OK, so February got lost somewhere in the Victorian bushfires and their chaos and yes, my blog has been so quiet.  But, welcome to the March 2009 poetry challenge.  Who knows, any of you coming to see us at any of the upcoming gigs for Donna and The Aspinauts may actually see some of the poems performed, complete with gestural signing and characterisations.

But right now, you have 30 days to send in your poetry challenges for the March 09 poetry jam.  So off you go – feel free to send me a TITLE or THEME to write to in the comments section and in the next 30 days, you’ll find I’ve responded by posting a poem here addressing it.   Come on, give it a try.

And, because some of you are budding poets yourselves, this is now where you can also ask other commenters or me to challenge YOU with a title too. So let’s see what happens!

Also if you are a published, self published or street poet, this is where to let people know.

Donna Williams *)

author, artist, composer, screenwriter.

author of the poetry book, Not Just Anything , published by Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

http://www.donnawilliams.net

Here’s my first challenge STRETCH TEDDY

STRETCH TEDDY, copyright Donna Williams March 09

I don’t want a poodle with a diamond collar
I don’t want a cat that I can feed for a dollar
I don’t want a cow that will add to global warming
and I don’t want a sheep because conformity is boring

I want a stretch ted-dy
A bloody long-necked, spitting, humming clever-arse alpaca

I want a stretch ted-dy
Because they’re clever and they’re funny and they don’t cost any money
And they’re fab

I don’t want goat that will eat my favorite shoes
I don’t want a monkey cause you seen one on the news
I don’t want a fish going around and around
I don’t want a rabbit that will piss off underground

I want a stretch ted-dy
A bloody long-necked, spitting, humming clever-arse alpaca

I want a stretch ted-dy
Because they’re clever and they’re funny and they don’t cost any money
And they’re fab

I don’t want a seal doing tricks in my pool
I don’t want a python just because you think they’re cool
I don’t want a puppy I can leave locked in a car
And I don’t want a budgie I can look at through the bars

I want a stretch ted-dy
A bloody long-necked, spitting, humming clever-arse alpaca

I want a stretch ted-dy
Because they’re clever and they’re funny and they don’t cost any money
And they’re fab

And another BLACK SHEEP

BLACK SHEEP, copyright Donna Williams March 09

The years were just a blink, kid, water down the sink, kid.
You sure have grown since you were just a weed.
A face across an ocean, some nostalgic notion
Of an exile who had been to worlds that you might only dream.

And here you are now with those orphan eyes and a heart that has a million whys
And all you know, is you don’t know, a single thing.

Victors write the history, pictures drawn of me are those which
pose no threat to the secrets they must keep.
Did the doggies bite you? No they ripped you limb from limb
And you just ran around in circles as they bit you once again.

And there you are smiling with that fragile smile and soul that wants to stay a while
And I can’t say the words that you want to hear.

I’m Baa Baa Black Sheep, Sweetheart, Mary never kept this little lamb
I built a castle out of dust and I left my footprints in the sand.
I’m Baa Baa Black Sheep.                
I’m Baa Baa Black Sheep.

Thought my heart was tougher, generations that might follow
Could just make their way in the circus called tomorrow.
But nobody left the keys to the only exit door
And all that had glittered only left you feeling poor.

And here I am, I got your face, huh? And here we stand in this shared place
And now you’ve got my number, so just maybe you might ring.

I’m Baa Baa Black Sheep, Sweetheart, Mary never kept this little lamb
I built a castle out of dust and I left my footprints in the sand.
I’m Baa Baa Black Sheep.                
I’m Baa Baa Black Sheep.

Xenia requested 44th BIRTHDAY

44th BIRTHDAY, Copyright Donna Williams, March 09

 A stick, a stick, and just one more
With which hands wrote the number four
And four she was for decades past
But time was never made to last.

We spent it down the icecream store
We spent it on the boy next door
We spent it wishing just once more
We spent it striding out the door

And suddenly, we looked to see
where it had gone but gone it was
and we

were forty four.

And here’s, MIND HOW YOU GO.

 MIND HOW YOU GO, Copyright Donna Williams, March 09

Change, you strange, familiar stranger
Door ajar, and in you came
To watch me dance so deafly to your song
so out of tune, my soul had long past caught the midnight train.

Oh monkey, monkey, monkey, monk
Attachment is the stuff of drunks
and not a glass was there in sight
On this strangely altered moonlight night.

So drink a toast imaginaire,
For we shall now play solitaire
The cards are stacked, but you won’t know,
This way now, mind how you go.

And here’s, THE SENSING PLACES.

THE SENSING PLACES Copyright Donna Williams, March 09

Eek, smarm alarm, three steps on left
Of empathy, all was bereft
And spin had spun us until there was
no sensing sense.

We’d made our gods
the million dollar empty smiles
and fly about on our air miles
to clink our sparkling champagne glasses
and sit on body sculpted arses.

Congratulations to the dead.
Those still alive must be in dread.
So hide, oh hide, reality.
Do not confirm the sanity
of those who search the empty faces
looking for the last trace of
the sensing places.

And here’s, THE UNREAD SMILES

THE UNREAD SMILES, Copyright Donna Williams, March 09

The face blind see you past the face
your music plays unique
and each and every move,
a peek into the rhythm of your soul

Fragmented vision cannot see
the language between you and me
the eyebrow raised, the mouth gone tense
the real contrast of pretence

But in your hand, a style of touch
it gives away but just enough
the way legs move across the floor
the footfall as you exit
out the bedroom door.

Intangible, the tide it weaves
and sand, upon the shore it leaves
a message from so many miles
telling tales of the unread smiles.

And here’s, CRAZY ME

CRAZY ME, Copyright Donna Williams, March 09

The I tells you about the who
of what and when
and that and then
of how the wind danced with my soul
and why the trees all know my name
and how to make the sparkles happen
and why I can’t apologise
for being half insane.

You’re not sorry, are you?
And words of sorry found I not,
for they were lost upon tomorrows
I would never know
or in the lap of Gods
existing in the minds of those for whom
religion finds a home.

And mine is but confetti cloud
where thoughts fall through the ether
Fall away below beneath the dreams
of all I’ll never be
and yet, she was so right,
brain damaged, sure,
but still I really valued crazy me