My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May

SCI-FAE
by John Yeo

  I came to consciousness in a haze of non recognition of where I was, who I was and how I had arrived here.
Everything was strangely unrealistic, unusual, unrecognisable a colourful arena in a world of kaleidoscopic strangeness. As if a disturbed artist had poured and continued to pour his paint in rivulets of colour on an ever changing landscape. An orange flare dazzled the permanent light that shone from the multi-coloured suns lighting up the distant horizon with a green fire that seemed to be all-consuming. Billows of purple steam  sounded loudly, hissing and spluttering as blue liquid stone flowed down a yellow ochre liquid bed on a river of jagged rocky liquid. There was a silent crash of electric thunder as a winged figure sped up from the bowels of the middle sky. Emerging from a point that mystically merged with the pink of a rising horizon and the disappearance of the future into the past. A point in time that was midway between now and then.
  “Welcome to the world of Sci Fae!”  Boomed a falsetto base sound, that seemed to convey communication as if a note composed of a base clef swimming in an ocean of liquid soprano had arrived together to assault the ears with pure music.
  Then a loud buzzing as an alarm sounded on the machine that lay in waiting. An information loaded gadget waiting for the button to be pressed to silence the alarm.
   I tore myself away from my dreamworld of the night, to face the familiar mundane music of snarling, honking, beeping traffic that I would certainly become a part of soon. An alarming prospect indeed.
“Morning Darling!” I mumbled as I dragged myself out of bed.

©️ John Yeo

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May.

VAGUE THOUGHT (Rebirth)

When I grow up again I want to be free
Of all the things that are holding me back.
When I grow up again I want to be really me.

I’ll be branching out, growing strong, like a tree,
Removing the shackles without  drawback
When I grow up again I want to be free.

I’ll quickly dispose of childish immaturity
Reaching upwards to grasp all I lack,
When I grow up again I want to be really me.

My mind will be reaching for my destiny
Shaking off vague thought, not looking back.
When I grow up again I want to be free.

I know there can be no guarantee
My ambition will withstand any attack,
When I grow up again I want to be really me.

I will change my life and become carefree
Keeping my ambition firmly on track,
When I grow up again I want to be free
When I grow up again I want to be really me.

©️ John Yeo

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May.

INSPIRATION

  During a brief moment of inactivity I began reading an article in the Spring edition of ‘The Paris Review’; a quarterly literary magazine featuring original writing, art, and in-depth interviews with famous writers.  I began reading an article by Ishion Hutchinson, a writer who I have to confess I have never read before.   The article was entitled, ‘Women Sweeping’ and began with an in depth appraisal of a painting by artist: Édouard Vuillard entitled ‘Woman Sweeping’, apparently a portrait of the artist’s mother.
After a wonderful detailed description of this painting, the writer seamlessly switches to a beautiful word portrait of the life of his own grandmother who lived in Jamaica. I was entranced by the description of her lifestyle, which apparently was the trigger that led to the comparison with Vuillard’s painting.
This was fascinating and incredibly detailed, lifting the lid on a harrowing, harsh lifestyle where she lived in Portland Jamaica. When asked how she, ‘made her house’, she would say, ‘Through baking’. Her baking and a market stall produced a comfortable career. Out of it she built her house and raised her children.
Although she was illiterate, on the base of the table in her house, were  four books: the King James Bible, a Church of God hymnal, The Jamaican phone directory and a worn, illustrated copy of John Steinbeck’s ‘The Pearl’.
Ishion Hutchinson then seamlessly returns to the portrait of Madame Vuillard with a continuing interesting appraisal of the painting. The article finishes with the death of his grandmother.
I was so absolutely fascinated by this piece of writing, it prompted me to download the painting and re-read the article. I also obtained a copy of John Steinbeck’s book, The Pearl’. It also inspired me to write this piece.
Thank you Ishion Hutchinson.
I have to admit this is what inspiring writing is designed for…..to feed the imagination and encourage further thought.

©️ John Yeo

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May.

THE HERMIT
by John Yeo

The hermit sat in some welcome shade,
Sunshine lit up the forest corners,
Nobody ever visited this secret glade.
–
With a gentle breeze the branches swayed,
A sparkling stream with cool clear waters,
The hermit sat in some welcome shade.
–
Wild birds sang and approached unafraid
Colourful, friendly, social performers,
Nobody ever visited this secret glade.
–
Deer who grazed here never strayed
Far from this glades secret borders,
The hermit sat in some welcome shade.
–
Butterflies fluttered and Rabbits played,
Sheltered safely from their predators
Nobody ever visited this secret glade.

After he swapped the old life he had made
For a solitary life to escape his oppressors. 
The hermit sat in some welcome shade
Nobody ever visited this secret glade.

©️ John Yeo

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day challenge. 

WORDLE FREAKS

Awake again at four am,
I reach for my phone and switch on.
A cursory glance at world events.
The messages and emails can wait.
I search for the familiar link.
It’s Wordle-ing time again.

Click and thirty blank boxes appear
Piled up in six lines of five squares.
I tentatively enter a first attempt
Searching for green or yellow.
With varying results as the letters
Seem to defy my linguistic power.

Usually I arrive at the right solution
After much frustration or sheer elation.
Then it’s off to share my results with
My fellow Wordle freaks, H. and M.
We compare results over the net
Who is a dunce? Who will be champ of the day.

©️ John Yeo

UNCERTAIN CHANGE
by John Yeo

Did your physicality really leave?
I never began to understand.
Everything seems the same.
I expect you to walk in anytime.
The influences we shared together.
–
Habitual pleasures blended.
The TV’s tuned to the same station
I never liked that show.
I watch it though, just in case.
Life goes on in strange uncertainty.
–
I hardly noticed the subtlety of alteration
Things moved so slowly almost invisibly
Slowly and silently our familiar relations
Different aspects begin to affect me.
You are gone, yet somehow you never left. 

©️ John Yeo

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day challenge

FREE SPIRIT
by John Yeo

The wind is a spirit set free,
Gusty and wild without restraint
A wild wind is a raging beast
Angry power unrestrained,
Gusting whirlwinds on the horizon
The wind will always be free.

Wind power can be a force for good
Cool breezes wafting, fanning,
Dancing airwaves across the sea,
Warm thermals softly gusting,
A calm wind is a passive friend
The wind will always be free.

We use the force of the powerful wind,
We harness the power not the wind
The wind is a spirit set free,
The wind will always be free.

©️ John Yeo

THE MIRACLE OF POETRY

A spark of dormancy waits for discovery

Encased in a fuzzy cloud of mundanity.

When time and the mixture of conditions allow

Growth begins from within the uncertainty.

A creation of beauty is slowly awakening.

~

The power and the perils that await the entity,

When a fragile poem becomes stronger with time.

The magical moment when a muddle of words

Takes solid shape in a rough draft outline.

A creation shaped slowly by poetic thought.

​~

Words encased in fine vibrancy, line by line.

Ringing through the portals of the poet’s mind.

The entity that grew from a shapeless design.

A thing of beauty with strength and fluidity

Produced and nurtured from a tiny thought.

A vision; then the growth of beauty in words.

©️ John Yeo

Have a wonderful day 🌼

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day challenge. 

“I love Writing because~~~? 

It fulfills an expressive need

To work my fertile imagination.

A need to plant a literary seed

To stimulate a critical reaction.

–

I am a fisherman of verbal thought,

I bait my hook with evocative words

To catch the compliments and praise.

For my ability to put words together.

–

I don’t throw my words back in the air,

I write as I think, clear and free.

Rhyming or blank verse, I fire away,

My words become a part of me.

–

Writing is a way of recording life

A way of expressing my dreams

A way of breaking the shackles

That imprisoned the unexpected.

–

Writing is a disposable record.

A push on the delete button

Or a permanent revelation?

–

©️ Written by John Yeo

Best regards

WILLY

My response to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day. 

Today I thought I would explore the deep issues around a sadly underdeveloped ego. I think we are all  products of our upbringing and the polishing and influence of those around us as we grow up. I came up with this interesting character and wrote this Villanelle poem. Look out for the story later.

WILLY

Willy was a veritable dancing freak

Considered something of charmer

Sadly a man with a doubtful streak.

–

He was full of gall and infernal cheek

His hide as thick as plated armour

Willy was a veritable dancing freak.

–

His dancing steps were quite unique

He’d tread on toes without a murmur

A man with a doubtful streak.

–

Willy was a cheeky pipsqueak

With the attitude of a public scorner

Willy was a veritable dancing freak.

–

With long grey hair and bearded beak

He had difficulty finding a partner

A man with a doubtful streak.

–

Willy sometimes in a fit of pique

Would hide himself away in a corner

Willy was a veritable dancing freak

Sadly a man with a doubtful streak-

©️ John Yeo