#3 - 03/12/09

What brings them blue birds?
These people who share the early hours
The sick lights of the carriage
Which burns to Waterloo
What kisses them and makes them better?
Her good book page by page
Her pens and paint that go on thick
His bicycle that negates the walking blues
How the hell do I know?
What am I babbling about?
These aren't happiness things
But instead essentials
Bits to get them through a turn
That starts too soon
Not ending until the next darkness
Haven't seen the town in daylight for an age
What would make them smile?
Maybe just asking that question is good for me
Lottery wins and lust enlivened
Not these little bits and trends
A real prize for the life they lead

#2 - 02/12/09

As I strolled through the dark
I had cause to make this remark
'Bout my breakfast this december morn
There is nothing they say
Like an apple a day
It's the best fruit you can have before dawn

Be they red or green
I find it quite obscene
When others say they don't like 'em
How can you resist
That aroma of bliss
Or the crunch that they make when you bite 'em?

There's no shady Pink Lady
No bad Granny Smith
Nor a Braeburn with which I won't pass the time
Each Cox's is a present
Every Gala's so pleasant
And to discourse otherwise is a crime

So take that fair orb
Its majesty absorb
Feast on its flesh or just drink its juice
I'm thankful each morning
That I've heard no warning
Of a global apple shortage in the news

#1 - 01/12/09

The dark fur of yesterday's bedsheets has gone
The oder and scratch marks have melted with the ice
That pecks my cheeks like a pleasant and pointless date
As I walked to the train today
My first one of one hundred mornings in the dark
Trying to work out a little light
Trying to catch a glimpse of something to smile at
Like the pretty girl who's sitting opposite me
In pink scarf and matching earmuffs
Little does she know that she's my initial muse
Staring, engrossed in the Metro's pages
Perhaps she's simple
No, my mistake, another glance and it's a book
Not a good one though by the looks of it
Daily Mail gave it five stars
Either Mein Kampf or the Bible then
No, it's trash fiction
But if it brightens up her smile like a day at the beach
Who am I to comment on such things?
If it lifts her mind and thoughts
Interfering with real troubles by means of ethereal thoughts
I can't judge a book by its cover after all
I can't judge her because in a moment I shall do likewise
But with a classic of course because I'm pretentious
(well, I am a poet you know)
So on these red seats in the black air of mornings in december
In sickly creams and hookers' blues
She flicks each page with grace and intelligence
She smiles once or twice, just being happy
Contented radiation over the announcements of Egham and Staines
And with a guard's whistle and a train's grumble
I find my first reason to smile
There really is nothing like a dame.

Prelude - 100 Days

A century of 24s seems like a long time
One hundred notes is quite a feat
Gone with the tracks and clicks and clacks is inactivity
But maybe Josie was some serendipity doodah
Sent to inspire me and apologise for word play like that
Though this could be something for me
Still don't really know though
Been trying to work it out
All about what I shout about and tones
Can they be all stones and thorns?
Or should I cover them with grins and smiles?
A mile of answers on each side
As the jolting slides across polished rails near
I fear I'll not have a concrete conclusion
A hundred days to make my world a better illusion
Is the pursuit of art enough though?
Because it's tough
Or should each line be a burst of light?
Even a silver lining on these pages
What stage am I at with this?
Can I turn on my sense of bliss and laughs?
Or should I not force the words?
And what happens if anger or depression's heard?
Will it bring folks down?
I could drown their happy hearts in sobbing sounds
Can't decide about this at all
But I will work it out I'm sure
I could extoll the virtues more of bits
And pieces of advice and dice each week
Into dangerous poetic themes about dreams, hopes, loves
With happiness and drag myself above the bleak
Midwinter morning every day, each week give it a shot!
While I jot down something and not
Be down, be up and up and up!
And away we go for ten ten days where I will smile
Whay-hey!*

* Spelling of 'Whay-hey!' subject to review.

So what's this all about?

This is me taking part in the project that you can view at www.hundreddays.net/ . It’s down to Josie Long (who I shall be holding responsible for my sanity during this). You can follow her on Twitter with @JosieLong or me: @JohnnyA10 or the whole project: @hundredday.

I’m John Ashton. I'm a poet and one day I long for that to be a job description rather than something say as they roll their eyes. And just so you know, this 'happy' thing is about a million and one miles out of my comfort zone so don't judge me if I can't handle it and I whip out a tambourine or something. If this turns me all happy clappy, I'll kill myself (well, I would if I weren't going to be so happy clappy... oh, crap. Can't even fall back on suicide. I'll have to smother myself with my own 'hug me' t-shirt).

You might have spotted, I can be a little dark. Well, that's why I'm trying to make these poems a little more smily. I could write thunder, rain, rage, cynicism and greyness without much trouble, but this is all about making me better. Read the stuff on the website and you'll get it. And the Prelude poem might fill you in on me a little bit.

Ok, so without further ado (though I haven't noted a great deal of 'ado' thus far), with a quick nod to my #100Day people (spot the trend on twitter too), let's get to it.

JA, 01/12/09