A Poem a Day (544): Paper moon

 
Paper moon 

She paints a perfect paper moon,
a shimmering night sky reflective
of everything searching for a home
amid these on-off flashing stars
blinking an alternative tune,
a language known only to themselves
and the planets, a magical, mystical age,
splashes of colour plunging through time
and galaxies waiting to be found.
She journeys through a Black Hole,
out the other side into pure meaning,
strangely reassuring, this unknown,
this wild expanse of openness
where everything emits potential.
 
She paints a perfect paper moon
and balances, sticks it to the ceiling,
where it sits among the floating stars
journeying and circling all around it.
There is an arc of silvery ghostlike walk
where language has been reworked
to sound nothing like what we say.
She lays back and watches it all,
this miniature version of the real,
the hues and details, shine and sparkles,
this puzzlement without fear
of not knowing. How small she is
among the sheer mass of it all,
a waking dream, a figment, so real.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 30, 2022

A Poem a Day (543): Storm

 

Storm

 

The storm twists,          dark dust motes spiral          in the midst of angels.

See yourself in the eye          caught in the loud.        This rising blast of energy

swoops and sails,           spinning, casting out light,               the mind rent in two.

Animals soar up in the gust,            its mammoth tail           dug into the ground,

head butting the clouds                    gathering might.           We pray for starlight

to stifle this thing          and make it stop,           so it stands still,

as if time could pause,           the soft sands in the glass        frozen for eternity.

 

The storm repels            and we gaze ever higher           into its towering might,

houses and yards vanishing,            sucked into this behemoth,       and we are small,

so small          as to be nothing really          under the struggling sun.

In the distance           the south sea roars,               echoing the brute above us,

but we are transfixed.           They say to run to the coast,            the vast blue waiting,

this sanctity, this haven,          but we are glued to our post,            gazing to Heaven,

but Heaven can’t see us.           They say we are only women            and stand here invisible.

 

The storm swirls,       its rising swarm takes it all,            insects and all that crawls,

and we watch,            the echo of the thing in our ears,         the finality of it all.

Its anger spirals,           nears a brute crescendo,                   spinning, looping, crossing

field and town,           razing everything in its path           except for our small selves.

The sea calls us,            but we believe we are mightier,           and we keep to our roots,

steady as the trees                that bow and dance               but do not break in the wind.

And then stillness…              a loud silence without echo,             a full stop fully read.

Peace comes in quietude,          the storm vanquished,              and we are empty

as we are,           as we were,        as we will be still           while the earth’s hum reigns.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 23, 2022

Rudolph, the red-nosed crooner

 

Rudolph, the red-nosed crooner

 

‘Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer

had a very shiny nose’, so the song goes,

as everyone knows, but no one knows

how he loved to sing his heart out.

 

This reindeer knew he could carry a tune,

wrap it up and make it special,

belting out his hits of the decade

as Santa steered the sleigh through the sky.

 

His songs could be heard in the Milky Way,

on earth and on all of the planets,

echoing around the entire galaxy.

Even the tone-deaf stars could hear him.

 

Everyone loved Rudolph, he was just so nice,

so no-one could tell him what was true,

that he couldn’t sing for love or money –

all his songs were well out of tune!

 

So all of the reindeer wore ear plugs

and plastered big grins on their faces

cos no-one wanted to hurt poor Rudolph

as he led the sleigh crooning through the wispy clouds.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 22, 2020

If you head over to Smashwords.com, you'll find some of my poetry books in the Christmas sale.

Christmas poems

 

Gifts wrapped, stockings filled,

a cheeky glass of champers

while the kids sleep tight.

 

 

Frosted fingers twist

embroidered patterns floating.

Silver lace sparkles.

 

 

Rudolph polishes

his nose, dusts his coat and hooves.

It’s the Big Day Out.

 

 

Bouncing over clouds,

Claus steers the sleigh downwards-sky,

chortling. White beard blows.

 

 

The turkey takes off,

farmer falls face flat. Wings stretch.

“You’re not cooking me!”

 

 

Copyright Vickie Johnstone

I have 8 ebooks for free in the Smashwords Christmas Sale

I have some books for free in the Smashwords End of Year Sale! So happy reading.

www.smashwords.com/profile/view/vixie

Kiwi in Cat City (Book 1) 

Kiwi is a black cat with a big secret – she is magical and comes from a city of catizens. One night her humans, Amy and James, follow her to see where she goes. With a flick of her tail, Kiwi turns the kids into kittens and leads them to the blue-lit Cat City, where they help Inspector Furrball investigate a catnapping and Kiwi meets her nemesis. Furry fun for ages 7-99.

KIRKUS REVIEW – “Though the book is a mystery, the bloodshed-free crime means that the book is safe enough for younger readers to enjoy, and funny moments – provided by the bumbling Paws and lots of “cat” wordplay – keep the story light. The sleuthing will captivate young readers... Cats, a dash of fantasy, and a puzzling mystery are a recipe for a fun read...”

Kiwi's Christmas Tail (Book 6, but can be read as a standalone story)

Fur, magic, thrills and comedy moments fill this fantasy adventure set over Christmas, involving a star, a fairy, a witch, some catizens and Santa. Amy, James and their magical cat, Kiwi, must rescue a fairy from the clutches of an evil witch before Christmas Eve when Father Christmas will return. Set in the human world, Cat City and Santa's Grotto. For ages 7-99.

A Poem a Day 

A collection of 446 poems, written between April 2020 and March 2021. 

The Sea Inside

A fantasy adventure about fate versus free will. Can you bend time or will it break? A diving accident leaves Jayne paralysed. As she battles to regain her strength, she finds herself alone in a parallel world. The crystal seems a bringer of good until her world shatters again. Then Jayne will face a series of trials to find her heart's desire, helped by a fantastical guide. For ages 9-99.

3 Heads & a Tail 

When nature lover Josie moves into a house share with two pals, dreamer Ben and model man David, she doesn't bank on an attraction developing. Meanwhile, Ben's dog, Glen, has the hots for Miss Posh, the beautiful Lab in the park. When dog meets dog it's puppy love, but a complication leads to Glen taking matters into his own paws. For age 16 up.

"Laugh out loud funny" - Donna Brown.

Day of the Living Pizza 

Detective Smarts of Crazy Name Town has a problem. Doctor Boring has been bumped off, and the only clues at the scene are some olives, tomatoes, mushrooms and a sprinkle of oregano. With the townsfolk dropping like flies and Pizza Dudes stumbling down the streets, Officer Dewdrop has an idea. For age 9 up.

Life's Rhythms

Old meets new in this collection of 316 haiku, composed in the traditional pattern of three lines with 5-7-5 syllables. Subjects include: nature, life, food, animals, loss, love, longing, hope, the seasons, dreams and time.

Mind-spinning Rainbows

A collection of 109 poems and 45 haiku, divided into two sections: light and shade.

The link: www.smashwords.com/profile/view/vixie

Poem (horror theme): The hitch-hiker

 

Someone asked me if I have any horror poems, so I was just sorting through old poems. This one is an old one, from Mind-spinning Rainbows, published in 2015. It's about a man on the highway and he's about to pick up a hitch-hiker, but there's a full moon and she isn't what she seems. 

The hitch-hiker
 
No time like the present,
she said,
 
wished yesterday revolved,
wishing upon the thing
as the oil spilled forth
dark and rich,
congealing in her hands
like sin.
 
The time was for the taking,
the day eaten by the night.
A still, arched moon
breathed out
against the howling wind,
like a curse.
 
She stood guard over it,
her own body
and the soul caged –
its remnants –
as the car turned,
like a hearse.
 
“Are you going my way?”
she asked the profile,
flicking a smile,
opening her hands,
clean, so bare,
like innocence.
 
Twisted is the way
I am,
she said
not so long ago
to the last passer-by,
like a game.
 
This one has a crazy air,
a dark wildness,
flicks back his hair,
spits in the dirt,
curses this old life,
like a reject.
 
In her hands she carries it
all, despairing,
slipping into the car
too close to him,
offering a smile
like a child.
 
But the demon inside her
rages hot and cold,
eager to howl,
translucent as this moon.
In a moment she’ll snap
like hell itself.
 
No time like the present,
she said.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, Mind-spinning Rainbows

Will you be homeless this Christmas?

 
Christmas is just around the corner, but there are many people without a home. During Covid, there was a freeze on evictions, but now this has been lifted. Amid the cost-of-living crisis, things are getting tougher and it’s very easy to find yourself without a home.  
 
According to The Big Issue (10 October, 2022), it is impossible to count how many people are homeless in the UK. Some people are staying at friends’ or relatives’ houses, sleeping on sofas, so these numbers are hidden.

COLD CARDBOARD SKY, a song that I wrote about homelessness, which my uncle Billy sings (he also did the melody – I have zero musical talent!), is available on Spotify & other places, raising money for Shelter. https://open.spotify.com/album/1f7hv7TCzkucECdySrDgXt
 
According to Crisis, about 227,000 people were homeless in 2021 – either rough sleeping, sleeping in vans or sheds, or in B&Bs.
 
English councils helped more than 278,000 households with homelessness between April 2021 and March 2022 – that’s 16% higher than the previous year.
 
No-fault evictions – which the government said would be banned – still exist. Almost 230,000 private renters have been given one since 2019.
 
According to the latest official count, the number of people rough sleeping on the street has grown steadily since 2010. The number is now 38% higher than in 2010.
 
According to Chain, 8,239 rough sleepers were counted in London between April 2021 and March 2022.
 
According to Crisis, the average lifespan of a homeless man is 46. For women, this falls to 42. Homeless people are nine times more likely to commit suicide.
 
These are the government statistics for April to June 2022:

• 72,210 households were initially assessed as homeless or threatened with homelessness, and owed a statutory homeless duty;
• 33,570 households were assessed as being threatened with homelessness and owed a prevention duty;
• 35,610 households were initially assessed as homeless and owed a relief duty;
• 11, 810 households were accepted as owed a main homelessness duty;
• 94,870 households were in temporary accommodation.

 
According to the government, these were the main reasons for homelessness:

• End of private rented tenancy (rising by 60% on previous quarter);
• Family/friends no longer able to accommodate them;
• Domestic abuse (up 5%).

A Poem a Day (542): Migration

 
Migration
 
From their rocky breeding grounds to the sheer edges
of the Antarctic ice, they follow the guiding sun,
the flightless Adelie with their bright white bellies,
walking the frozen ground in sleek jet overcoats,
to traverse a yearly distance of 13,000 kilometres.
In the winter, the sun doesn’t rise to the south
of the Circle, so they just keep on plodding,
the ice continually expanding beneath their feet.
 
The Arctic Tern is the world’s greatest wanderer,
flapping its snowy wings from pole to pole,
from Greenland to the pristine Weddell Sea,
the clearest waters to be found on Earth.
The Bar-headed Goose takes the highest route,
reaching 7,000 metres with no tailwind to help.
They hug the mountainsides and fly by night,
crossing the still-growing Himalayas.
 
In the winter, starlings double in England,
touching down on the east coast to travel west,
roosting in lush green parks and the city grey.
To keep warm at night, you might spy them
swooping and curving and diving on high,
painting a blissful murmuration in the sky,
a kaleidoscope of ever-changing pictures,
until they find their sleep time in the trees.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 5, 2022
 
 

A Poem a Day (541): Woman (home)

To quote this article, 'Estimated 45,000 women and girls killed by family member in 2021, UN says' from The Guardian on November 23, 2022:
“More than five women and girls were killed every hour by a family member in 2021, according to new UN figures on femicide. A report, published on Wednesday, showed that 45,000 women and girls – more than half (56%) of the 81,100 murdered last year worldwide – were killed by their husband, partner or other relative – someone they knew. UN Women and the UN Office on Drugs and Crime said the figures were “alarmingly high”, but the true number of femicides – where women are killed because of their gender – is likely to be much higher. Roughly four in 10 deaths in 2021 were not counted as femicides because there was insufficient data.”
 
Woman
 
Woman.
And.
Home.
A place of safety.
 
Woman.
And.
Family.
A haven of care.
 
Home.
A place to sleep.
A place to eat.
A place to speak.
A place to pray.
A place to live.
A place to be.
Home.
 
Family.
They bring nurture.
They offer safety.
They give support.
They listen freely.
They speak wisely.
They hold out their hands.
Home.
Family.
Where you should be safe.
 
Woman.
They say the streets aren’t safe at night.
So they say don’t walk there.
Be careful what you wear and say.
Be careful how you walk or act.
And just don’t speak to strangers.
Don’t speak out too loudly.
Don’t stand up for yourself.
Just walk away. Be silent.
They say report it.
But then no one listens.
 
Home.
Family.
At least you should be safe there.
 
 
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 3, 2022

A Poem a Day (540): We are

We are

 

We are as we are,

as we were,

as we have ever been,

in the white,

in the black,

in the ever-shifting grey.

We are trivial,

we are deep,

we are all we are.

Water breathes sleep,

currents carrying air

to the lengths and breaths

of it all, whether large or

small. And in it

everything stands,

everything begins,

or draws to an end.

We find perfection

in affection, drawn

days, art frozen still,

painting, and we care

as we are,

as we might forever be,

holding hands

with those who care,

those who are

forever with.

 

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 2, 2022