Places (Then, Now, Soon)

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8. Ants

Is there a world where we build
pathways that ants will stick to?
Little scent-tunnels
that funnel them along
to an amusement park made just for them.

Circus rings of sugar
a roller-coaster of crumbs
a honey ferris wheel
a meal of mushrooms
for the fungus-loving kind of ants.

The ant traffic is hidden
like our sanitation system
a household mundanity
an ocassional pain
to check on. A water meter.

Or could there be a world
where we're okay being swarmed -
where an ant-bite or eight
doesn't ruin our day?




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9. Flowers

I don't think I'd wish
for an eternal spring

or an immortal garden
forever in bloom.

The flowers deserve to sleep.
To take what they need

from the soil that keeps eating
what we feed it.

The petals must crumple
and hang messily from the stems.

Things must wither
so they can grow again.

I'd wish for us
to say less, to speak more beautifully

but we are flowers too.
And someday we will go
from bud, to blossom.
she/her




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10. Moving

The webs were dusty,
giving a single fruit fly
a day. Not nearly enough
for my long-dreamed-of
feast.

So I set off, an odyssey
down the metal rings
and the swinging wooden wall
and the soft grey fuzzy
ground.

I crossed deserted plains
onto a peach-coloured land
smooth and cold to the touch
except when the red light in the wall
ignited.

My new webs did not
stay clean but at least
more houseflies ran into them
as they zipped in towards the smell
of food.
she/her




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11. Clubroom

The clubroom on the shopping street
could be for any club
but this one's ours.

A table bedecked in buttons,
from blue to marbled jade,
arranged in biscuit boxes.

A cupboard filled with board games
some for five players
and some for one.

Chairs wooden and rattan,
made by craftspeople
along the street.

Behind the couch the shelves
where I keep poetry I read
and didn't like.

There's a box of umbrellas
for anyone who needs one
that somehow always stays full
enough.

On Saturdays we come
and you sew on your buttons
and they play their board games
and I dislike my poetry.
she/her




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Spoiler
The flowers deserve to sleep.

<3 Loving all of #9! Your ability to flesh out a specific scene/motif is so strong, even in such seemingly mundane moments in time. #8 is especially whimsical, "circus rings of sugar" and "ant traffic" is so clever! :]
she/her




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12. The Clearing

Light ripples
over the pool of wildflowers,
mixing gold into pink and purple.

Wind may batter the town
but the air in this place is always still,
protected by wrinkled sentinels
and the magic of their leaves.

Troubled, we go there
to hang our thoughts
on thick gnarled branches,
to set them against the backdrop
of ancient history.

Light dappling through the trees
spots swarming, somehow orderly.




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13. A Garden II

The garden comes back to us.
Through storms,
the confusing aftermath of days
picking through debris,
pressing onto paper what and who have been lost
and maybe also how,

we remember tomatoes in the plot.
In forgetting groceries, a potato
surfaces from nowhere and reminds us to eat.




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14. The Museum

The museum is coming to us.
It is shuffling its panels down the street,
to the beat of soundscapes
aping what used to be the twenty-first century.

The museum is bringing with it
each bit of life that was hardest to surrender.
A life-sized render of a missile,
the empty style of the factories.

The museum is featuring
the suffocating smells of crude oil,
a bucket of soil soaked in it,
a lit drum simulated in paper and clay.

The museum is coming to us
but we have to walk too.
Blue skies and blue sneakers,
and the reek of hard work.

Spoiler
I really like the concept of this one and might rework it after NaPo when I have more headspace (as with a lot of poems in this thread ^^').
she/her




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15. Community Gardens

Ancient irrigation
a series of lines, ducts, tubes
a maze through the garden
intertwined with the roots

paths that go nowhere
underneath the top soil
and years upon years
of new compost.

Paths that go to an open day in the summer
someone walking their dog between the beds
scooping him up in their arms
when he tugged at the tablecloth
and threatened to upend the pizzas.

Tubes that break off
at a garden party in 2006
where somebody put a plate of curry puffs
on the round wooden table
next to the garden trellis.

The pastry was buttery
and flaky
and perfect
and there weren't curry puffs at the party
for years afterward.

But sometimes irrigation goes
where you expect it to go.
To a thirsty courgette
heavy with yellow flowers.
To the stir fry we're making
for the big lunch today.
she/her




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16. The Island

Sometimes the sea sends its dreams inland.
Palm trees bend with their buoyancy.
Children fly their kites
on the vivacious breeze.

Sometimes bicycles lean against crates,
coconuts coalesce, and he halves the shells.
Sometimes music, sometimes a crowd.

Sometimes the temple overflows
with visitors. Flower garlands heap up,
like islands rising from the sea.

Spoiler
Inspired by 'All day on Mauke' by Rob Hack. I tried to reverse the sad, ominous atmosphere of that poem which conveys the sense of an island as somewhere people move out of. I also took inspiration from a different island, and a different view of its future.
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Your poetry is greatly crafted!! Throughout the poetry I've read in this thread, there is an often an occurrence of this stern tone written with confidence about life & humanity that puts you in place. The language feels active, less-passive, which captivates you in that place (ex: The Museum: The museum is coming to us). However, there can be a tenderness felt within the assertion that eases you into reminders, lessons, or thoughts (ex: A Garden II: In forgetting groceries, a potato / surfaces from nowhere and reminds us to eat.) and adds depth to the voice. The tone and voice itself, as stern or at times brooding it can be, is able to get its point across without leaving the reader out by condensation or referring to them with the assumption they're lacking in certain knowledge which means failure on their part. Instead, it prefers to probe to incite curiosity or mindfulness, which I think is a wonderful way of using poetry!

The prose knows when to not go overboard with language (ex: The Island: Sometimes bicycles lean against crates, / coconuts coalesce, and he halves the shells.) to make lines flow beautifully, and there is a confidence in the decision a poem doesn't need to burrow a "flowery" prose to make it flow & bring impact (which really does work well for your poetry - I never feel like it should be "more" simplistic in language, or poetic in language to uplift itself, since I believe its identity is already strong on its own), and the variety in your poetry makes it stronger!

This thread has been a great read. It was a lovely time sitting down to just catch up, and see what you do in your work. All of that confidence & strength makes your poetry distinct!!

sunny




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Spoiler
Gosh thank you so much for your thoughtful comment @lalalucky! I'm really glad to hear you enjoy reading these poems. Your observations about the tone and the language are really good to know and I love the idea that these poems can "probe" the reader into a state of curiosity :D I'm always really keen on the aspiration that poetry can help us see things from a new perspective. Thanks again!
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I am enjoying your notes about some of your inspirations for these poems Lim - I always find that type of thing interesting to read.

Circus rings of sugar
a roller-coaster of crumbs
a honey ferris wheel
a meal of mushrooms
for the fungus-loving kind of ants.


Now doesn't that just sound fun?! Your poem about ants made me smile, I love an ant / bug poem (reminded me of "departmental" by Robert Frost one of my absolute faves (but yours is much more cheerful than Frost's!)

The sense of "home-ness" and familiarity came through your Club-house poem.

Community Gardens was also a fun one to picture and follow as the water moved from history, to the dining room table and there's a sense of continuity and community between it all stemming from water.

Have enjoyed your thread as always Lim! Thank you for poeting here and well wishes for the rest of the month! <333
you should know i am a time traveler &
there is no season as achingly temporary as now
but i have promised to return



You are not the voice in your mind, but the one who is aware of it.
— Eckhart Tolle