I’m convinced it is true love or close to the definition as one can come to.
You feed me physically, dehydrate me when I forget.
You feed my mind on subjects I’m passionate about sans no regret.
You feed my psychological stance when it needs a new perspective
Laugh if in doubt
You never belittle me, you will tell me where you think I’m going wrong.
You believe in me, our connection, I know that money is a means to an end for the two of us.
You have a gift convincing me that I am beautiful even when I’m starting to show wear & tear.
You’ve convinced me to allow myself the risk of getting my heart broken again.
Cupid must be smiling today. He has scored.
And to add to this you
are my best friend.
*these are my words as simple as they may be -never claimed to be a poet- borderline poetry is what I dub this writing, you see?*
( Simple words from a complex woman)
In the twilight of my mind
I arise from my slumber.
A perfect piece of calm envelopes my sacred space.
It intertwines with my beating heart.
A knock at the door.
The man from two doors down-
He mutters about galloping away from his latest nightmare.
My child –
Her peace disrupted by a primitive, feral sound.
Desperate to inhale pure oxygen.
Disruption causes me to
Choke on my anger.
I’m forced to close the door, only because I’m fair.
A warning odour of familiar carbon monoxide threatens to extinguish all hope.
The scales tip
I fear I’m falling to the ground.
A piercing tone emanates from my mobile phone.
The one who I hold dear in my arms can’t get out of her abyss,
Alone with my lonileness.
I think of my cat.
Force tablets down her throat.
She pukes up bile.
I weep wearily .
She needs to cough up fur balls not green mucus.
Get better my loves: My world.
I peer out my windowed prison
I look above.
There goes a bird
Wings spread soaring above.
It reminds me of the phoenix
I reach for another kleenex.
Blow the ashes from my grey matter .
I reach for my phone.
Its time for the school run.
My child needs to leave home.
One day she won’t look back to see me smile at her regal pose.
Another day in this world.
I see the real life heroes,
Walking to work,
Catching buses to fill the void from their hurt.
One thing is certain I’m not alone in my loneliness .
We are a collective of souls
Queuing up for a moment to peek a glimpse of Elysium.
I pick myself up off the floor.
A needle and thread catches my eye,
I stitch myself back together.
I open the door.
Times run out -it refuses to stand
I feel a sense of the ghost of his Holiness.
Unrevised stream of consciousness .This needs a lot of work.
Inspired by reading a poem by, Kathryn Maris, called ‘School run’.
National poetry day 2018
I sit in silence.
Tears betray the death of another beating heart .
Distant to my heart ache.
Love is meaningless
accented by meaningful nuances.
I’m alone with the pangs,
Unsure if I want to feel the caress of familiar hands
if I’d rather escape to a nether land.
Conjuring Magicians ready to sell inconspicuous potions.
Allowing me to flee from my skin.
Threaded by veins
Morose in temperament.
Aloof to the consequences of escaping this reality.
Complicit to the sadness that shrieks in my gut.
It’s not nearly as stomach able as watching the chambers of my heart in my hands
For the moments tangled in lust.
The desire to be a part of some one else’s sun.
To inhabit their orbit.
Study the stars,
share butterfly kisses,
break free into a wild run.
Freedom is a state of mind.
Release me from the bonds of this exile.
I am the hunted.
I am the hunter with the blade ready to attack,
For this is my vessel.
My only means to move forward.
Cut the strings
for this puppet will not be coerced to dance nor sing-
until I find a simple hymn.
One to attest that another mortal respects I am more
than my sin.
Words hurriedly apologise to re capture that soul;
In the glimmer of dawn — it cowers fearful
Have a piece of my heart.
Have a piece of my words.
Sully not my thoughts to taint my heart with more leacherous poison.
I am breathing-
merely existing to find out how to win.
This is Life’s charade.
the cards dealt to each hand.
Thanks to Allah for I have both in tact .
I’m able to use my body,
I’m able to use my mind to forgive.
Not give in.
The melancholy of my aura glitters like a Midas collectible when he touches the man I call my king.
The weight of this gloom
Thunders over me.
Repressing my desire to quit killing myself.
Smile authentically — blossom again for it’s not time to hide away under bed sands , muted enough to make me think I’m still not thin-
These words don’t do justice to how I truly feel.
I lose people I love and gain friends who form a circled ring around me.
I have to reach out and allow a hand to bring me full circle.
Fighting for the thud in my heart
Fighting for another hot flushed blush.
Wondering if I have already died.
Is living not for the likes of my kind?
Am I here to exist glibly in a ruin of poorly constructed pyramids?
I sit here in silence , blowing out smoke rings made out of my woes.
I’m the queen of Tristeness.
My position is to not give in.
I can’t put roots down in a home that feels alien to me. I blank out my world. I dread the familiar haunting of this abode called my home.
How it represses me and chokes me. Yet,I come back to it like a castrated casualty of Love’s wars . Conditioned to part my lips for misery….
Misery is the strangest bed fellow.
Assumes multiple faces.
Finds solace in one;
then toys the mind into trickery.
Absolute in believing the worst.
The quest for inner happiness is insatiable.
Risqué life impulses
hover to the centre;
reflective to reveal the self
Truth becomes lethargic to express.
Denial in a tangible form is easy to confront.
Fluid is Something
a perpetual change in reason or emotion won’t be summoned into entertaining with a mere appearance.
Who really has it together?
The innocents shake up this universe.
People’s culpability to surprise succeeds in frequent currents.
Inner warfare barely contains the raw diet of pain -self inflicted.
faltering when an impromptu glimpse outlines Guilt slack at the shoulders.
How to do better?
How do we balance every eventuality
From the withstanding of spirit, affection, care free joie de vivre?
to never waiver to out compromise sacred boundaries.
A crave to fly
Be at liberty to roam and murmurate with free agenda.
Yet acknowledge the need for the skies and physics reminder of my limits.
To reveal the divine order that is Nature.
Uncomplicated preambles, snapshots of existence;
staggering through the wilderness, a heart-
beating… though composed of wood.
Daedalic to the fracas of life.
Sometimes I feel like why do I bother.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve used up all my bear care
The cities I lived in .
The people I’ve engaged with.
started to stick two fingers up.
But only to the dickheads.
I dance to these beats cos I rise to the funk masters compilation.
I run for the hills , soul in arms, cos I’m scared of bereaving one beat closer to my final end.
Wasted kindness on friendships. One person knows what goes in my head.
Anxiety takes grip, and I turn on my only friend.
I don’t wanna feel like an unwanted graze.
Take me to a place I love.
Where people don’t talk in haze .
I don’t ever wanna feel like maple honey stuck to a face.
Take me to a place where I can finally come out from the virginal lace.
It’s hard to see the evil in people.
Harder to believe especially those covered treacle.
Atleast, I have a built in shit detector-
this city knows notof me.
My mask falls when the prison doors close.
I don’t ever wanna feel ignored by tramps with tongues for shoes.
Just get me out of this space where my compassion reduces me to tears,
Singing the wrong type of blues.
Under suicide bridge another man lands face down on the ground.
Blood glitters all in an outline and I’ve got scared .
I’ve got to be prepared.
I won’t throw this body away for another
*song inspired by Red hot Chilli Peppers ‘ under the bridge’
Sitting on the roof top trying to tell myself I’ve not misbehaved.
Blush rose hues creep up my cheeks and I know my hearts desire is unexplained.
I look at the stars — one always stands out brighter than the rest.
I say to myself — there goes my next conquest.
With liberal wings and green peace in my heart ,
I know for the sake of inhabiting my skin-unconfortable feelings will always play a part.
Forgive me for being free spirited and seeking out a bon ami.
If I had testicles would my new gender let me walk free ?
to be me?
It’s a plea.
I love what I desire .
I desire what I love .
I hate it when my sanity decides to imitate a neat whisky on the rocks.
Truth be told – I know I’m getting old .
Disambiguous feelings about the path I tread.
May my daughter’s laugh always bring me round to the sound of present day clocks.
Murmurs of hesitation .
Live my life, have a voice, and sail away
Where else do you think I would choose for a holiday destination?
The one I never have to come back from.
It’s me inside me.
Dare to take a part of me — feel my anticipation.
The specials-the after math.
Told off for my impulsive reaction.
The fact I’m conscious I am typing these words-
I feel inauthentic in how they roll out my mind with a hesitant tense formation
Words rise up ,around me – Jab me and a jeer me to dare say whats on my mind.
I’m not a child and I’m not venerable just yet .
So I swim against the tide of the alphabet soup.
Clarity I seek.
One tidal wave from forcing myself to write these words down;
If only to reinforce I have my own sound.
Sound as a pound
Scared of clowns .
That’s better-Socs — that’s my deal.
How I get from a-z- without reaching out for the plan involving illegally, prescribed Ativan.
Banned from my perception of the elite.
Breached my licence to complete…
Should I hit delete?
This is my beat.
I won’t let me beat me down.
Self is the worst enemy-you know how it ages your reflection
scowling in a frown.
She’s back in business now . Wah da da da da — the song clearly has relevance in my sense of decline.
Fall 8 times — get up again.
Who am I to want merely blend in?
I was born to be a Bengal feline.
Character building — life coach ,I sense my patience won’t let me vote for your reality T.V. yoke.
It makes me sick.
Watch one episode and I will mutate into just one more cockroach.
I’m on the down line with a mean upper hook.
Priorities in order.
House work infected by the pox — aren’t you glad you vaccinated your park life children?
Let my demon free to infiltrate the anti’s, confront them with the disease bitten book.
Have a say — what’s the worst that can happen?
Speak your mind — illegal aliens might just descend from that planet called Saturn.
Write to recover. Write to escape.
Shake up your mind , dare to continue —an inner ongoing live debate.
Not for hate — you make your own fate.
Feeling Anxiety. Too worried about what John Sax’s might reveal to his munchie queen.
Know thyself and be true to yourself.
I’m not going to change my character to fit in with society’s latest heart melt.
Superstitious mind – I earned it in walking my path — did you see my black belt?
Stand up for who you are and what you believe in.
Some may consider me strange but have you had a look at your inner heathen?
The entity is back — no wheel-dealing with a bad batch of sugar coated crack.
6 million ways to die — choose one
That came from a song – Who am I to sit around and hide?
* DEADLINE for EMA Sunday night. *
The song -contains some cussing and may offend feminists ….. 😉 Maybe not this song 😀 Idk.
A true union of hearts was joined one summer in late June.
The birds chirruped, the sun shone – the two became one -reflected for all to see by La Luna- the moon
Air and Water – shouldn’t cross paths. These two elements casually ignore each other in nature’s form-its innate core.
He of Air –
She of Water.
The energy that caused the spindrift was something not even these elements could ignore.
Le Mistral caught up in a steamy, heady mood.
Strode across the sky scowling, blowing curses – chaos surely ensued .
– she was winding down for the day.
The tide had come in, and she was ready to listen to a mermaid wax lyrical her classic tale of Babe Ruth.
The wind so vexed was he – he deafened her with one strike of his herculean hair -clouded by his inability to self- soothe.
La Mer reacted in bad form. He struck her so hard, – her mind swelled up with great licks of waves – crashing and thrashing her mental whereabouts.
Never interrupt an element so passionate about listening to her favorite composer.
Le Mistral and La Mer could ignore one another no more. She would make him feel the repercussions of his foolish, senseless,not-so-well thought out Strop.
Now he would have to face his conjurer.
A tidal wave of thoughts arose inside her. He would pay dearly for interrupting her meditative state of mind.
He had no clue what feud he had started. Fire and Earth were shrewd not to intervene. They knew when to stay out of the way of a combination of this kind.
They witnessed how the passion of this great unforeseen union came to be.
The product of this affront was simply not even what the conflicted two could continue to deplore.
Witnessed by two friends .
Wind and Water created the very first image of love .
Spindrift -a physical feeling of exhilaration consolidated the two .
They were now ready for a new adventure – together -ready to explore each other, become the couple -who looked to the other with eyes that said ‘j’t‘adore.
Definitions for spindrift
spray swept by a violent wind along the surface of the sea.
Spindrift is a variant of the Scots spoondrift, with the nautical verb spoonorspoom meaning “to run or scud before the wind.” It entered English around 1600.
OTHER WORDLY .
Unfathomable to relate how a portrait of an unaffected cherub
a forgotten dimension to
the paradigm LONER.
PENSIVE – angelic eyes
unfreeze momentarily — expressions animate the oil painted canvass.
Voice barely audible -mouths out to me
who is this new persona?
bBlood of my labour sworn to tell the gospal TRUTH.
Astonished -wrinkles crease — at time ‘s wilfulness to penetrate her innocence—
She’s not looking back at her youth.
The cycle continues-
Elders blame the outsider for a lack of faith in conventional —Spirituality.
ELDER peers down through a intoxicating incensed haze.
Measures me up.
squares me up.
On humble grounds
I stand a full head above her broad shoulders.
Closer to her divine maker
pious prayers hail down
the blame game
the name game.
Torured soul seeker
Scarpers for the licks of hell’s flames.
trips over underwood
poltergeists log a strategic placed guilt ambush
rotting the core of this circle of life’s CONTINUITY.
time will decide whether we are cosmic twins born 3 decades APART.
this is her descent to destiny .
roughly sketched into this world-
pallid , charcoal smudged into silence.
An artist confronted with his frailty to conceive life.
Mourns the leftover clots of a being.
Miscariage – remnants of nurture -a mere puddle of blood outlining his corrosive flaw.
A splattering of colours, tears stained by remorse.
a howl of def toned melancholy
The artist sips a cup of penny total tea.
A sighed relief-
she has -AWAKENED.
ALONE – – is she fated too?
-The rebels never conforms
Stricken by the awareness of my own
INQUISITIVE betrayed by her translucence
frown rouges her cheeks in introspection.
familiar strange words
Alienation effect prompts a impulsive turn around
damning this loner to truly see.
An epiphany of divine INSIGHT
UNDER or OVER ACHIEVER perfection adorned with feathers of liberty –
don’t try please anyone!
A storm intervenes obscuring the BIGGER PICTURE-
Save that energy
is a gift and
It’s your greatest fight.
RESPONSIBLE for so much — tempted by earths seasonal affective disorder
why does she have to be mortal?
Wings hook into shoulder blades
Reduced to a puppet attached by silver linings.
Eyes strain ,blood shot.
Wind exhales mustard peppered vapours
orchestrating sight to follow a new PERSPECTIVE.
WISDOM revealed by the crooked halo’d questions
shimmers her every inflection.
the yearn of experience — to keep heavens babe toothless , unaware of the survival evolution taking place
TENACIOUS – I overlook her every smile
stitched up my heart
the scape goat
until a moment forces me to find a burial ground
Unwillingly close my eyes –
the universe screeches –velocity erases all time.
Formless parts full up spaces amongst the dirt.
await for these settlers to wipe all memory from this life.
Old souls never alone for eternity.
We have one another to rise above our hurt.
knowledge is power, wisdom is happiness and truth is freedom
how to be a good wife. 😀 😉
Cause less sorrow.
Talk less tripe
scissors, or masking tape
love free from doubt
Decline an upgrade of
buying into a get one free argument.
Another year passed.
Still eyeballing the ferocious stye of the hurricane.
numerous days swept by
side by side
Manage to keep one another extremist sane.
Paper kites or paper cuts?
Endure and expand on our own perceived ins and out.
A test to keep harmony on a scale
Genetically modified pesticide free.
Take one for the team
Roll over Beethoven.
Parasite recoils – breathless corpse.
Rise scientific soul mates
Abandon host in search of a live love that remains.
Keep it organic
Atrocities often committed when primitive bare feet leave a trail mix of impulse.
Picking out unsavoury nuts in an odourless panic.
pause on moments passed
lovers instinctive need to recreate
Recapture the beast of time.
never once dawdling – unaware of its power to desecrate.
Maple honey squeeze leads to a scent of forget me nots
Souls connect – diffuse the trigger wire in the brain.
racing against accruing
from the memory bank.
to the knees,
‘please cease fire’
I’m no academic poet.
Talk to me about about syllables, haikus – to be honest, I can only hear the blood rushing to my head.
I started doing stream of consciousnesss posts in 2016. I’ve received positive feedback on here, and now I want to step up my game.
Just for fun, the social aspect and it’s a different way to express myself.
So, I did what I do best.
I went to the poetry workshop, everyone seemed to know what they were doing except me!
I went with my heart, my emotions and willingness to try out new approaches, in tackling poetry for live performance.
It was a cool workshop – delivered by a well established,British poet – Matt Abott –
check out his bio HERE
A collaboration with DREAM TIME COLLECTIVE.
We went through a series of activities with the idea to have some form of a draft by the end of the 2 hour workshop
The theme was political poetry.
Each participant chose a theme that they felt passionately about. I chose ‘Animal rights/cruelty. ‘
I got so much out of a two hour workshop that I’m going to share what I did.
Once we had chosen our theme/subject
we had to ask ourselves three questions
Who does it affect?
How does it affect me?
Why is it important to me or to the world?
A Couple of notes I made:
It affects animals, people, ocean, planet
I’m a lover of animals, I don’t believe that we need to eat meat, or wear clothes or makeup made up of animal derivatives. Because of my knowledge of what animals go through to become a consumer product. I feel it is unethical.
I have my own view of animals. I admire how they are able to evolve and adapt, in a way, that doesn’t have a negative impact on the planet .This shows me that humans could learn something from nature, instead of destroying our home.
2. What Matt stressed is: that if we want our poetry to make an impact writing it to perform , we need a motive, a call of action, an agenda.
Who am I delivering this message to?
What do I want to achieve?
Examples: Do I want to shock people, encourage people to look at solutions to the problem etc..
Imagine a room( keeping in mind what your subject is) and put 5 points/Images using ‘show and tell’ language to come with up with strong words.
tearing of flesh
frothing at the mouth
Place the victim/s in that room.
What are they doing ?
How do they feel?
I had two victims. I imagined a gorilla coming round from another bout of being sedated by electrocution. He was wearing garish make up – heavily made up blue eyes and bold, blood colour red lipstick.
My other victim was human – a female who happened to be dressed up in chicken outfit or as a bird. She had a morbid fascination finding herself in this surreal room with this clearly broken ,macabre gorilla.
Next we had place ourselves in that room -observing what was going on
Horror, what do I do? , retaliate or fight or freeze. I was frozen on the spot. Upon reflection, this is how most of society reacts to topics that make them uncomfortable. They become apathetic.
Next, we had to place the victim outside of that situation/ROOM . Different surroundings. Aware of what they have witnessed/ or know and how they react in a different setting.
I chose the female ,costume wearing bird human and put her in a cosmetic store. The emotions that came to me were conflicting – this victim of societies idea of attaining beauty is thinking ‘ ‘I have a choice’
The next stage was to put these ideas into the poetic form.
Make a poem.
Always keeping in mind what we want the audience or how we want the audience to react.
We were directed to to start to put together a poem of no more than 50 words, or certain amount syllables. The aim was to keep it short.
Keep it punchy.
I wrote about 100 words – possibly more.
Then we had to cut those words in half – 😦
I ended up with 46 words.
This is the end product .
Gaze in the mirror.
Blue sparkled hues
Do I look pretty enough for you?
Tearing of flesh.
Bleached in acid
Reflection never part
Do I look pretty enough for you?
The true freak in this show is
, indeed YOU.
Daisy Willows/ Natasha Bodley
Times up. Workshop over. Get back to real life 😀
Now, I have another to approach to poetry when I write.
Have a great weekend!