Poem – ‘Try’

Writing

Swallowing pride,

Suppressing suggestions of surrendering,

To the doubts damning me from within.

 

An attempt to achieve,

Guised more as an attack on my ego,

Failure must be coupled with Cheshire cat’s grin. 

 

To try,

An action well-known to the brave.

Yet not even an acquaintance of I nor him. 

 

Trying to try,

Should be an accolade in itself,

With the focus on winning being second to this.

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. 

 

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: Winter

Writing

 

Cheeks flushed crimson,

Embers crackle,

As the smoke billows beyond the seams of the Oak smoked door.

 

A faint glow from within the forest,

The little cottage.

Offering temporary relief,

From a permanent frost.

 

Brave the wind, the rain and the snow.

A feat too difficult for now.

Yet a necessity for

Tomorrow.

 

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: Home

Writing

Where is ‘home’?

Is home my little brick house by the sea, corroded by gale gusts and seagulls?

Is home the place in my mind, that place noone else can see of?

Does my heart lead me home, where my parents still reside?

Or if migrated, is it instead the place where I first began life?

Tell me –  ‘home’?

Is it just a little place that we dream of?

 

What if I said that I had no ‘home’?

Would this be a joy or tragedy?

A nomad has no set land of their own.

So does this mean that they must live life tragically?

 

Why do we feel the need to call a certain location a ‘home’?

For a sense of security, comfort and shelter?

If we were to all lose our homes tomorrow,

Would it be for the worse or for the better?

 

 

 

 

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: Rejection

Writing

Stinging like the barb of a hornet,

Heckles on my neck, shocked, stand upright.

I’m in disbelief.

 

Stormy skies swirl above me,

My mind, clouded with an overcast of doubt.

Why didn’t they just pick me?

 

I thought I was good enough,

But what good is water if absent in a drought?

 

Is this pain permanent or temporary?

Do I have what it takes to succeed?

Or is it time to remove my mask?

 

Rejection  – such a daunting thing,

Making a mouse of a man in any task. 

 

But can it make a man out of me?

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.

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? 

 

Poem: The Moon

Writing

One small step for man,

One giant leap for mankind.

A man upon the moon you say?

Why yes, ‘twas the year of 1969. 

 

The moon, La Luna,

How mind-boggling you are to the eye.

Spherically similar to the Earth,

Yet still as different as day is to night.

 

A guardian of light,

Illuminating the darkness that cloaks the sky.

A blank canvas that man has began to touch,

Will it be to better you, or will it be your demise?

 

**Today marks the 50th year anniversary of the moon landing. The last time man returned to the lunar landscape was in 1972. When/ will we return again?

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

 

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.

Poem: Climate Change

Writing

 

My limbs gnarl, sap suffocates my lungs as I gasp for another breath of the smog.

I’m losing my fight for life.

For centuries I have supplied oxygen to your veins, now you remove it from mine?

In times before you uprooted me, and spoiled the very soil I laid upon.

Now you turn to decapitation,

Intoxication.

Of the very  air I rely upon.

 

You think only of the immediacy and  not of the future.

Thinking only of your own benefit, and not even that of your own mother’s.

Why are you blinded to what you are doing to this planet?

You wouldn’t walk into your own house and quite simply trash it?

Would you?

 

You think it’s cushy, that to try and save the environment is some sort of tree huggers eulogy?

That in their last breath they begged for an epiphany from humanity.

With irony, perhaps that really is what life is all about.

Death.

Why bother carrying on the life of your genes,

By having children when you leave,

Them a planet which will just get weak week after week?

You teach them your petty practices of pumping out pollution and pompously wasting.

For what? So they can have instant electricity to cook their microwave meals while watching TV.

 

You don’t see the problem, because you purposely don’t look for it.

You don’t see the wood for the trees.

For you basically cleared most of it.

You only care about the you and the now.

 

When you are laying 6ft under and the soil around you is toxic.

When your toxic thoughts have played out in the lives of others just for profit.

I guess then the state of the planet means nothing to you.

Just make sure instead of one child, you double up and have two.

For mortality rates will likely rise,

As the planet gets sicker too.

So yes, be as selfish as they come,

Isn’t that what life means to you?

Poem: Disability

Writing

 

Disability

It’s all about perspective.

To you, I’m Dissed.

Disadvantaged.

Dismissed, before I even get a chance to.

 

Whether I’m ‘weak’ in the mind,

Or ‘weak’ at the knees.

Your mind’s made up,

Before I even get a chance to plead.

 

You judge me on appearances.

Refuse to look beyond my disability.

Take no time to read between the lines.

You think you are better than me.

 

I am a disabled person.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t have ability.

I am a disabled person.

Who has a different ability.

 

To Dad, thank you for teaching me how to see the world differently, through your eyes.