Poem – ‘A’ Is For Attraction

Writing

Enveloped in an aura of eternal amor.

Any armour I adorned,

Has been undone, it has been torn. 

 

Most magnetic is the mystery.

My mind is mute from misery,

As my heart mends from the lover before.

 

‘A’ is for attraction,

The feeling of acceptance,

Of an emotion more alien and more raw.

 

The feeling I have for you,

With the most painful kind of hope,

That you had it for me too, and not her.

A Poem About Love

Writing

Love.

Imaginary, or a force of nature?

Like the idea of ‘consciousness’.

Are they both just falsehoods,

Or truly realities experienced by those favoured?

 

Love.

As comforting as a hot bowl of soup,

On a cold frosty evening.

In its absence we are all but,

Lost souls, floating on rafts destined for sinking.

 

Love.

Perhaps yearned for more than money itself,

A truth too close to the heart,

That we mask it with our insatiable appetite for wealth.

I gush with guilt in admitting to the above.

Only to find myself alone at night,

Wondering. What it means to be loved. 

 

Poem: Present/Future

Writing

 

We only have the present.

Regardless of what we want in our futures,

It is the ‘now’ which takes all of the credit.

 

Living in the moment,

An experience unknown to many.

We disown it in exchange for a chance to oneday own a moment, 

Which is nothing more than merely a ‘maybe’.

 

Hope is one thing.

Oblivion another.

Do you look in the mirror and see yourself for who you are?

Or always strive to be somebody better?

 

Poetry: Change

Writing

A leopard can change its spots.

But cheetahs never do.

Changing your mind is one thing.

But changing your heart, is about as easy as making a mountain move.

 

2020

A new year, a new you.

This year will be different.

A false promise? Or does here lie the truth?

 

Do you need to change your perspective?

Moreso than actually changing you?

Do you need to take more time reflecting?

Than taking time, faking, being too big for your boots?

 

Poem: La Familia

Writing

La Familia,

Blood’s thicker than water.

A ‘V’ for Vendetta,

If any were to ‘runneth’ over.

 

Sibling feuding subsides,

Eyes are dried as,

The belly of the beast rolls over in submission.

Fist fights in a blink of an eye become,

Nothing more than a memory of augmented vision.

 

La Famila,

The Family,

The Clan.

Does the man make the family,

Or does the family make the man?

Poem: Stress

Writing

Stress.
The subtle strangler.
It manifests itself in many ways.
A fabrication of the mind.
Sending cortisol coursing through our veins.

Life – so full of precious pressures.
So petty, so small, minute.
‘A busy life is a happy one.’
A lie disguised as truth.

Poem: A Parent’s Love

Writing
A Parent’s Love
Embers of amor engulf us as you touch my face once more.
Held in your arms as closely as the day on which I was born.
You have loved me from the moment my heart began beating.
A childhood spent with you,
If only time could be repeated.
Although I will grow up,
I will always be your child.
A bond that’s shared – so strong,
A love so unconditional – it’s blind.
**Picture taken by me at Woburn Safari Park in Summer 2019.

Poem: Anger

Writing

Teeth grit like vice grips on steel.

The metallic hiss rings unforgivingly long.

I raise my hands to the air

Empty handed I surrender.

Empty handed I look for answers.

Yet none rings true for this.

Like a swinging pendulum

I’m hot and then cold

Impatience – an unwelcome friend yet makes itself all too known.

Trying to pacify myself is like

Trying to run backwards up a hill.

Continuously falling downwards.

Makes for a bitter

Pill.

To swallow.

I wallow,

I’m self pity.

Woe be to me for I have seen more tragedy,

In my little mind’s eye than you’ve seen wrongs over rights.

More sleepless nights,

As the hag rides,

Drive bys

Seem like nursery rhymes

Compared the stories I rewind at bedtime.

Poem: Timeless Beauty

Writing

Timeless beauty.

What a contradiction.

Will you still love me,

When my hair loses thickness?

When my skin starts to wrinkle?

When my youth is but memory in the distance?

 

Time.

It’s bittersweet.

Cruel to the appearance.

Yet kind to the mind.

Stripping away my pride in my looks,

To expose an endearment for the memories I share with you. 

 

Love is not lust.

And lust is not love.

So do you choose a beautiful person,

Or someone blessed solely with looks from above?

 

Poem: Stress

Writing

An advantage or a hindrance?

The Goldilocks analogy, 

Too much – and you can’t handle it.

Too little – and you’re indifferent.

 

Your blood, now laced with cortisol,

Your mind is always racing,

Synapses twitch like rabbits nostrils,

Your patience is fast erasing.

 

What can you do to make it stop?

You internally ask yourself?

Yet there is nothing you can do,

No saviour, resolve or help

 

For stress is not the real enemy here,

Moreso the mind it occupies. 

Change your perspective of how stress appears.

Then perhaps you’ll have alot to realise.

Poem – I Will Remember

Writing

Entangled in a web of grief,

Spiralling out of control.

Swig a bottle of cyanide, should I?

To let the pain mellow?

 

I couldn’t bear to bring myself,

To meet such ill a fate.

Instead I took a sip once more,

Of lemon and ginger ale.

 

I sip and reminisce,

 Of how life used to be.

When we would pick the daisies,

Beneath  the cherry trees.

 

I remember when you would hold my hand.

And tell me you’d never let go.

Your warm breath against my cheek,

Almost as warm as your smile, it glowed.

 

Forever I will love you,

Forever you shall be missed.

Heaven will always have taken you, 

Too early for me to accept.

If only God knew the pain I felt,

Then the angels would truly have wept.

 

Life – is but a fragile thing.

So precious, so easily lost.

If I could pray for just one thing,

It would be for you to come back to my arms. 

 

A close friend of mine recently lost her Father, he passed away while they were on family holiday. I dedicate this poem to her.

City life

Writing

Like mice,

Trapped in the rat race.

A maze made for manipulation.

Man against man, race against race. 

 

A breath.

Of fresh air at dawn.

As futile as asking the sun to,

Rise at dusk and set in the morn.

 

Private,

A word less chosen.

Only by those of land un-citied.

Cities keep the term unspoken.

Poetry: Success

Writing

The sweet scent of success,

If only it lingered just that little bit longer.

If only it tasted just that little bit stronger.

 

Is success a waiting game,

Or a game of chase?

Should I give it my all,

Or should I accept my fate?

 

Success.

The word on the tips of all of our tongues.

Yet what it actually means,

Is anyone’s guess,

So has yours ended or begun?

Poem – A Little Thing Called ‘Fear’

Writing

Fear,

The lovechild of stress and caution.

An unwelcome neighbour,

Making itself at home in your delusion.

It’s intentions  – unclear.

 

It picks it’s moments,

Most uncalled for.

Like lying in your bed and hearing the front door become ajar.

Or hearing your name whispered very softly from afar.

 

Fear,

It’s a teaseful breed.

Unlike lust and greed, for it, we have no need.

Or do we?

Poem: Ocean

Writing

The ocean hugs the shoreline like a mother does her child.

Waves crash against the coastline as the stars above collide.

A million lightyears away, do planets exist like mine?

Why does it matter anyway? For it’s Earth where I reside. 

 

The sunlit sands so soft to touch, as Mr Sunshine beams his smile,

The scent of salty seaweed, inhaled deeply with passing time.

Do you think that we were made by the world, or was this world made by you and I?

A question left unanswered, do you care to give it a try?

 

The ocean hugs the shoreline like a mother does her child.

Waves crash against the coastline as the stars above collide.

I watch as animals lose their lives, bodies wash upon the shore tonight.

Pollution- a major cause of their mortality, it’s peculiar how noone sees without light. 

 

*We need to do more to protect our planet. At this moment in time mankind cannot migrate to Mars or another planet. Even if we could, is it really acceptable to leave damage and destruction in our wake? 

 

B*tch Stole My Work

Writing

“It’s fine though, I changed the font so it’s mine now”. 

 

What would be worse, pitching article ideas  to a magazine company only to have them reject you and for you later to find out that they’ve posted pieces online which obviously spawned from your very original idea? 

Or having the magazine agree to commission you, you spend weeks perfecting the piece, only to find that once it is published your name is nowhere to be seen, yet instead it says something along the lines of ‘written by author of ‘X’ magazine team’?Your name is not listed, just the term author, or worse the commissioning editor’s name as the author. This has happened to me. 

To me both are appalling but the second is saddeningly worse. To not credit the creator of the work be it writing, artwork or any other medium is not just morally wrong it is illegal. 

 

It’s saddening to think that there are people out there who would quite happily take my articles and not credit me on them. 

This kind of thing makes me not want to pitch my ideas to people. Has this ever happened to you, how do you or how  would you deal with it?

 

Because once you realise they’ve not credited you correctly you then have to sum up whether you want to confront them on this or just accept the unfairness. If they are a large magazine company do you really want to bring this conversation to the doorstep, will this block you from writing for them again? But then again as it stands without your name on the article it looks like you never have written for them  anyway, so you might aswell fight your corner I guess. 

 

Apologies for the rant, I think I’m just sick of the above happening to me. And wondered if I’m not alone with this?

Poem: Collapsing

Writing

Collapsing,

My last breath feels inevitable. 

Food, a phrase once so fruitious,

Now feels so forgettable.

Picking the apple from Eden,

An action so regrettable. 

 

I claw and I clamber,

You believe that I committed perjury 

One measly morsel of food is all that I ask for.

Yet you deny me this luxury,

I am no cardinal sinner.

Let God be my judge,

 Lord above, please listen to my prayers.

Poem: Time

Writing

 

Time.

Moving passed like 

Dew dripping from the leaves of

The waxiest cuticles.

My hands,

Gnarled, close tight,

Around the memories,

Uprooted by those of time.

 

Time,

A spectre of the night,

Time, invisible to the eye

Of even the most profound inspectors. 

I suspect.

Expecting time to wait for,

Any man.

Is like expecting a hug on

No man’s land.

 

Time,

And time again we

Try to cheat it’s nimble ways.

Like sacrificial lambs to the slaughter we,

Try to resort to cosmetics to

Bathe in youth’s fountain forever

 

Poem: Planet Earth

Writing

What is this planet we call home?

 

Crying tears of salt water,

Which hugs the coastlines days later.

Spouting rivers of lava,

Meandering from vast volcanic craters.

Motions of oceans,

You see land, you feel safer.

Deserted deserts.

Here thirst does not waver.

Hosting the coldest of climates

Where chances of death become greater.

This planet we call home,

The home of Mother Nature.

Poems: My Self-Written Seasonals

Writing

What better way to welcome in the season of Summer than to give a recap of the ones that come before and after it through poetry:

autumn autumn colours brown countryside

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The Fall of Autumn

Death never looked so beautiful,

Leaf litter burnt orange in the fading Autumn sun,

Crunches beneath my feet as the day carries on.

 

The air is colder,

Green is no longer seen.

The days are shorter,

A Midsummer Night is merely but a dream.

 

Ochre, pumpkin,  chestnut and crimson.

All show their true colours to this decaying season.

Autumn – like a Pageant Queen Killer,

Gushes with guilt,

As she plants the kiss of death.

On her Mother Nature.

 

bonfire

Photo by Mitchell Henderson on Pexels.com

Winter

Crimson embers of fire crackle,

Beneath the pale moon light.

The stars they twinkle like tiny freckles,

Upon the face of the night.

 

The sun awakens, from its slumbers,

Naked vegetation shivers with delight.

For they are scarce, they’re few in number,

Desperate for the new day’s light.

 

The season sets a spell of slumber,

Upon the many lives,

Of plants and animals growing fonder,

To sleeping day and night.

 

This too shall pass,

It just takes might,

Time will change,

The clock will strike.

 

A day will come,

Where we can surrender the fight,

Of surviving these testing hardships,

But until then. Goodnight.

road landscape nature forest

Photo by veeterzy on Pexels.com

Sensation

Smell the rain,

Smell the rain, don’t see it

The dampened tarmac aroma intensifies as cars go flying by like drive bys at midnight

Feel the heat of the rays on your skin,

Hairs on your neck rise like budding blossoms in spring

Hear the drops of tears hit the leaves, leaves crushed by commuters, the buyers and thieves

Don’t see……….feel

 

When your eyes sleep, other senses awaken

Do not be mistaken, the alternative senses must not be forsaken

When I ask you what do you see, please don’t just say trees

Say the rustles of leaves in the breeze or the sticky sap on your knees

Tell me that you will see more than you thought you were meant to see.

Too many people let life pass them by, avoid eye contact with strangers, avoid our environment’s hidden surprises.

To only stop for a moment and take in the world around us

would be a pleasant realisation that life has finally found us.

birdseye photography of city buildings near trees and mountains

Photo by O1234567890 on Pexels.com

A December Day

The air is crisp, cold and clean.

My breath sparkles in its grasp like fairydust.

I feel like a fairytale’s dragon.

 

The darkness cloaks the clouds,

Choking out any lasting glimmers of light,

As the sun sets low in the Winter sky.

 

The trees look fragile.

Their vulnerability exposed,

By the nakedness of their form.

 

Time slows.

Patience is a virtue,

As you wait for the freeze to thaw.

 

Spring is almost upon us,

Fingers crossed,

The wait won’t be too long. .

 

 

**Each piece is copyright protected.