Tag Archives: poems

Door

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:

DOOR

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
put.
For now…
Better the devil
you vowed
to know.

Sea of Faces

I’m drowning
in this sea of faces,
So many faces,
All eyes on me,
So many eyes,
I’m suffocated,
So many eyes,
But none can see,
My mind rewinds,
Removes all traces,
Inside, my stasis
starts to bleed,
The wounds are born
from sworn self hatred
that filters out
wellwishers deeds,
All good intent
my mind erases,
And in its place;
a rotten seed,
And from it grows
all the hollow aching
Black Dog’s thirst
could ever
need.

Can’t you see my happy face?

Can’t you see my happy face?
I’m smiling, can’t you see?
These are tears of joy, you know,
Your blessings gladden me.

Can’t you see my happy face?
It’s the best news the world,
I can’t wait to meet your little one,
Whether boy or whether girl.

(Can’t you see my empty space?
The hole inside my heart?
I may feel glad at what you have,
But I’m also torn apart…)

Can’t you see my happy face?
I’m ecstatic, and it shows,
I’m happy that you’re happy,
And that’s the only truth you’ll know.

Hush Child

Hush child,
Close your eyes,
Shutter out the world
and let the stillness fill your mind.

Hush child,
Hold my hand,
Feel its warmth and strength
and know the might it can withstand.

Hush child,
Take a breath,
Let it fill your lungs
and feel the lightness lift your chest.

Hush child,
Lean on me,
Let me take your hurt
and be your rock when you’re in need.

Hush child,
It will pass,
Pain is part of life,
But rest assured that it won’t last.

I am a Poem

I am a poem.

A complicated tide
of elements that collide
with purpose.

I can make you feel
electrified,
terrified,
alive inside.

I am niche.

I am gauche.

A guilty pleasure.

A hint of something
that was once so
treasured.

Bad and good
in equal measure.

No value in life…
perhaps in death?

I’ll give
until there’s nothing left.

I am a poem
that’s seldom read
and even then
I’m oft
mis-
read.

I just want to make you feel…
To evoke in you
some buried zeal.

But I am words
and it would seem
no words
can set my essence
free.

My Mother’s Pearls

What goes up must come down,
If I am lost I can be found,
I must learn to swim or I will drown,
Success proceeds a sweaty brow,
No difference trumps a common ground,
There’s no place like my own home town,
My family are forever proud,
There’s silver lining every cloud,
Tomorrow’s hurt will be less than now,
Sweet tea can upturn any frown,
It’s good to stand out from the crowd,
It’s good to keep feet on the ground,
What goes around will come around,
They’ll treat me just as I allow,
Hate is whispered, love is loud,
Free milk means he won’t buy the cow,
Life is short and death is vowed,
When my number’s up, I can but bow.

 

napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a poem about facts, about things we know. So I chose to write about the things I know thanks to my mother’s (and father’s) pearls of wisdom growing up.

Happy Place

In my happy place
is where you’ll find
the detritus of my soul
my mind
has ruptured
and its capillaries pour
– with every ebb –
waves of life into the cyber void
and snag
– with every flow –
the single threads
that once wove my soul
into the fabric of this time
and there you’ll find
not a person
but a shadow
a whisper from behind the screen
unstitched
unhinged
unseen
the remnants of a being
tightrope walking
this way
that way
unbalanced
yet perfectly
formed
inside this tangled web
in this expanse
of ink as flesh
and pixelated sinews
stretched
beyond composure
barely clinging
yet still winning in
the war that none can see
the devil’s greatest trick
is the mantra
of this disease
the anchor
in this melancholy scow
a vessel that is empty yet
somehow
so full of
bitter truths
and weighed down
with lies that lie untold
secrets will unfold
if the question’s ever broached
until then I’m all alone
in my happy place
because no-one
ever knows
just how to
ask
just how to take a
quick
yet monumental
peek
behind the mask.