?

I’m bruised broken battered
but still here
my past always present
trailing behind me
sometimes casting shadows
and sometimes forgettable
but never gone

speaking out is hard
but so is silence
to pretend that nothing happened is impossible
but sometimes necessary
some days I have strength to speak
other days only strength to hold myself (barely) together

am I brave or am I damaged?
or perhaps both, or neither
or something else entirely
it’s the cracks that define me
it’s the broken parts that heal stronger
the path I took was painful
but the destination is worthwhile

everything that happened made me who I am
good bad and indifferent
I never wished for pain
or helplessness
or fearful trembling at night
unwanted gifts from those who should have cared

metoo
and yet
and yet
that does not define me
I am not what was done to me
I am myself
still, and again

a broken cup that still holds water
still capable of joy
damaged not destroyed
I endure
I survive

for so many years
I thought myself weak
but only strength could bring me through
I am here because I am strong enough
brave enough
just enough
to keep myself going

and in the end
I triumph
because after it all
(pain and betrayal and fear
lying there trembling and silenced)
after it all
I am still here
not the same
but still alive

blossoming into my future
climbing away from my past
my roots are in darkness
but I’ve grown away from that
I’ve grown
and I’m still growing
still living loving surviving

so
metoo
yes
but more than that
more than that
I’m more than that
now, and then, and always

© bardofupton 2018