Tag Archives: trapped


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.


Bridge to Freedom

I hear the melancholy slither of
the stream across the stones,
I feel the dampness of the wood
as it seeps into my bones.

My legs dangle through the railings,
Dried up mud cocoons my knees,
I watch my teardrops salt the water
as I cast secrets to the breeze.

I feel trapped inside this vastness,
Life is closing in from every side,
I’m stifled, stuck, in stasis,
Despite the many roads I’ve tried.

But as I sit here on this bridge,
Where soothing silence scents the air,
I close my eyes and I taste freedom,
And I’m transported anywhere.


Bridge to Forgiveness

From here, of course, I see you,
I can almost taste your skin,
But, no, I will not touch you first,
Or you, my love, would win.

You see, there lies between us
a raging river of regret,
And there is no way to bridge it
without someone getting wet.

I confess, the scent of victory
serves to fuel my stubbornness,
So listen up, my darling,
Only you can fix this mess.

So simply say you’re sorry,
Come, we haven’t got all night…
Don’t look at me like that, my dear,
You know I’m always right.


napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a poem about a bridge. I wrote two today, the first about a physical bridge and the second about a metaphorical one.


It’s no surprise
that when you look at me
with your steely eyes
they reveal to me
the malefic lies
that, I have come to realise,
the dulcet ways in which I despise
the totality of your disguise;
Adeptly kept,
But it belies
the dreck your mind and soul comprise,
The loathing in your voice implies
a heartsickness of epic size
that will catalyse
our love’s demise
and leave me here
to crystallise,
And though it’s all just so unwise,
And though it would be ill-advised,
When you look at me
with those steely eyes
and vapidly apologise,
I fill lamentably with butterflies,
Common sense need not apply,
Once again I’m hyptonised
and each and every wicked lie
is freshly, neatly, trivialised
and once again I compromise,
So of course
it’s comes as no surprise
that, when all is said and realised,
this is all that qualifies
as paradise
here in our lives.



Burdened mule.

In this hole I am not whole,
Stagnant in my body
and in my soul,
Rutted in my thoughts and in my deeds,
And all of my needs remain unsung.


I’m played;
A guitar that they can strum,
My heart is just a bullet in their gun,
Waiting for their will to be done,
And for my life to be undone,
A slave waiting for the hammer to be swung,
And overrun with the pictures of my death
I hold my breath
and I then plead
But they’re deaf to all my pleas,
Blind to me down here on my knees,
Aching just to please,
Discarded like a tissue used to catch a sneeze.

Like I’m not even worthy of their phlegm.

Like I am their phlegm.

And look at them;
Existing happily
Sated by pure apathy
and fatted with contempt,
They are content
to watch me sin and then repent,
And sin and then repent.

And repent.

And repent.

Unrelenting until I’m spent.
Until it’s too late,
Until I’m decaying in their hate
and I stagnate.

Bitter fool.


Tricks and Mortar

In the stillness all around
there’s not a sound
that the silence hasn’t bound
The voices have been pounded
into the cracks of these surrounds
and the echoes of these walls
The whispers of these halls
– they tell it all –
They scream in muted voices
the errors in our choices
And the legends of my fall
into despair
Resounding through the air
like a bullet as it tears right through your skin
And the memories draw me in
A tornado of my sins
and of my kin’s
Then the creaking of a board
as I walk the shaky floor
and I rap upon a door
and a shunt of rotting frame
opens portals to my shame
and to their pain
And it will ever be the same
New walls, new floors, new doors
The truth is buried in the core
and never dies
This house was built on lies
Tricks and mortar
that bore a daughter
destined to slaughtered
by my grief
Until I leave


My love hangs in the balance
of that pendulum swing
between lose and win
Truth and sin
And what lies within my soul
is not enough
I have no control
A slave to the toil
of the cogs as they roll with each tick
and grind with each tock
The mastery of the clockmaker’s plot
A Slyar of this emotional box
With the power to make my heart stop
or not
And I am held
As he decides if I’m to be felled
or expelled from this wood and glass realm
And if I’m freed to do my heart’s will
I shall love him still
And ever will


Image Credit: “Pendulum of Time” by Ehios – Deviant Art