Another 365 Days of Poetry: C.M.'s Collections, #6

By C.M. Simpson

365 days more of poetry, with verse ranging from the future to the past, the spooky to the melancholic, classic forms to experimental. Whether it's a lost colony ship, or vampires celebrating Christmas, this volume runs the gamut of science fiction through to horror and urban fantasy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Simpson
• Release date: May 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201275402

C.M. Simpson

I spent the first twenty years of my life living in different parts of Queensland and the Northern Territory. My father was a teacher who liked to travel, so he took teaching appointments in all kinds of places. I don’t think I stayed in one place for more than four years at a stretch. I wrote stories for most of that time, drawing on the different landscapes we encountered and giving a hyper-active imagination somewhere to run. Seeing so many different places gave me a lot of food for thought as I stepped into the world of adulthood and took my first full-time job, and I never stopped writing and exploring the worlds in my head. So far, I have written four collections of short stories and poetry, and a number of novels, with many more to come. I hope you have enjoyed this part of my journey.

Book preview

Another 365 Days of Poetry

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C.M.’s Collections #6

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C.M. Simpson

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1st Edition

Copyright © May 4, 2022 C.M. Simpson

Cover Art & Design © October 16, 2021, Jake at JCaleb Design

All rights reserved.

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365 days more of poetry, with verse ranging from the future to the past, the spooky to the melancholic, classic forms to experimental. Whether it’s a lost colony ship, or vampires celebrating Christmas, this volume runs the gamut of science fiction through to horror and urban fantasy.

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License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book 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, and thank you for respecting the work of this author. I appreciate your support.

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.

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Thank you.

Table of Contents

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January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

Author’s Note

Other Works by C.M. Simpson

January

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January 1

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Hopes for the New Year

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Written on October 23, 2016, for the January 1 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry collection, this piece draws on memories from the beginning of that year, and the way it started out for many of us.

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Happy New Year!

My head is exploding.

I drank all the punch and my mind is eroding,

or is it that I had red wine and champers,

to go with a dinner that came from a hamper

as we picnicked away up on the hill

watching the fireworks from the sky earthward spill

Or maybe it was the beer and the pasties

I ate for my lunch while I got ready to party

for New Year’s Eve is bigger than Christmas

as we stay up ‘til midnight and to hell with the aftermath!

Happy New Year

My head is exploding

My hopes riding high, drown out my foreboding

that last year was hard, the year before was much harder,

and, in both of those years, I was a great hopeful starter.

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January 2

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A Triolet of Trolls

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Written on September 8, 2016, for the January 2 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this triolet describes the ongoing struggle between mankind and the trolls in the Troll-Hunter setting.

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Coming from beneath the bridge, as the sun sinks low,

shadows stretch out into darkness, beast-trolls hunt tonight.

We will meet them in the gold that torch light throws,

coming from beneath the bridge, as the sun sinks low.

We have waited for their coming, and their blood will flow,

their bodies crumble into stone, this blight

coming from beneath the bridge, as the sun sinks low,

shadows stretch out into darkness, beast-trolls hunt tonight.

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January 3

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When the Mountains Cry

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Written on October 11, for the January 3 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this sci-fantasy piece was written on the bus on the way to class.

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When the mountains cry like thunder,

when with drumming sings the rain,

when the riders of mistrakers come,

then comes the season’s gain,

for the mountain drums mean traders

have swept down from the stars,

and the riders of mistrakers know

to bring us profits from afar.

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January 4

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January, so Full of Promise

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Written on October 23, 2016, for the January 4 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this terza rima is about starting a new year, and the hopes we find there.

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January, so full of promise

Its days are heated in the summer sun

but, like disappointment, winter stalks us.

The promise fades as the year flows on,

just like the leaves that in autumn fall,

and despite our pain the year rolls on.

When this happens, as it does to all,

remember we can still progress

and we must work hard to answer dreaming’s call

We must work hard, for, if we work any less,

we cannot fulfil the promise given

at the new year’s start in new harness.

January, when the old year’s riven,

so we can start anew with the promise given.

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January 5

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No Man’s Prey

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Written on January 5, 2016, for Another 365 Days of Poetry, this piece returns to the theme regarding the dangers of hunting mermaids.

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Deep in the night, when the ocean is dark

the depths light below the hull of the barque.

Deep in the night, when the hunters sleep deep

the mermaids come rising, beneath the waves’ sweep.

Far out at sea, where no man should go,

the hunters went fishing for the fish women below.

Far out of sight, of the land and their home,

the hunters did vanish, as distant they roamed

in search of prey they had no right to hunt.

To the deep-sea dwellers did they cause great affront.

In search of prey forbidden to man,

bought by a wizard the goal to hunt what was banned,

the fisherfolk went, their fortunes to make

and now they have vanished; their lives were forfeit.

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January 6

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Hope for a Ruined Earth

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Written on October 23, 2016, for the January 6 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this series of Tyburn poems follows the Earth’s history and future in the Lunar Wolves setting, commenting on the role humans have to play in caring for their world.

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Burning

turning

spurning

learning

We dance upon the burning, turning Earth,

Spurning what we should be learning that we should survive.

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Leaving

Grieving

Heaving

Seething

We are leaving our burned Earth, grieving what has been denied.

We see the oceans’ heaving waves, the seething heat, the lakes long dried.

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Rending

Sending

Lending

Mending

We soon the Earth skies will be rending, with the help that we are sending,

for the time we have been lending, sees our battered world now mending.

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Start

Dart

Parts

Hearts

In the early years we start to see the birds and fishes dart

in new waters, cleaner air, our parts are played, our healing made of both our world, and all our hearts.

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January 7

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The Village Fool

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Written on October 23, 2016, for the January 7 entry of Another365 Days of Poetry, this acrostic explores the wisdom of the fool.

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They all laughed at him.

He wept.

Everyone smiled at his words, but still he tried.

Very wise,

In the end, he told all he could, making preparations on his own,

Leading by example.

Lonely, he wept, but he did not give up, warning them to the end,

And then,

Great gouts of flame seared the mountains, burned the villages,

Everyone freezing in shock, or fleeing with mindless abandon,

For what the village fool had predicted had come to pass,

One day, too soon,

One day, too far, but still he tried,

Leading all he could find to the sanctuary of the caves, so they could hide.

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January 8

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Fatal Non-Alliance

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Written on October 23, 2016, for the January 8 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this blank verse poem is about irreconcilable differences.

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They watched us from the midnight ridge, lined up,

dark forms, a spiked crest formed, along its brow.

We watched them from the ramparts high above,

waiting for the moment, when they’d descend.

Their war cries filled the still night air—howling.

Reaching the walls, their stench around us rose.

We tipped the cauldrons, lit the flooding oil,

begged forgiveness as we watched them burn.

We had hoped for harmony between us,

but they defied our peace and took our lives,

until, as prey, we knew we had to fight,

or we would die, rent and torn by talons,

caged for food, and denied our right to live.

They had chosen destruction over life,

so destruction was the gift we had to give.

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January 9

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The Dragon Comes

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Written on October 23, 2016, for the January 9 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this echo verse poem is about the arrival of a hunting dragon.

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What is it that makes the cattle cry?

Sensing danger is nearby.

And what is that sound like an engine’s roar?

A mighty beast, nothing more.

But why are flights grounded at this time?

It is not safe the skies to climb.

What is it this fear, in nameless form?

Your mind, sensing the thing that comes to harm.

Why do we lock our door when it’s full sun?

‘T’is all we can do, when the dragon comes.

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January 10

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The Wizard Simon

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Written on November 15, 2016, for the January 10 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this piece explores the mystery of wizards and the price of magic.

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What Simon did upon the wall, we have yet to thank him for.

We did not know what signs he drew,

what spell he wove, what magic threw.

We did not know he could do such deeds,

nor of the cost, or of a wizard’s needs.

We did not know, what he did there,

and, at the time, we did not care.

We did not care. We did not heed,

until he fell down upon his knees.

The spell complete, we’ve time to breathe,

so on the wall we lay our wreathes,

for Simon passed beyond the veil,

gave his life’s last breath to seal the spell,

and, now, we know what Simon did,

what signs he drew, what magic bid.

Now, we know, and now we grieve,

for we’ve lost a friend to magic’s weave.

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January 11

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The Dragon-Fetched

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Written on April 27, 2017, for the January 11 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this English, or Shakespearean, style sonnet is about choices, and the price one just might pay for freedom.

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He stands upon a mountain top, a-glow,

bright with morning light and a wizard’s fire.

He stands with upraised head; his long hair flows

down his back, trapped within its leather ties.

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Hands raised, he stands looking up, past the sun,

and to the slow-set moon, where the shadow

of a dragon, steady flies, though cloud foam

bars its way, and storm-rise attempts to slow.

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He stands, sees how swift, large the dragon grows,

and, summons answered, lowers arms and hands.

It comes, just as the storm winds start to blow,

and right before him, birdlike, careful, lands.

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I’ve come, the dragon tells him. "Come and see.

Together we will fly. You’re safe with me."

The wizard did not answer, did not dare,

He knew the dragon’s price was more than fair.

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But still he could not help but have regrets,

that, to be safe, he did his life forfeit.

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January 12

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Moon Dancing

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Written on April 27, 2017, for the January12 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this fantasy piece is about asking for forgiveness and assistance from the moon.

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Unicorns danced within the glade,

and I danced among them.

Pixies danced too, in flight displays,

and I danced beneath them.

The fey came to join us singing,

and I sang their harmony.

We danced the moon to its zenith.

I danced wild and free,

and as the moon set, our steps slowed,

our voices faded, too,

and, as one, we sank onto the grass,

and wondered what to do,

what to do, given what we faced,

and what we faced it with,

what to do if our dance had failed

and the moon would not forgive,

but even as we sat in hopeless,

wond’ring despair,

the bugles called us from the grass,

their notes a promise bare,

that, as we’d sought to please the moon,

and asked for treatment fair,

so the moon would aid us in our time of need,

and our salvation bear.

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January 13

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Moving Forward

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Written on June 13, 2017, for the January 13 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this piece is all about hoping for a better future, and moving towards it, even when you cannot be sure it lies ahead.

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When all is shiny, and all is new,

and all is wrapped in pain,

then it’s time to remember,

and walk forward, again.

One small step, and then another,

and then once more.

Place each foot in front of the other.

Keep moving.

Nothing is in vain.

Have faith in you and what you are,

or, at the very least, pretend.

The road that’s placed before you,

is one that has an end,

but one that also has a future

that is better than your now,

that has light where you stand in darkness,

and warmth, where just cold you’ve found.

You only need to stand, upon your own two feet,

or find a friend to help you,

someone on whom to lean,

but remember that whoever you call upon for aid,

may one day ask the same of you,

when they stand where you find yourself, today.

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January 14

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The New Year’s Reality

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Written on June 14, 2017, for the January 14 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this alphabet acrostic explores the role that individual choice plays in renewing ourselves and our goals when the year turns from old to new.

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All throughout the old year, we hoped this year would come,

Because we thought the world would renew like a new day with the sun,

Creating a beginning, and sweeping away the past.

Disappointment is what we felt, when the new year dawned at last.

Everything was just the same,

For life continued on its path,

Going forward from where it had started in the past,

Heeding consequences of deeds long done,

Ignoring the new year’s start,

Just as if our lives went on,

Killing all hope our histories would depart,

Leaving us to continue on, and follow down the path

Made in the year that had breathed its last.

No new route could begin.

Onward through the new year, we trudged, each weary step,

Pressing forward as the first month waned, we felt so out of depth,

Quickly, we were drowning, though the year had just begun

Reality was nothing sweet, as we continued our life’s run,

Swift it showed us our hopes that began again were false

The truth was that the year that opened, continued from the one we thought we’d tossed.

Unless we chose a new route, chose to walk a different path,

Very soon this brand new year we’d found, would be exactly like the last.

With this in mind we realized

Xanthic dreams could be achieved

Yet only if we took a step toward the dreams that we believed

Zero would be what we got, if we chose nothing to achieve.

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January 15

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’Ware the Dawn Bird’s Cry

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Written on June 30, 2017, for the January 15 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this piece revisits the world of the dawn birds, and reiterates every other warning you’ve heard before.

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Lonely do the dawn birds cry,

hunting swiftly from the sky.

Hunger is their middle name,

as from snow they rise with eyes aflame.

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Spring thaw is no time to drift

between towns or pastures,

or to cattle shift,

lest from your body, your soul is ripped,

while the dawn birds take their fill.

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January 16

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The Waking Dead

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Written on July 20, 2017, for the January 16 entry of Another 365 Days of Poetry, this piece is about the living dead.

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I heard them screaming

Screaming?

Screaming.

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Screaming fit to wake the dead.

The dead?

The sleeping dead.

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The sleeping dead who waken.

Waken?

And from their sleeping rise.

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The dead that rise to walk the earth.

The Earth?

The ground beneath our feet.

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Beneath our feet, as the whole world turns,

the earth that lets them sleep

until the dead do seek to rise,

and with the living, company keep.

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January 17

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Momma Taught Me How to Swear

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Written on January 17, 2018, after hearing my daughter cuss out in the garden... and realising where I learnt to do the same, and also noting the times when I cuss the most, I added this poem to Another 365 Days of Poetry.

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My momma taught me how to swear,

and then she taught me when,

but never could she teach me

not to swear around her men,

so it was not ‘til I was older,

and very much full grown,

that I came to understand just why,

with my dad, she’d cuss full-blown,

and then I found a man, all mine,

whom I just loved to bits,

and many were the swears I found,

when he gave me four fine kids,

and much louder was the cussing,

when my frustrations he’d inflame,

just