Tag Archives: choices


I was not involved in #NaPoWriMo (now #GloPoWriMo) last year, and while I can’t commit to the whole 30 days, this year I may dip in and out….

Here’s a poem about choice:


There is a door
at the end
of the hall,
Shut tight.
It is not locked,
but jammed
with fear.

How did I end up here?

I press an ear
to the wood,
I think I could,
I think I should,
But is an open door
really freedom?
Or just the beginning
of a razor edged wall?

Will I fly?

Will I fall?

Should I sacrifice it all
for possibility?
Or is that naive of me?
In reality the
shades are grey
And so I stay
For now…
Better the devil
you vowed
to know.

Well Played

I am through,
And it’s all on you.
I know that I will lose,
And when I do,
I know that I will choose
to welcome death,
I cannot catch my breath,
My eyes are sunken,
My mind is drunken,
My face is ripped off and I’m hunkered,
The body blows are raining
and I’m failing,
Because I cannot duck and weave,
How can I when I cannot even breathe?
There’s no reprieve.
I am drowning
in the sky,
I cannot hide,
The night
washes over like a tide,
Fills my lungs with poisoned dye
overflowing through my eyes
like acid tears,
And I am melting,
Dissociative and helpless.

I am through
and it’s all on you,
You could stop this if you choose,
But you refuse
to let it go,
Your heart is stone,
Your hooded deeds are hammers striking bone,
Your words alone are iron
and I am pummeled from a lion
to a haggard Jouvet cat,
Slipping from the only consciousness I had,
My head is lolling,
The water’s calling,
I am falling,
I am drowned,
The roar of life
has dragged me down
and it has left me
without sound,
Silent, bloated, blue.

I am through,
and it’s all on you.

Well played.

I Choose You

an idea
for us two

[maybe] worth
us playing through:

time that
I choose you,

don’t you
choose me too?

Because, it’s true,
You never do…


napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a hay(na)ku (read about it here). I went for the additional challenge of writing a hay(na)ku sonnet – and making it rhyme!

The basis of the poem was taken from a rough scribbling I posted on my Facebook page earlier in the week, so while I’m sure I’ve probably not got it 100% right (I seem to be having a tough time this year, technically speaking), I’m happy with it anyway.

Arrested Development

Sergeants atop their ivory towers,
Fatted by their godly powers,
Lording over drunks and strays
and those caught upon their worst of days.

A mother cries beside her son,
Bitter shame for what he’s done,
He stands defiant – no remorse –
Chest puffed out in show of force,
He cannot see her heart is breaking,
Cannot see the choice he’s making.

A girl beneath a mental cloud,
Lies prostrate as she calls aloud
the letters of her father’s name,
Over and over and over again.

A probie fiddles with his vest,
As he recounts his last arrest,
He shifts to left foot, then to right,
To quell the growing nervous bite.

An addict tries to state his case,
While picking scabs that line his face,
“I stole the meat to buy the drugs”,
He feigns regret and gently shrugs.

Solicitors vaunt and huff and sneer,
Noses high, they seek out fear,
A chance to cut down boys in blue,
To pick at what they thought they knew.

The nurse tends to a frightened girl,
Who in an instant changed her world,
When she finally struck back at her man,
With kitchen knife in battered hand,
She sobs inside the four white walls,
Ignoring all the caterwauls,
For her, the earth has slowed and stopped,
Hushed ’til you can hear pins drop,
Nought exists inside her head,
Save faint relief and panging dread.

The others? Perhaps they’ll never change,
But she will never be the same.

napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a Clerihew. A whimsical, four-line biographical poem invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley. The first line is the name of the poem’s subject, usually a famous person put in an absurd light. The rhyme scheme is AABB, and the rhymes are often forced. The line length and meter are irregular.

I had already written the above poem when I read the prompt, but thought I’d include a clerihew based on the same theme. You can see it below:

Lorena Bobbitt
chose to cut it off and lob it,
Could take no more
of the abuse that she endured.

Spoils of War

I just can’t,
I’m torn between two halves of my heart:
The Me who is scarred
and my future afar;
Who I could be and who I was from the start.

I am filled to the brim
with the love that these two players are fighting to win,
A love that is pure and as sure as is sin,
But is buried within,
Shying away from the war of its skin,
A flesh and a mind try not to give in,
As a heart so tattered and worn to begin
cries “Romance or kin?”

And now it is dark,
I cannot see who you are,
My victor, the one who has looted my heart,
And torn me apart,
Was it worth it? As you now only have half
And I am marred
Forever scarred