A Poem a Day (478): Pumpkin man (a Villanelle)

Pumpkin man (a Villanelle)
 
He is the pumpkin man
carving out teeth and eyes,
doing all he possibly can
 
to be ready for Sanhain,
a time of spirits and sighs.
He pours the leftovers in a pan,
 
a buzzy orange mix. Dan
is his name. With a disguise,
the heads look almost human.
 
These pumpkins, how they sang
aloud without any cares.
They were his number one fan.
 
At midnight away they all ran
while Dan baked pumpkin pies,
gingerbread and pecan flan.
 
He is the pumpkin man,
carving out teeth and eyes,
doing all he possibly can
to be ready for Sanhain.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, October 30, 2021

New release: A Poem a Day (poetry book)

I have a new book release (the first since 2015!). It's a poetry book called A Poem a Day.

It's a collection of 446 poems, written between April 2020 and March 2021. In April 2020, I decided to try to write a poem a day on my blog, Vixie’s Stories, following prompts on NaPoWriMo.net. The following month I kept going.

It has been published on Amazon. It's also on Smashwords (which will soon distribute it to places like Barnes & Noble).

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09B6CPVKD

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09B6CPVKD

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1095735

A Poem a Day (477): Suspended

I've posted this one on JD Mader's writing website, Unemployed Imagination. Head over there this weekend to write about or read any topic you like - it's all at 2minutesgo. 

Suspended
 
Suspend disbelief
without strings or nets
to catch the worthy traveller,
seek him in disarray.
 
We outlive colour,
dream of how it mixes
faces and odd scenarios,
whips up an idle scream.
 
This is the fulfilling time
where harm ran amock,
spilt wine on the floor
and forgot to close the door.
 
But we survive all endings,
refigure how they evolved,
seeking closure in murmurs
of conversations we’ve lost.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, October 16, 2021

A Poem a Day (476): Winter blues

 
 
This week in my poetry class we had to write a blues poem. Lines 1 and 2 are the same, but can have small differences, and line 3 rhymes with them both. 

Winter blues
 
In the heart of winter the earth is silent,
in the beat of winter the earth lies silent.
trees skim broken, the sky darkly rent.
 
Old Man Withers drags his heavy legs,
Old Man Withers shifts his weary legs,
ignoring how his faithful Alsation begs.
 
The earth snow solid crunches under foot,
the earth breathes and crunches under foot,
this white chilled hand concealing every root.
 
A robin hops, spreads his wings and flies,
a robin chirps, unfurls his wings and flies.
At the turn of spring is when winter surely dies.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, October 9 2021
 

A Poem a Day (475): She likes to mix it up

 
She likes to mix it up
sometimes, share her heart
on a leaf of paper read,
scribbled on with her name.
It is eager to reveal itself,
being unique and well formed.
This is where it lays its head,
opens its arms in the spread.
It is only one person here,
standing still against the cold,
the sun has dripped away
behind the cloudy silent screen.
It’s a pattern she knows
while she waits for the stars
to empty out their souls
til there is nothing but dust.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 25, 2021

A Poem a Day (474): Erosion

 
Erosion
 
Two went out
but only one returned.
 
He trips on fault,
refusing to say a word.
 
Lost among giants
towering over landscapes
 
ripped and engineered
by erosion’s hands.
 
They say prayers at night,
wondering where she is,
 
begging for a little help
where silence now lives.
 
We see her face online,
smiles for the camera,
 
so carefree and happy.
Where could she be?
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 16, 2021

A Poem a Day (473): Feathers

 
Feathers 
 
Feathers turn on the air,
burrow in the upflift
fluttering, these precious things,
the barest feel of touch
spinning. A white glow.
Breezes take them skyward
as if to connect with the stars,
breathe as high as the moon.
Scant traces of being
blown away and now lost.
Not feathers but people
falling.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 11, 2021

A Poem a Day (472): Rivulets

Rivulets 
 
These pungent colours pack a punch,
run in single rivulets searching,
 
find solace in the in between,
the evidential stop and start.
 
It’s the flow until the end,
a delicate line drawn underneath
 
this elevation to ardour,
a pretence we no longer have.
 
Take watch of eagles in flight,
the soar and the silver arch,
 
the dip in a separated sky,
once launched, floating on high.
 
We draw our hands together,
turn our palms up to the sun
 
collecting its beaten yolk rays.
It seeps through our fingers.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 11, 2021

A Poem a Day (471): Visions

Visions
 
Visions of perfected pages,
light curls paper edges.
 
This slow burn unfolding,
it snarls and ignites,
 
a stammer withheld,
flames in flight like birds,
 
feathers spread in a fan.
We lift on the backdraft,
 
our arms in suspension,
an umbrella of curves,
 
the cosmic overseer.
We are lifted up and out.
 
The drop is not so far,
this fire all enduring.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 9, 2021

A Poem a Day (470): Safe

 
Safe
 
Is it a luxury to feel safe in this world?
When things spill over
we feel them slip between our fingers.
We feel fear like a cold breath,
something dig into the pit of our stomach,
making us feel sick to the core.
If you no longer feel safe,
how can you feel safe in this world?
How can you pick up your life?
If you no longer feel safe,
how can you ever feel safe again?
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 5, 2021