Category Archives: POETRY

All poetry styles.

Why* if* when * who

Why do we close our eyes when we sleep?

When we cry?

If we imagine?

Who we kiss?

This is because the most beautiful things in

the world is unseen.



Perhaps I want to..

I want to stop stuffing my mouth with food

To allow the words I swallow tumble out my own truth .

I want my voice not to sound happy

I want it to be happy.

I want to eat meals without guilt.

I don’t want to be overweight.

I want anorexia to stop carving every single slice of edible part until there is nothing but my skeletal soul

Nothing but the debris of littered thoughts

Soiled emotions

Discarded remnants of self love.

I’m screaming

Pleading for just one match to light up my black holed life

The abyss that taunts

Torments

Each moment

Each breath

Every movement

I want to publish a book of my words

One solarity book to place on my bookshelf

I want to feel sexy without thinking that being curvy is criminal.

I want to feel pretty

Confident that I can eat sushi tonight when my daughter has a McDonald’s happy meal.

I’ve scoured the Just Eat.com menu

The thoughts become lairy loud

It becomes easier to take a valium or a drink

Awash myself clean against the accusations

I’m tainted

Impure

My thighs touch

My breasts are disproportionately imperfect

And,

I don’t want to blame it on Some tasteless comment some child made when I was 12 years old.

My collar bones are disappearing

My butt is bigger

Im not disappearing

I’m not smaller

I want a worthwhile exsistance

I want to claim my happiness

Perhaps my words are my winning ticket to recovery .

Perhaps I need to buy enough ink and paper to print off 6 years of documented writings, poems, plays, stories and musings

I want

I want

I want my body to understand what it needs

I need

I need

I need my mind

To understand

What it wants.

Second life -Mort tell et tea

* This Borderline poem was written a week before I attempted to take my life (again).I ended up in Critical Care in a coma for 7 days & in ICU for a further 6 days. I was discharged from hospital on the 21st of May 2020 *

Please, make sense of reality.

Use a stream of consciousness

words to

 Vent,

rant,

rave,

A discovery in recovery

Fathom out sense because words are only as good as the interpreter.

Could add literary success to a Gravatar profile in an E-book

Add a few drafts poured into that fulminate crunched up chaos.

This doesn’t invoke a feeling of literary success.

Trying.

Struggling to convey all words .

Reciprocated words are often misinterpreted

Misheard

Another attempt to convey these words.

Perhaps one person will see this array of affray spread its torment defecating the inner spiral case of the

Mind,

It swirls down these steps in every way.

The moment to call it a day

This draws an outline forever to have the last say.

Hear me proclaim

This

Is

My

Life.

Don’t want to carry on living this way

Shame lingers

It overstays — the bailiff texts for rent arrears

Read,

What is laid down?

Listen

I’m not done yet.

Hanging by a thread it’s tethered

Seen many days to identify as weathered

Hanging by a thread

This is my life purpose!

Final chance to meet my fate

Waited for this all my life

A mystery date with a severed soul mate.

Taught & tethered & weathered is this rope

To late

convinced

I’m no tightrope walker.

I’ve become my own word stalker.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda arrested these rants before my digress

Covert corner

Wait in this hidden corner.

Evidently I’ve learned that survival is innate.

It ain’t easy to digest the days I’m not blessed to eat from a plate.

keep rising up despite a lifetime’s worth of trip-ups.

Until I die

One fine day

I’ll face the final exit of my mortality

I’ll know the truth

Either way it’s gonna end up with a body

Fatality.

Subconsciously know why I feel

It’s called humanity

What do I know about that damp dark corner entertaining souls I’ve yet to meet?

Going to have to wait for a promising future chance we haven’t dreamt of taking yet.

If I lose all memory

Forget those words 

soggy, wet, lost to another realm of the bereft

Lest I forget.

I write to recover.

Be happy or die trying.

Simultaneously a resilient species & inconveniently inept.

 

 


 

Spindrift

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 .

La Mer

– 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

  1. spray swept by a violent wind along the surface of the sea.

Spindrift is a variant of the Scots spoondrift, with the nautical verb spoon orspoom meaning “to run or scud before the wind.” It entered English around 1600.

DICTIONARY.COM

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Cape Vulnerable

Danger lurks in wild-eyed faces.

Thoughts restrained to assuage feelings inverted debases.

Danger thrusts a third eye world view,

of hatred and vomit a careless overlook of blind men seeking to anew.

Danger conquests damsel in distress.

Jeans make it pleasurable for when she denies its requests.

Danger,

danger,

danger, –  it haunts her.

She sees what she wants to see; how it taunts her.

Hush little darling, remember naive, white rose petals,

Dreams hijacked by villains in full uniform metals.

Skettled and nettled – itching to find a place to seek comfort.

A goose down feather pillow makes a dream fit for the unfit.

Danger.

Danger.

Danger, it hawks in on her.

Hush, little darling – feed thine hunger, mother goose is baking in the oven.

Commit to a mind of normal functions. Emotional battery, maternal coven.

Reach not for this soul. It is claimed and is bold.

Wretched and lectured- ears buzzing with sensory ejaculation.

Sleeping partners do just what the contract state. Don’t let this assume an identity of edification.

Soothe, muse, love every bone,

ever tenderized bruise.

Damsel will never see you fall from your pedestal – you can never lose.

Choose, use -in moderation – her body will allow you to take so know thine limits

Infants on feet -rapping at the  doors -ready to impose a new order in the house of the fidgets.

Trumpet life

TRUMPET LIFE

Under pressure.

Breaking apart — splinting at a crucial fissure.

Until,

It  causes an eruptive displeasure.

Disquieted mind  brushes strokes of  bad blood around these elemental  chambers.

Cordoned off.

This is my plea.

So, don’t arouse my anger.

Beaten hearts with a wooden spoon.

These wings will fly-

I’m a fledgling, not a buffoon.

Weep for the Teether’s – the naive doomed  creatures.

They grow into  adults

Dolly the sheep baa’ed down pilgrims resting on mothering Sunday.

Bloody miscarriages — that awoke the town from their  walking slumber.

Think 6 nonsense thoughts a day to keep you sane!

Perforate these gums.

We’re merely animals lacking in  humanity,

Evolved to maim the world for self depravity.

Governed by  social media surveyors  cohearsing   joined up conversation into cursive bubbles.

Uttering bullocks — unravel the mind to overcome the low ebb of the  tide.

Disquieted mind tumbles over.

Terribly tainted, it is prompted to conjure a pantomime.

San Francisco knights

Dangle buckle boots or  bare feet over the  bay.

The full  moon is reflective.

Learned that life will conquer them too  if it has its own way.

Make it a Wishing well.

Make it the  Stage!

Exist or live….

Hell is on earth  — uprise to increasing fees,

We’re bludgeoned to death

if we don’t  pay.

Over and over.

More and more.

Gluttonous gloaters   feed our souls community  with   skunk;

not from Bombay.

We walk around the streets in mobile  psychosis.

We are a society fabricated from bedlam , deserted   in these woods.

Wondering about other lands,

Running away from daggers armed by cloaks concealed behind hoods.

We dance around  the pink elephant cuffed behind its  cage — waiting for the  trumpet,

To spray all 7 dynasties  with glory seeds.

A trunk  with roots in disarray,

This is Life that I seek to portray.

*Inspired by writers block, panic attacks, mental illness, injustice, isolation, fear and the song ‘San Francisco Knights by People Under The Stairs’

*Inspired by writers block, panic attacks, mental illness, injustice, isolation, fear and the song ‘San Fransico Knights by People Under The Stairs’

The mirror

The mirror reflects the beast is inside it.

Inside the mirror the beast reflects,

On ideas inside reflective retrospection.

Reflect reflexive reflux.

Unburden the beast

From  the mirror on its side.

Beasted prisms

-open mouthed,

Cavernous cat calling, flea bags .

Black shades of night undeterred by the mirror at that angle.

Pages of bondage erotica famish the interior of the beast within.

This mirror shatters,

splinters shriek for a second too long to be assumed  as straight.

Queer in the way they lay askance humming for a low light to see inside the shade.

Hecklers shadier  than souls  of migrated slaves left behind in the mines.

Mine’s   more saintly that Mary Magdelean and her merry consorts.

Inside the mirror comes an ideology in pursuit,

In vain it pursues the ideal mirror come -ingly

Humming birds make cuckoos cower and tall trees suppress air ,sneering inwards.

Deforestation is a  reflection of the soul of the beast

This is our true form.

Humans are the beasts of nature.

A crystallized form of sin

A loss of the last glimmer of humanity.

*Inspired by reading  ‘Reading experiment’ by Hazel Smith. Chapter one- Introductory strategies

At the peak of clarity

And ,

at  the peak of her insanity

A moment to glance away from this  reflection gunning down with its eyes of La Mort

if she could see past the discombulated figures

Deflect

An outline

of

fear and self-loathing will

dissolve

A moment of clarity

my child in her stark purity dancing in front of the mirror.

Find her standing motionless

pick up the comb, attend to her dutifully

This reflection

This motion is fuelled by a fierce love.

A fierce love distorted by fragments

by her own mother’s dysmorphia

The same mother who flees from her Self every day.

If this is not a demonstration of love

then it is a moment of clarity

A reality  of her creation

Sweet bitter

A tipple

Tears or bourbon

No longer certain

Does it matter?

Then it is a moment of clarity.

A muse in Patron

It don’t matter how many selfies you take.

What matters is if you can accept your own mirror reflection.

No time to flinch.

No time to hesitate.

Free to stride across abundant valleys conjured by a sweeping imagination.

God, when she weeps!

I collect her tears.

Covertly

Thankful for the martyr,

My patron muse.

Crystallized an abundant array of gifts .

Perhaps it is a silhouette…

Perhaps it is a rainbow’s smile illuminating intrinsic hues…

These words could reveal Science’s stuttering staccato voicing his love for nature.

For all her might

For all her brute

Which one is Beauty?

Which is Art?

What if you believed the sky is indeed blue?

Willful wrong

(a stream of consciousness  borderline poem unrevised) 

Whilst fleeing from the echoes of ‘you were in the wrong’. The Screws twist torture upon entering her 4th chamber.

Inside her bloody mind. Dried & pressed between her breasts

Leaves, stained by painting the roses red.

Long live to leave the Queen of Hearts

Lovers lost: Lovers found -past & tense -future is uncertainty abound.

Forever locked in a  gaze with the  omniscient eyes of Janus

Uncalculated, her actions motivated by too much heart. Unruly emotions betrayed her by treason. Penelope, she is not for a reason.

Lost to thoughts in solitude until reunited with like-minded misfits caught up in the cycles we call seasons.

 

* Inspiration for Acrostic poetry word ‘willful’ came from how some people describe me & I wrote this cos the one person I thought would “get” how complicated relationships are (didn’t). #write to recover and keep me sane.

 

willful

adjective

will·​ful | \ ˈwil-fəl \
variants: or wilful

Definition of willful

1: obstinately and often perversely self-willed a stubborn and willful child