Napowrimo Day 19 to 21

It is catch up time again, but I'm still persevering.
First up is a practical poem, on how to procrastinate. I don't need much encouragement...

Day 19

How to...Procrastinate your day away.

Awake, with the sun upon your face.
Already to plan the day.
Watch each moment take shape inside your mind.
Think it through.
Decide exactly what you want to do,
               and when.
Got it?
Fixed it safe in your mind?
Then get up.
Sort out breakfast, and a cup of tea.
Think some more.
Put on the TV just to catch the morning news.
Don't worry if you stray and watch some kids cartoons,
It's only for an hour, or two...
OK
Get dressed.
Is it lunch time already?
Then feed your face.
You cannot concentrate when you're hungry.
Just pop the dishes in the sink 'till later.
Grab a post lunch brew, and chill.
Let digestion take place
And there's a movie on at two.
You've got loads of time
 to do what you planned to do.
At five,
Start the tea.
Don't worry, you've still got the evening free.
It's fine.
A quick catch up on the news,
And a nice bottle of that post holiday booze
Because everyone needs a treat now and then.
It is ten p.m.
The day is done.
Have you done all the things you intended to do?
No?
Nothing that you had planned?
Then join me as I shake your hand.
You have managed to procrastinate your life away.
It is now bed-time.
Just remember.
Tomorrow is another day.
There is always another tomorrow...?

22nd April 2016

Day 20

Kennings (Or riddle poem)

Wonderful word writer.
Funny bone creator,
Where have you gone?

Now real days only exist on goggleboxes in sacred corners of our homes.
Paper pictures of what-should-be.
Not this-is-now.
No this-is-us-with different choices.
Bindweed trapped rather than sunflower grown.

Humble Lady of the truth mirror.
Your creative soul has crumbled into dusk and dust.
But your bright day still filters through.
On moon shaded circles of binary memory
We will exchange jollity again with you.
We will laugh in your name.

(Victoria Wood 1953-2016)
22nd April 2016

Day 21 (Minor figure in myth/fable)

The Magic Porridge Pot

Fire blackened iron am I
round and empty
waiting to be filled with soups
and stews.
As I hang contented above the fireplace.

I wanted for nothing
I knew nothing.
I was nothing but earth smelted iron and blacksmiths skill.
Then into a story I was flung.
Imbued with magic.
With an awareness this container did not know how to contain.
Now my only purpose
to supply you with endless porridge.
You, who did not understand the words
"Stop, porridge pot, stop."
So I supplied you with porridge till it filled me up.
Swelled over my sides,
Bubbled over the fire
Spread across the floor
And out the door to the great beyond.
I could not stop it.
You could, but chose to fling your skirts above your head and run away.
I wanted to scream and rage at you,
I, who had no voice but the bubble of a stew.
I could do nothing.
Then she came.
And with the words stopped porridge brewing.
But I cannot stop thinking.
Magic has gifted me awareness this container should never have had to contain.
I stay here, hanging
filled with soup, or stew (up to you)
Iron cast, soot stained porridge pot I may be.
Now, I am watching you.

22nd April 2016