#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day5 #MinorInconveniences #DislikingSomething

Minor Inconveniences 

Methinks I loathe the word methinks.

It juggles into sentences like a smug little jester.

Tinfoil is my shining rival,

its metallic crinkling setting my teeth on edge.

“We buy any car” - a jingle, trolling

like a parasitic earworm.

A plastic-wrapped coconut,

as if its husk wasn’t armour enough.

Grammar pedants, holding the line of language,

not grasping their privilege.

Here I stand, besieged by trifles 

a sovereign of minor inconveniences

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day4 #InLikeALion #WeatherPhenomenon

 

In like a lion

Most mornings start with Baris at my door, we talk about the weather, then talk some more. A community organiser and a Turkish cab driver - we’re birds of a feather, both natural strivers.

The sun on the journey feels hopeful and bright, but sleet at the barn sends tots inside. March comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb - the barn in between is a cheerful Bedlam.

By pickup, the sunshine has settled again; Baris just smiles, says it’s much better than rain. Strange how the weather can stitch us together - two different lives, held lightly by weather.

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day3 #YouthWorkerApparently #MisunderstoodVocationPoem

“Youth Worker, apparently”

They say my job is

fannying around with table tennis bats,

checking the chalk for the pool table,

booking the minibus for Alton Towers,

as if that were the whole constellation

of what I do.

They picture me

leaning on a counter,

keys jangling,

laughing at renditions

of “Mockney Hallelujah”,

a sort of professional older sibling

with a petty cash tin.

But the truth is

I learned to read hunger

in the way a teen’s eyes flick

and five-finger-discount snacks;

the ones who haven’t seen

their social worker

since they were five

and have stopped expecting adults

to remember their names.

I learned that “behavioural issues”

are often just a young man

with additional learning needs

counting the cost of love,

because someone taught him

affection is transactional.

And that a year can break you

when migrant kids are accused

of things they didn’t do,

and the police officer in licensing

leans back in his chair

and tells you it’s sweet that you care

but none of your business.

As if care were a hobby.

As if those kids weren’t

my whole damn business.

That was the year

stress carved its initials

into my nervous system,

the year my seizure disorder

came back like an old debt

I thought I’d paid off.

The body keeps score

when the world refuses

to listen to concerns.

And still -

I showed up with the table tennis bats.

I checked the chalk.

I booked the trips.

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day2 #ChildhoodMemory #HintWhoYouWouldGrowUpToBe #RedPlasticAlchemy

 

Red Plastic Alchemy

We lifted the seat of the red ride‑and‑go

its sacred hollow our cauldron.

With cupped hands, we carried rainwater,

mud, petals, the odd wriggling thing or two.

We stirred with sticks, serious as witches

before we knew the name.

Wayne, the eldest, wanted more;

I shushed him, trusted my rising five‑year crone.

We were our own triad,

one with summer, mischief,

no fear of consequence.

Lee, the youngest, our chief taster.

We fed it to him like a dare, like a spell.

The world paused.

He spat it out, ran off

on sturdy legs, laughing.

Decades later I claimed myself witch,

learning to ride hedges and guard the liminal.

Some of you didn’t make potions as kids,

and honestly it shows.

#NaPoWriMo2026 #Day1 #Tanka #BritishBlackBee

 

British Black Bee

Native British bee -

adapted to fickle skies.

Hardy through winter -

needs less food and thrives with change.

Save native pollinators.

Photo credit:
https://beeconservation.org.uk/blogs/news/the-british-black-bee-and-how-to-protect-it

Tanka itself a found poem from the text!

#NaPoWriMo2025 #Day30 #GinaWantsToDieOfOldAge

Gina Wants to Die of Old Age

I can’t hear Bon Jovi
without being seventeen again,
singing, “Gina wants to die of old age,”
like it was gospel.

My friend stared.
“What did you say?”
Laughed so hard
she nearly peed.

It’s “Gina works the diner all day,”
but my version stuck.
Wrong words, right feeling—
and I still sing it that way.

Because maybe,
deep down,
Gina wants that too.

#NaPoWriMo2025 #Day29 #PlinkySongs

Plinky Songs

You sing of sirens,
riding the tides of green tea
soft myths for hard days.

Books on guns open,
strummed with lullaby fingers
truth wrapped in a tune.

Sugar Loaf goodbye,
falling feels inevitable
getting up: a choice.