Slice of Life Story Challenge March 5 Where My Poetry Hides

Today I came across a small collection of poems, I had  written and promptly misplaced. They were hidden away in a file called Don’t Let The Cat Out of the Bag. The words sounded like me, but I could barely recall writing them. It was like a reclaimed memory. It was an exciting discovery. I immediately began revising them.

I  have always believed it is important to distance yourself from your writing occasionally, but this was quite something else. These poems had effectively been abandoned. Not intentionally of course. I had just put them in a safe place and moved on, or so it would appear.

So today, I share a sample of some randomly abandoned words. Words now reclaimed and partially remodeled.

Where Does Poetry Hide?

Poetry hides

In my father’s chair

In the spidery webs that dangle from the cellar walls

In the hideous taste of Brussel sprouts

In the smell of stinky cabbage water

In a mother’s gentle hands

In a child’s curious eyes

In the shape of a stick insect

In the morning song of magpies

In the crash of waves pounding the beach

Poetry hides here

Cheese To Please You

A man who lived in Kildare

Found a large purple mouse in his hair

He named the mouse Milton

And fed it on Stilton

Although, it preferred Camembert

Monday, Monday Not A Fun-day

On Monday mornings I feel morose

I move my miserable muscles

Like a monkey with the measles

On Monday mornings I wish it was midnight

I move like a mushy macaroon

I am a mostly melancholy monster

On Monday morning I am moderately mean 

A maddening monotone moaner

Misery is my Monday morning master

On Monday mornings

I munch my muesli

And move miserably towards my school