366 Days of Poetry: C.M.'s Collections, #5

366 Days of Poetry

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C.M.’s Collections #5

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C.M. Simpson

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A poem for every day of the leap year, drawn from the fantastical, the future and the fallout from real life—and written for dreamers everywhere. While most are set in worlds of imagination, there are a few whose roots are buried deep in the disappointments of the real. So, if trolls, fairies, dragons, recovering from workplace bullies, and flying with starships, or dealing with regrets and finding hope—always finding hope—are your thing, then welcome to the wanderings of my mind.

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2nd EDITION NOTE: This edition is a renewed version of the first edition, with the main changes being the new cover, new front and back matter, Americanization of spelling, and some minor word changes. Outside those changes, most of the content remains unchanged.

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2nd Edition

C.M. Simpson Publishing

Copyright © April 6, 2022 C.M. Simpson

Cover Art & Design © September 11, 2021 C.M. Simpson

All rights reserved.

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License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to where you purchased it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DEDICATION

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This is for all those who believed in me enough that, eventually, I had the courage to believe in myself, and for all those who taught me that the only way to make the impossible possible is to work out ways of making it happen, and then get to it.

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Thank you.

Contents

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January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

Author’s Notes

Other Work by C.M. Simpson

About C.M. Simpson

January

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January 1st

In Spite of You, I Fly

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Written on January 1, 2015, for 366 Days of Poetry. Honestly, I had thought I was over the events that spawned this poem. Obviously, I have a ways to go.

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I live

beneath the skies

in the red land of lies.

I survive all that comes to me,

live free.

Living

under red skies,

in the land of lies, I

bring truth, which those around despise.

They lie.

In self

defense do they

make claims of me that do

defy truth and reality.

Too bad.

Too bad

for me there’s no one

who cares to delve beyond

the half lies, structured posturing.

I fall.

Am pushed

over the edge

no hand to help, no ledge

on which to land or halt my fall.

I’m gone

and I

did nothing wrong,

did not blacken, bullshit,

twist, or break the truth, hide ability

that’s mine.

I shine,

even falling

into the dark where those

around me cannot compete, and

I am.

I am

gone, a falling

star, not valued for my

skills, my honesty. I refuse

to stoop.

I won’t

bow down and fight

through lies and trickery.

I will do my best, use my skills,

not hide.

I am

what I must be

and you, you either need

what I can bring, or I will leave,

not lie.

Though I

am the one who

falls through others’ twisted

truths and careful lies, I will be

the one

who flies.

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January 2nd

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The Colonist’s Wish

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Written on 2 January 2015, for 366 Days of Poetry, this science fiction piece explores some of the reasons a person might want to leave a ‘civilized’ world for a newly settled one.

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Take me away,

away to the sea,

or into the hills,

where the skies are still free.

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Take me away

from the overhead wires,

the cameras, the monitors,

the hidden sound mikes.

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Take me away

to where no one can see,

and where no one wants to

watch what is me.

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I am tired

of this life,

the constant humdrum,

the secret policing,

whom the whole planet run.

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I am tired

of civilized folk,

who won’t let me be,

who won’t let me fly,

or live as just me.

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So, take me away

from this civilized world,

on space tramp or freighter,

to a colony unfurled.

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January 3rd

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A Warning from Below

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 3 entry of 366 Days of Poetry, this piece explores the potential forms that poems might take in a fantasy world.

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I have lived in the city

under the streets,

in the wide sewer tunnels

beneath all your feet.

I have avoided the floods,

and the rats, and the mice,

the cockroaches and spiders,

the mosquitoes and the lice,

but it’s the centipedes that drive me

to flee the sewer depths,

the large ones so newly come

that do not let me rest,

for they hunt the sewer tunnels,

seeking prey on which to dine,

and they’ve eaten through the rats’ nests,

and now hunt me and mine.

I know you don’t approve of me,

my form you’ve always shunned,

and I, for one, dislike the streets,

and their constant threat of sun,

for living underground,

nocturnal I became,

with eyes more suited to the night,

which are now hurt by candle flame.

Pallid is my skin,

my dark eyes, pupil wide,

my body odor is not the best

from where once I did reside,

but now I have to surface

to the world above my head,

and ask you small-eyed wonders

to put away your dread.

For living now beneath your feet,

and sweeping through the pipes,

is a threat that soon will follow

the sewers’ fleeing life.

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January 4th

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Slavery and Freedom

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Written on January 10, for the January 4 entry of 366 Days of Poetry, this piece explores the idea of the gilded cage.

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Leaf drip,

cat nip.

In such luxury you live.

I watch you through your window,

and my eyes I don’t believe.

I watch you through your window,

and I see you try to leave,

and I wonder why you’d flee your luxury

for the hardships of the streets.

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Until one day I see you

quiver ’neath the lash,

and do all the sordid acts they ask you,

before you in silks they clad,

and with that sight, I understand,

that not all prisons look alike,

that you, within your cage of gold,

own less freedom than I find.

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They do not even let you own,

a single piece of self.

All you have, you have to give,

and to your depths they delve.

Those private places,

where you ought to live thought free,

even those do they invade

with their technology.

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So I have sworn that I will come,

and I your ass will save,

and we will take what we will need

to break from this enclave

of silk-enslaved imprisonment,

of chain-bound luxury.

I will find you freedom,

and you will help me be.

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January 5th

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Seasons of Our Lives

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 5 entry of 366 Days of Poetry this poem looks at the cycle of life.

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Summer:

sunshine and rain,

floods and bushfire warnings,

hope and heartbreak, life joys and pains,

heatwave.

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Winter:

sunshine and rain,

icy mornings freezing,

sunshine, bitter winds, cool again.

Frostbite.

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Springtime:

new hope borning,

new horizons dawning,

dead bulbs put forth shoot and flower.

New life.

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Autumn:

dead leaves curling,

orange, red, unfurling.

Color flies against the grey skies.

Hopes rise.

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Seasons:

the year around

changing, moving onward,

all coming down to this one thing:

the year.

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The year

keeps on flowing,

its currents now towing

us with all our hopes and dreaming,

streaming,

flowing

by in one big

swirl, until we learn to

swim, and then it drags us onward

again,

until

we reach where life

has destined that all our

efforts should result in endings:

Success.

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January 6th

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Lighting my Way

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 6 entry of 366 Days of Poetry, this piece looks at different kinds of light that affect our lives.

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Starlight on the rooftops,

starshine in my eyes,

hopes in fading heavens,

hopes in brazen lies,

hopes that one day all those words

will one day be much more

than the blatant fantasies

of one who knows what I should hear,

and does not truly give a damn,

as long as I obey and fear.

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Dawnlight on the rooftops,

dawnlight in my eyes,

promises a-dawning

that I am not alone,

promises that really are

words with so much more,

words that hold such power,

and now have hope in store.

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Sunset on the rooftops,

sunset in my eyes,

the last little bit of guidance

towards which I must strive,

if I am to make it through the dark

of black-heart days and blacker night.

Sunset, I mark it with a silhouette

that I can follow, until dawnlight.

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January 7th

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Tribute to the Dead

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 7 entry of 366 Days of Poetry, this piece is inspired by the memory of the floral tributes left for the Martin Place victims, and for the dead at Charlie Hebdo. I did not know what it was, until I saw it on the page.

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In the floral tributes,

lies our wreath,

lies our grief.

Upon the stone

delicate the blossoms wither,

like your life,

unlike our memory,

and that we strive

to keep a piece of you,

as we strive to let you go,

please know

you were loved when you were with us,

you are loved now that you are gone,

and we will keep those memories alive

that ensure you will live on.

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January 8th

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Je Suis Charlie

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 8 entry of 366 Days of Poetry, this piece was inspired by the tributes to the cartoonists and editorial staff of the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo.

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Je suis Charlie.

Je suis Charlie!

Je suis Charlie.

And damn the world to hell!

We must all unite despite the plight

that sent us to our knees.

They called for us by name.

They called us from our lives.

And they murdered us in cold blood

because of their souls’ plight.

They killed us for what we drew,

and all the things we wrote.

They killed us in their Allah’s name

for the things we said.

They claimed we did defame

the  prophet that they followed,

a man that’s long been dead.

And they were not the only ones,

who cried out for our heads,

but still we drew and wrote,

and made commentary again,

and asked the world to think about

the values and the claims

that those in power and leadership

had o’er the world then made.

And instead of driving

the world into a shell

built of fear of bullets,

they broke their unholy spell

of terror in that all who heard

of the deed that they had done

came together, in spite of what they thought,

believed, or felt, on what we’d drawn,

and, ignoring differences that might once have made them fight,

they stood together in memoriam

and defied the terror’s might.

And for that we thank you,

for no other wreath we need

when the world can stand together

in spite of different race and creed,

and instead of crumbling,

not one is left alone

to stand against the darkness

that came upon our homes.

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January 9th

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Unicorns and Butterflies

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 9 entry of 366 Days of Poetry, this piece was inspired by the idea of comparing a fantasy creature with a real one.

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Unicorns and butterflies

dance on grassy knolls that rise

between the trees,

beneath the moon,

amidst the fairies, rising soon.

Unicorns and butterflies

sprinting through the meadows fly

on swift sharp hoof and colored wing,

and silently they sing.

Unicorns and butterflies

rest to watch the full moon rise,

harvest yellow, rarest blue,

stopping they admire the hue.

Unicorns and butterflies,

long-lived and short-lived

together slide,

wingbeat to hoofstep,

through the trees,

elusive as the summer breeze.

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January 10th

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Australian Corvids

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Written on January 10, 2015, for 366 Days of Poetry, this piece looks at three of the corvids to be found in the Canberra region of Australia.

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In the sky,

the storm-crow flies,

fleeing before the wind.

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On the ground,

the black choughs have found

the grubs and beetles hiding.

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From the trees,

the raven sees

through my bedroom window.

It looks across the gold and dross

of my dressing table,

with thieving eyes

that choose a prize

to take, as soon as it is able.

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January 11th

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Life, Lies and Christmas Pudding

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 11 entry of 366 Days of Poetry, this strange verse probably has more to do with the influences of traditional beliefs, than any food tradition of the Christmas season.

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Life, lies and Christmas pudding.

Christmas pudding?

Christmas pudding,

But what has that to do with life and lies?

Because pudding has all the things one needs.

It has fruit and dough and butter,

trinkets, coins, and pleads

to be eaten with alacrity, but

also with restraint.

It has the basics of nutrition,

but splashes out in alcohol

and sugar, and requires a brandied custard taint.

It’s a luxury we can do without,

but rarely ever should,

and that brings us from life to all the lies

represented by the humble Christmas pud.

The first is that it’s good for us.

See point four above,

the one about the sugar

and the alcohol so loved.

The next is that it claims to be the perfect Christmas dish,

but for those of us in hotter climes

there are others we could wish.

Few of us there are, who care to eat it cold,

at least not when we can have pavlova,

icecream, or a brandied fruit compote.

And then there are those of us

with dietary complaints

that the pudding just won’t tolerate,

so we spend the aftermath in pain.

Coeliac and fructose malabsorbant to name just two,

and then there are the IBS folk,

and the ones who can’t have milk.

And so the good old Christmas pud

is representative of lies,

in that not everything is very good

that with tradition flies,

and that not every ancestral symbol

needs to be upheld,

but there are some we can revise,

replace, and leave in the traditional tales we tell.

And this brings us to exactly why this pudding

is representative of our times.

It’s a long-standing tradition, tied to our beliefs,

but one that needs to be revised.

And it is not the only one;

there are other old beliefs, as well,

that perhaps still need revising

as time shows more of our gods

than previously we’d tell.

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January 12th

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A New Year Stalks the Stage

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 12 entry for 366 Days of Poetry, this poem was inspired by the events I’ve seen on the news in the last ten days. I can’t remember if last year started quite as dramatically, and I don’t really want to go back and look. Here’s to hoping 2015 ends better than it began.

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December’s gone.

January’s come.

The new year now sets the stage,

and turbulence has marked its path,

as it’s trod the boards in this newest age.

We’ve had fire,

and we’ve had flooding.

We’ve had gunmen in chocolate shops.

We’ve had assholes murder satirists,

and bastards killing cops.

We’ve had mothers murder children,

both their own and their sister’s get.

We’ve had druggies drive through back yards,

killing toddlers, scaring pets.

We’ve had very little good news

with which to start the year,

but we’ve had acts of heroism and sacrifice,

acts of kindness, brought to bear,

volunteers fighting fires, donations for animal care.

People have offered comfort,

joined together, stood as one

against something all saw as wrong;

people sought to undo injustice done.

We’ve seen parents hugging children,

we’ve seen nurses saving lives,

we’ve seen parachutists escape falling planes,

we’ve seen a father keep his son alive,

and this helps to give us balance

when we see entire passenger planes brought down,

or acts of brutality in the name of god,

or drunken stupidity on the town.

So, as this new year

starts to age,

and reach its second month,

the message is clear,

for all who will hear,

we must together stand as one.

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January 13th

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Watch Ye Well, the Raven

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Written on January 10, 2015, for the January 13 entry for 366 Days of Poetry, this piece was inspired by the retelling of ‘Raven and the Source of Light’ in Miles Kelly’s Myths & Legends (pp. 46-51).

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Raven, bringer of light,

dark-winged trickster,

heart of unsteady right,

firm of purpose,

bright of eye,

watch ye well

where the raven flies.

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January 14th

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I Don’t Know What to Write

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Written on January 11, 2015, for the January 14 entry of 366 Days of Poetry, this entry describes the frustration of facing a blank page with a head full of nothing.

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There are days

when I just don’t know what to write.

What a fright!

I feel

as if I’ll never

type another word

that’s ever

going to be worth the  read.

And so I sit down

at the keyboard,

and start to type

the very first word that comes into my head,

and then,

another follows,

and another