The Potential: a poetry post

Sara at Mum Turned Mom has chosen the word 'potential' as her latest prompt.

To be honest, I was stuck there for a while, but then I was thinking about gravitational potential energy and Wile E Coyote, and I came up with this poem, which I've also done a reading of on Facebook live (click here for that):

The Potential

This poem,
poised on the precipice
has potential
to kill you dead.

To whistle its way down
to a million-mile-away valley floor
landing in its own
mini-mushroom puff.

But it won't.
You'll just beep, and run on by
or maybe pause for a moment

wondering why it's poised just so,
was it put there on purpose?

Or has its context
been whittled and abridged away?

Perhaps you see my design
in balancing this poem here
with all its potential.

Pause a while longer,
and you'll see yourself in it.

Ⓒ Cara L McKee 27/4/17

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February update!

Hello! Please see above for a screenshot (not sure who the photo is by) from the lovely Fragmented Voices website which has my poem, Escaping Pheasants, as their featured poem today. This poem is inspired by the pheasants which are brought in to our local country house for people who are that way inclined to shoot. Sometimes I see them flapping down from the estate wall and on to the busy road, making a break for it toward the moors. Good luck pheasants. Escaping Pheasants also features in my book, Little Gods, published by the marvellous Roswell Publishing and available from booksellers and Amazon, or get in touch to get a signed copy from me. Other recent successes include two poems in Obsessed with Pipework #105, a Haiku in Coin Operated Press ' Haiku Zine, The Libraries came out in Culture Matters' Bread & Roses Anthology, and, as I mentioned last time, When you slow a bit you can see the way , another poem from Little Gods, came out in Butcher's Dog #19. I have ...

Beaches: a poetry post

And so we're into Autumn, I swear I heard the tyres screeching as the season turned. I'm writing this at my desk in the light of my little lamp and it's almost 9am, but it's gloomy because it's chucking it down. I love Autumn. I spent ages yesterday watching gannets diving for fish in the roiling sea, keeping their places despite the wind. And I love the fog that can wrap us up in a quiet blanket. I used to live in the Isle of Man, where the god Manannan takes care of his drunk little islanders by wrapping his warm cloak around them. So whenever I can't see the islands near us for the fog I wonder if Manannan is wrapping his cloak around us too. It feels like it. Anyway, The Prompt, over on the Mum Turned Mom blog this week is Motion, which just had me thinking of the motion of the ocean, and of the good luck I have to be able to live near the sea again. So I am sharing this poem which I wrote earlier this year, inspired by a line in Andrew McMillan...

Cleaning: A Poetry Post

Today I'm bringing inspiration from a writing workshop I went to the other day. We had to list lots of things, like things we did every day, things we hated, all that stuff. I can't remember which list 'cleaning' fell on - it could have been either of the ones I've mentioned, but here is my poem on the subject. If you like it, please feel free to share. Cleaning I'm not leaning toward cleaning. Not predisposed to tidy clothes. I'm not inclined to wax sublime. There is no room I would vacuum. I've no desire to scrub with wire. I wouldn't wish to wash a dish. As for laundry, it just bores me. Toward cleaning I'm not leaning. © Cara L McKee 3/4/16

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