*To be revised*
I write about the hermit man
He often takes me by the hand.
Lost to gravity a fan falls
The same one I use to navigate the wind.
Pushed me forwards never touching my body.
Motivated a will to resurrect forgotten seeds of hope
Planted for days when there are more downs than ups.
This son of a mother pulled out the brazen sun – shed the waning Luna
Roused the Apollo within
stumbled about -gaze upwards until
in sight caught winged creatures
Caught a glimpse of the emotion of flying free.
The knowledge found in a bare, withered tree
Stem cell life.
Presumed the creature lived in my shadow
Turns out it had a growth spurt in
An external effort to shirk off the title of the saviour’s chosen one.
He who wears the hallow
Crucified by the unsynchronised dubbed over mouths
Pitched sounds out a smoke effect bellow.
Can I get a score?
Few get to see his fallen wings
Unless preparation sees an alternative
look to familiar skin.
That ole devil called love
Billie holiday thanks for the speckled dove.
Highs & lows
hi’s and by’es
at what remains
A pint of Bitter froth decomposed lost in the train of thoughts.
How the sun shine when it comes out.
blossom in spite of mood.
Aren’t vapid merely short-sighted when grey-bearded clouds appear
stubbled by the 5 o clock shadow
Stunted by growth paradigm
tuned into that dark cosmos we know is responsible for feeling so dim.
A connection to a reflection of original purity to contrast moments we believe we don’t deserve to move forward.
Clandestine cloaks conceal our original sin.
This ongoing duet I sing with a feminine hymn
scintillates my belly until I feel the fire lit again from within.
Just a few words
Writing to be something I’m not.
But a sense I’ve lost details when planning how to plot.
tongue ties all thoughts
I need a referendum to sort out what to prioritize first.
Thes are my words they grow like weeds amongst the Garden fascinators
( photo credit)
Francesca Woodman –
White Socks, Providence, Rhode Island, 1976. ( … from the book
Francesca Woodman, edited by Corey Keller, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, 2011.) Never give up!
Nina sang it well: it’s a new dawn, a new day….
When you look at yourself straight on in the mirror – chant his name three times.
The Grim Reaper is more likely to pay a visit and say
‘wassup? Thinking about all those folk who want to live. Don’t have a cat’s chance or a lucky clover to pray over.
Last night, life became mission impossible. If you read it – I’m free flowing this to say, don’t give up.
Don’t give in.
When it feels like you are at the end of Hangman’s noose, about to kick the bucket from under your feet;
that is the moment where we have the opportunity to reveal our true soul’s pathos.
Don’t you think the cloaked hooded figure has a lot of soul collecting to get on with?
I’m not saying that what we feel at the time we feel it is an illusion.
What I pointing out is that change is the only constant – and that can lead to desperate ,devastating confusion.
Inside me – I’m still trembling, worrying , wondering. What am I going to do? Can I do this?
Questions and questions and questions blowing out fog enough to make any mind spin.
Stop. Hammer time.
No , that is not what I meant to write. 😀
Warped sense of humour.
Effective enough to keep all the rattling bones and bolts inside me, cast a glow over my demeanour.
Look around you. Every time you see a flower bloom -despite its brethren humming out sad tunes.
That is Life continuing in spite of all the strife.
One seed of Hope. Get through this second,hour, evening.
Take the seed, germinate it, nurture it, feed it, love it , talk to it.
Take the time – make it thine.
watch it grow into a mighty oak – proud and on display.
it seems impossible to define.
Plant it. Don’t throw it away.
Keep a hold of it. It may just be the one thing that carries you over the struggle D-day line.
On the surface – flowers. trees, icebergs – all look fantastical – magical even.
Look below the surface. There is a formula – you can build on that too – no magic. no miracles.
Approach thyself with an examining eye.
Make it your number one priority to get to know what makes you tick.
If you stop ticking- make it your priority to know where to go to get a battery replacement or get your heart resuscitated.
Know what makes you well, try things that seem alien, reach out of that comfort zone.
Scream ,yell, type, don’t bottle it up – we have the technology – make a call -pick the phone up.
We have a voice – use it. Listen!
sweet melodic freedom – I am the only one with the key to unlock and escape from my own prison.
Never give up.
No matter how difficult and complicated it gets – remember that there is more to this space than a one-dimensional prism.
I know it’s scary – to feel caught up in a schism.
Pieces of the mind caving in -thoughts toppling over, it’s like being a Chilean miner being held hostage underground.
Two months of no light . A sorrowful plight.
It’s dark but you are still breathing. You may be the only one but time is not about to start giving in.
Chin up. Keep looking for a strategy.
An exit route. Use that sombre time to recollect . Hell, get all dramaturgy.
We come into this world kicking, screaming, wondering, possibly even believing. We mustn’t give up unless time says ‘okay enough’.
So, I say go the way you came in . If it is not our time – then fight with every muscle. All the nerve you can summon up.
Truth or dare?
I have truth spilling out of my aura like pennies falling into the slot machine, the one in working order.
Dare to have. slip on your shades if you have to – things might just get a little brighter.
You may levitate – feel lithe and even a little lighter.
Don’t be afraid to succeed and be happy
You don’t need to go to the dentist to get your two front teeth divided so you can look like Mrs Go Lucky Gappy.
*Inspired by my WRAP plan and my recent WRAP facilitator training*
Write to recover and then perform to recover. ;D
I’m moving forward again.
‘Fight the good fight’ as Charles Bukowski said. Go big or go home.
The video isn’t great quality but I’m. sharing it more to reaffirm to myself that I have just as much to bring and give as the next person.
Something I jotted down last night. I’ver lived in big cities and many small towns in different countries (maybe some people can relate) and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m done trying to show others (especially people who live in small towns) I too have my own ideas and share similar interests etc…
It doesn’t mean I’m better or anyone else is better than me It means I am who I am and the world is bigger than where I currently live.
I’ve been looking for a genre for the kind of poetry I do. I couldn’t find anything that I fit into. So I introduce ‘in yer face ‘poetry. Inspired by ‘in yer face’ theatre. That’s me and that is how I write and I’ve found a niche and I finally feel okay. with not being everyone’s favourite read or person. ha ha!
IN YER FACE POETRY – first coined by me, Daisy Willows aka Natasha Bodley – taking 100% full credit for it. ha ha!
My definition of in yer face poetry
‘ poetry that is blatant, honest, provocative ,emotional and not pretty or fancy or written to hide reality. ‘ DAISY WILLOWS
‘ Don’t be disappointed if you get rejected especially if you have made an effort to fit in. Farms are driven by human chains to contain. It’s highly unlikely that an animal bred to serve will accept you , especially if you are an animal who was born in the jungle or the savannah. Adapt , be resourceful and keep your spirit wild and free.
March to the beat that allows you to walk side by side with others, to lead others, be led or walk alone. Acceptance is but one way you fe
el secure and shouldn’t be a reason to stay in one place.
Remember those who wander and drift out of their comfort zone will always find kindred souls who get the idea that acceptance can be found in those who know security comes from within. Choose to roam and meet other spirits who remind you why you live life
. Don’t stick around waiting for people to get you or accept you. Keep moving and you will never be far from those who accept your different attitude, culture and traditions.
Embrace the misfits . They are the most intriguing and loyal spirits who will make an effort to teach you their ways and be as eager to understand your ways.’
The one word summary to the above is this.
Thanks to those who have been so supportive.
I’m still a newbie at doing open mic but what a great crowd and I’m so honoured to have had a chance to share a space with so many incredibly talented singers, comedians, poets/artists who welcomed this blooming weed into their little home and embraced me like a friend who had been away travelling.
Apologies for the poor quality video. Will try and upload a better one but tbh all you see is the back of me ha ha! Not very exciting.
Inspired by his lyrics – it’s not exactly physics.
Big boy –
Atomic bomb decoy don’t come across as coy.
Paranoia looms over
A shadow with no owner.
Scented thoughts hang outside on the laundry line – drying out, pegged up, sketchy.
Nowt out of the ordinary.
The demise of senseless beatings.
The savage frolic in secret meetings.
Can’t keep these eyes open – Mind is wired to sensor an alert token.
Add a word to the vocabulary list.
Reading made up stories,
Can’t get the gist.
Thinking of the times I’ve reinvented my speech,
Just so folk wouldn’t turn away
Mistake me for a blast of mist.
A libran to balance my ails.
If vaccines worked, would I even need this skeleton tail?
I’m proficient in scripted
fulminate. A non- believer has to have a reason to detonate.
Terrorized by bones unhinged, pelvic oddities, a face grappling on the fringes.
Uncertainty – you can do it!
Mascot duty bellows: Y
ou blew it. Everyday the input becomes more,
Ouput audios in a fervescent roar.
Fading into a nebulant place slowed down by brain freezers swimming in a shoal.
No near-empty dregs to fill my soul.
Restricted by self- limitation.
Hear me when I say,
I’m not doing this for inspiration.
What to do in a world knocked into askew?
Nondescript, omniscient eyes
Know when to usher in the seasonal yule.
Prop me up.
Don’t give up.
Against all better judgment – I implode from the inside.
I had it all figured out until I became a seeker in need of washed out make -overs from dead flotsam at low tide.
*Inspired by internal conflict and the world.* 😀
Some days you just have to create your own sunshine
one liner Wednesday
Contemplating about my guilt.
Flood waters break.
Bursts in Death’s wake.
Sombre sombreros sway nonchalantly past my weary face.
I see the disguise
Its dressed as the waif.
Inside I try to blossom-
Inside I will myself to wake.
No lovers kiss to make my fate.
I rise and I fall,
fall and rise.
Twisted thoughts convulse my dreams
until I arise in an apathetic state.
Change is inevitable,
Words hold weight worth more than gold ,myrrh or diamonds.
Mere blistered pearls
as shallow as the last tide waving goodbye for a wee break.
My heart is as vast and abundant in potential as the Congo
Stuck in reverse.
The past holds me motionless
Yet,I fight for her smile.
To hear her laugh.
I don’t realize that this is all that I wait for.
To be the queen of mirth in some one else’s hour of need,
will make me stronger.
I will live as I please.
Fulfill my destiny.
Duty is a gift.
Present in this moment
These are mere weights.
yet my spirits lift.
This is my show.
You are a part of it too .
One chance to realize your dreams
I, you and we.
Signing off with a silver lining;
These are my words.
They define my mood.
Not my girth.
*musings – write to recover
Oh how did this happen to me
The girl from some other foreign city?
Wiley enough to make a plan
Cunning and soft of heart -all my eggs bled before the start of labour
Before the sun came up.
It hid her pain, all the clots of her smiles.
She would coocoo again
for her soul was of one who couldn’t quit even when they told her she was dead.
It’s hard to be a wordsmith
when brain cells are deficit in cursive
I strain to see the letters
I see I want to get betters.
If these are the only words I write
Today, a better ‘morrow insight.
My first uploaded spoken word piece.
Time has been unbearable.
I’m so tired. I have yet to start my journey.
To hear Daisy in audio 😉 click on the link below
I’ll be back after a few long messages.
So many people watch and talk about those who they under estimate. By all means watch,
Maybe you will learn how to deal with one or two of your own issues A perfectly flawed Daisy Willows I let us down?
Shadows betrayed with a mere glimpse of a frown.
No words can express the guilt dictatorship governing me
It’s not a cop out. I know right from wrong – I know this plea
Manipulations-sucked into the vortex
Epileptic fits, child crying for a place where dinosaurs indeed exist in the mix.
Buying time while losing our minds.
Insanity led me to insist this was the shortest cut to a state of perpetual eutrophic times
Heart attack — Jack missed his usual target in sundry extrapolation.
Too much — too much — afraid to not have enough-
once choice I have to have an abortion
…..or an abortion.
The value of life against a three digit number
is not worth the risk of another loosing sanity – Look at that temper!
Fuelled by selfish, ridiculous acts in percussive persuasion.
Sick of hurting the good ones in the pursuit for a place in time where we are not struck down by our own damnation.
Heightened emotions — rouged the face of her grace .
Head rendered poisoned by the one with the latex face
Queer sighs — teary eyed.
Worth all this anvil chorus shrieking out implacable aural instigation
The fear if a god had its grip on me – I would take the whip out on my vice with attempts of self flagellation.
my soul betrays all sense of balance –
5 years of drudgery for something that has less weight than a heart.
Lost in that maze of procrastination — buying time — throwing out another seasonal line.
Fear – it will run out-plans mystify my usual organised self — maturate until all evidence of ejaculation is collected by its DNA component to outsmart.
Happiness leads to an oasis dried up well —
See that camel over there?
she’s my final hope for a sip of redemption
Unusual for a vegan to murder an animal for a quench of innocence-how far I’ve fallen —
two points away from extinction
Madness runs forever in a contortion
Fucked if I know how to talk sense into a cross eyed mass of exhaustion.
Pillage me for I am running low.
All thought out plans left in the bloodied soulless bodies of Russia’s war in winter snow
Front line-I cower-there is no courage in the how I dished out my packable blow
Left in a quiver — screamed by the knock of confrontation at my door
I do. I do I do..
If not for myself but for the one who I look to
I observe it as one would in a zoo
Meaning to be dutiful
This reflection is the antithesis of beautiful.
How long can love last?
when the tokoloshe is cross examined for its denied attempt at buying its time
or trying to convince that biding echoes are indeed in the indefinite past.