Poetry Pals - Week 24 - Poetry That Wants and Desires

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Hello my glorious poetry people,

This week over at

Poetry Pals

we were had a guest post by Stephanie Farrell Moore (her poetry book is, Bleed Between the Lines). It was a sumptuous read about motherhood and losing of the self and the cyclic nature of creativity in a way.

Your Writing Prompt for this Week:

And so I ask you to lean into what day you’re on (day 1 being the first day of your period and day 28+ being the end of your cycle before the next one begins. If you’re post-menopausal or for whatever reason do not ovulate, you may want to tune in to the lunar cycle and lean into the moon’s rhythms) and feel into what it is that’s asking you to listen. And then listen longer. What is it your body wants today? What is it you want when no one else is wanting from you? You may be surprised by what arises.

Inspired by Joy Sullivan I’d like to leave you with the prompt ‘I want this…’ and I encourage you to leave any censoring behind. I can’t wait to read your cyclical responses.Being a tad poorly every day means I don’t have big metrics of things like climbing a mountain or swimming an ocean. And some days just remembering to keep breathing is success in itself.

Now I’m well past it and fully post menopausal, my kids are grown adults and though two still live with us they don’t require the kind of all consuming care little ones do. I have plenty of time to myself now, I feel I have earned it though . Our conversations are now more political, more nerdy, and more ‘Ovid’, than once they were; less snacks, juice and blown noses.

Zoe Gardiner

wrote a lovely piece last week, the format of which stuck in my mind and I had decided after reading another poem by Anagha Smrithi to try longer forms. I am notoriously bad at them, especially ifree block form like this, but hey, I gave it a go.

Photo by Maniraj Madishetty on Unsplash

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Putting in a Call to the Universe (I want it all, and I want it now!) - with respect to Queen for the title

I am manifesting. I believe that is what it is called. Putting in a call to the universe so to speak. It’s not something I do on a daily basis. It’s not something I have ever done before without my tongue pressed firmly into my cheek. But it is happening and sincerely. I have wants and desires pressing hard on my soul requiring expression. So I’m asking the universe to consider me, just little old me. Out of the trillions of requests made I want her to pick me. 

And she is here. Just like that. That was very unexpected; though funny how she turned up for a poem, don’t you think? How do I know? I can feel her in me, on me, around me. An ineffable presence that makes my heart and mind flutter. An immense sense of being, of alertness, too large to be godlike, and still only a minute speck of what could be. I think about offering tea but how would she manage? I don’t, but my innate sense of politeness is offended and I cringe a little. She seems distracted and in a bit of a rush, she is flighty, so I suppose we had better get down to business, to the subject in hand. 

She asks - what do you want? Did the title not tell her? I want it all. And preferably now. Yes, I think now would be good. Or maybe spread out just a bit so I’m not overwhelmed too much with the ‘all at once’ of it happening. I would be quite happy though and then possibly a little sad, because what would I have left to dream about, to long for, to want?  

She barks - specifics? You are a bit terse you know, your human-side manner could do with improvement. I mainly want health, for with that a lot of other things would fall in place quite nicely, thank you. I mean, if I had energy and my back would stop twinging it would definitely be nice, much more than nice really; amazing! If the red hot pokers that are stabbing my muscles would refrain from doing so I’d be most grateful. Red hot pokers are good in the garden, good in the hearth, not in my spasming back rendering me momentarily helpless, sometimes longer, sometimes a lot longer; my involuntarily screeching out loud embarrassing and causing consternation in the rest of the household.

She sighs - what more? Well, I’d like to travel too. I’ve had a yearning to go to Italy since before we got married. We were meant to go for our honeymoon but, due to an errant bridesmaid - I know, a long story for another day - plans changed and a two week, multi destination holiday in the Americas happened instead. But I still long for a quiet seat beside an Italian lake drinking in both wine and the view. It’s quite a gentle longing. I was fancying a cruise but I’ve become a little scared about capsizing and drowning both in luxury and stormy salt water. The hormones, or rather the lack of, of later life causing irrational fears to arise from a place I didn’t even know existed. Sometimes I barely recognise myself.

She presses - what else? How long do you want this discourse to be? I mean, obviously, world peace, a universal basic income, art for humans and not artificial intelligence, the disappearance of fascists and the appearance of the Vulcans. A world with afford housing, free health care for all, no homelessness, refugees welcomed everywhere, and proper mental health and gender services too. Oh, and all people to be accepted for what they are, not who others want them to be. 

A bit too much you say? Not within your remit. Oh well then, I suppose enough money to pay off the mortgage and to buy somewhere for the children to live. Nothing huge, a simple two bed Victorian mid terrace for each would suffice; though the one that lives in London might just have to do with a deposit rather than a whole house, the prices down there are rather extortionate. They are all in their later twenties now and home ownership just seems decades away. I know, they grow so quick don’t they? It is tough for youngsters nowadays, yes; I just want to make their lives easier. So money. Not millions, I’m not that greedy, though I suppose I could give a lot of charity. Could you solve the need for charity too? No? Sad.

Are you going now? I can sense you creeping towards the metaphorical door. Alright then. Well, it was nice chatting to you. Sorry I got a bit socialist on you, I tend to do that quite a lot now I’m nearing my dotage. I hope some of my wants make it onto your ‘to-do’ list. No, no, I understand, no promises, I won’t hold my breath. I’m sure you have a lot of requests and yes, yes, you need to choose wisely. 

She relents - what do you want the very most? You will deeply consider a small request, why thank you. It’s fine, I’m just grateful you turned up, no expectations here. So, erm, a handful of good days and a basketful of just-a-little-bit-better ones would be fine, I suppose. I would ration them out and make the most of them, I promise. Cheerio then. Hopefully, when the next longing becomes too much I’ll see you again. Maybe? Or maybe not, I know you are very busy. Oh, you’ve gone. That was quick and quiet, you barely stirred the dust, though my brain feels disconcertingly empty now. I’ll wait for the next good day, when ever that may be, for they are rather rare, and think of you with gratitude when it comes. 

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Tell me what you think. I’d love to know and get some feedback.

Till next time, peeps.

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