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Will write poetry for love
I’m supposed to be the one who is feeling strong
Yet, I have got the biggest feeling I am getting it so wrong
Stick by me in sickness and in health,
You have never let me down with all your lovin wealth
I feel I have let you down
I don’t need to see no frown.
The truth is as my mind slowly unhinges
The incessant call of sleeping Grimm makes sure it stays on the fringes.
Loud and shrill,
My mind took a detour- scarpered for that biggest hill.
All I want to do is be your deserving queen,
the one that acts out on the things I mean.
To do
to be
Mind is running away after hearing a great big boo.
I am no poet
It’s not hard to show it.
I just want you to know,
even in this state of harrow.
I love you
even when I am stripped of my bow and arrow.
You are my king
with this fact alone –
let it be known that in the end
we will soar,
even if only with one wing.
Mike banana
inspired by this T -shirt )
Mike / Nike bananas – waaaah?
Don’t believe in a day a tee.
Don’t believe in a dye a tee.
I believe in emotions.
A parable.
A moral .
A story.
A lesson
learnED
If I listened without interrupting ( never filmed my candidates on camera) I’d be past the ignorant rear view mir row ing
dialed hind sight one wave too late.
Long pause… ( episodic moment).
Bananas
Should have put a hashtag
(#) radiation *may cause seizures * * drug use * misuse * violence * harsh misuse of a vape * .
Film censorship can be deceiving.
I watch many films primed or netted for my viewing,
I see the warnings
How these kids ever going to adjust to life calling ?
I need a bit of tuning.
I started this off topic ness from listening to a past recorded conversation. I’m out of my depth .
I see
I’m out of my depth.
Now..
I’ve a 6 4 2 bounce back pillow from the silent sisters who muted on their way to the unseen pleides.
Piroutte mode.
Peel out of the mould
Did I lose you to a Mike bananas T- shirt that the mad republic would ask a beetle to submerge.
These words die with a relic…
. . . . . . . 7 dot dive of dismal drivel.
Iil
Born
Some of us are born heartbroken from the initial
To final push .
We are the ones that don’t cry until we get a pat on the back
We are the ones that know the doctors’ have a hypocratic oath to enforce .
Life is forced upon those who don’t ask…
The ties must be cut with or without a puppet curtsey or kneel in prayer.
The law states we have a duty to care for ourselves
for others ..
The laws – they diminish a heart beaten with a wooden spoon .
Zero tolerance.. humanity is a price we have come to despair.
Punitive the fare we must pay. The care sector,our families who wish no t pretence
to smile on arrival at a wake.
We live for our reasons . We betray our feelings .
Perhaps it’s when the sun denies we are in treason
we dare shed a tear for our shadow
Some of us born heartbroken ’til we die.. we become the life savers or the enablers of the lie.
#writetoexpress
Today
Walked out my front door
First time in 5 days, I turned right for a change of scenery chucking out the rubbish – the highlight of this today
Beneath my feet the concrete was still grey
My demeanour resembled the bland council houses’ unimaginative choice of decorating on the cheap -resembling a prison … whatever . No , I’m done rhyming today.
What prompts these feathered words typed and on display – a bird not in flight
Wings tinged with blue a sorrowful sight to see no fight
Eyes bright with dewy deadpan light.
Eyes screeching victoriously: I found the worm special of the day!
How do I say , justify , describe the way my heart swooned the wrong way. I looked up at the sky thankful for the first time in many years for its consistent rays.
A distraction , a ruse – I knew it was dead . I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t move him onto a more dignified path. I was afraid he’d come back to life.
Circled around him in a hesitantly callous way
How dare he interrupt a quiet walk-the first in almost a week from sunday?
Did I imagine it semi fluttering whilst I walked past him with my bin liner full of litter ?
I profess to love watching those with wings -airborne soaring . I’m envious. A speculative visual adorned with glittered hues , proof that life moves in every way.
I confess I have a phobia of dead birds. Past memories of one I wasn’t able to save in my childhood
Direction moved me to walk the other way from a lifeless soul left to rot on a staircase.
I’m ashamed.
New dawn
New day?
Eulogising Tatiana
Today ,I wasn’t prepared though my gut knew better than to be not blase but scared.
A fleeting hope that the healers could give you a boost
The hardest decision was to accept that your time was up.I had to cut you loose.
I’m numb, guilty, wishing I had you for a few more nights.
Allowing your sorrowful suffocating soul seconds more would add to this punishing plight & dreams of death – faeces, dead babies, deer, filthy flies and discarded driftwood souls drunk on flotsam
Waived inner strength; sight to ignite a courageous carcass of hope
Never mind , my Tatiana. You breathe free , unleashed from the God’s who wouldn’t let you rest.
You were too remarkable to ignore.
Your status has soared
A wing span of your choice.
These words don’t do justice
I love you
This is your eulogy
An ode to your life with no apology.
So cold,
so sweet ,
so fair…
Life and death
The mortal twins
The janus of the past , the future
You -the triplet was my greatest moment of
present present.
And Then there are the days
And then there are the days when the rain has stopped.
sunshine will follow the rain.
By all accounts I should feel the warmth.
My smile aches.
My heart
Breaks.
My cheeks are strewn not by rain this time but more tears.
I feel a part of me dying. I think of all the tears I’ve overcome, the one I’ve mopped up.
I think about how other people struggle, and see them get up again and again until, one day they don’t.
In these twisted moments of my melancholy; my heart beats even faster- than when I’m even tempered.
I realise I won’t die from heart ache or an abundance of leaked tears.
I won’t dehydrate.
I won’t become the next corpse poised in fledgling flight to arouse its soul.
So many words and questions I wish to ask.
I answer them myself-in moments of cowardice . In these moments of despair, I search for strength.
I love to see people I care about prosper.
I cry because
.. I shouldn’t have regrets.. but I’m beginning to wonder if I should….
Daughter of Rose
I am Daisy
Daughter of Rose
Who needs love, loyalty, laughter
Who loves music, silence, decadence
Who sees lonely people, people better off, empty glasses once full of hope
Who hates curves on herself, being misunderstood, bad odour
Who fears abandonment, rejection, gossips too
Who dreams of career growth, success, beauty to blossom from within
Who has found forgotten poems, memory gaps, words unable to recognise as her own
Resident of no fixed abode
Willows.
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.
Old soul
OTHER WORDLY .
Unfathomable to relate how a portrait of an unaffected cherub
mirrors
a forgotten dimension to
the paradigm LONER.
PENSIVE – angelic eyes
unfreeze momentarily — expressions animate the oil painted canvas.
Voice barely audible -mouths out to me
Who is this new persona?
Blood of my labour sworn to tell the gospel TRUTH.
Astonished -wrinkles crease — at time ‘s wildfulness to penetrate her innocence—
She’s not looking back at her youth.
BULLIED
The cycle continues-
Elders blame the outsider for a lack of faith in conventional —Spirituality.
ELDER peers down through an intoxicating incensed haze.
Measure 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.
Tortured 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.
AUTHORITY ISSUES.
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.
recomposed.
A sighed relief-
she has -AWAKENED.
ALONE – – is she fated too?
-The rebels never conforms
Transience
Stricken by the awareness of my own
MORTALITY.
INQUISITIVE betrayed by her translucence
frown rouges her cheeks in introspection.
familiar strange words
Alienation effect prompts a impulsive turn around
the past
curses
damning this loner to truly see.
An epiphany of divine INSIGHT
UNDER or OVER ACHIEVER perfection adorned with feathers of liberty –
don’t try to please anyone!
A storm intervenes obscuring the BIGGER PICTURE-
Save that energy
for life
is a gift and
It’s your greatest fight.
RESPONSIBLE for so much — tempted by earth’s seasonal affective disorder
Why does she have to be mortal?
Wings hook into shoulder blades
Reduced to a puppet attached by silver linings.
aerial view-
panoramic
circular murmuration
obsessive.
Eyes strain ,blood shot.
Wind exhales mustard peppered vapours
orchestrating sight to follow a new PERSPECTIVE.
WISDOM revealed by the crooked halo’d questions
glitterer
shimmers her every inflection.
the yearn of experience — to keep heavens babe toothless , unaware of the survival evolution taking place
Within.
TENACIOUS – I overlook her every smile
from above
stitched up my heart
remains
the scapegoat
the seeker.
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 are never alone for eternity.
We have one another to rise above our hurt.
knowledge is power, wisdom is happiness and truth is freedom
Catch 22
Fall – leaves turn shades of browns and greens.
my heart dips and I don’t feel that same sense of summer’s beams.
Alone. I look to my left. Creativity shines- glitter, stilettos- latex, white faux fur coats. All legs.
Like a string of pearls flung across a room, a musky scent wafts across my midst.
Temptations persist. Glamour. Warmth is all I seek. Summer, why do you have to be so cruel?
I know if I cross over to the other side – I’ll be feeling the warmth – it will be pimped out inbox ring styles – I won’t have time to dodge the fists.
My body will burn up an exotic shade of hues. I will have no rest.
Hell is the other side of Summers gluttonous jazz bassline.
One hit. One vein. Blood – artificial nirvana could infiltrate my being.
I won’t have to think of the biting cold that is ringing in my ears. Muffled will be the ice cone, frozen on the edge of my nose. It doesn’t matter who sees that I have been seen.
Bus shelters full, spikes erect from the corporate underground – I can’t sit down. I know it takes fewer muscles to smile than frown.
Energy is all I have to see me through this cycle of undomesticated abuse. October may be Domestic abuse awareness month.
If I hadn’t left my keeper, I would still have a roof over my head.
A blanket.
I would still be touched.
Roughed up.
Better the devil you know – I know every one of his moves. I know when to dissociate –
detach my mind
from my body.
Floating above the marital, martial art stylised bed – I see myself and that devil I married, grabbing folds of my skin. He doesn’t notice the smell of the new conditioner I bought at Asda or how soft the sheets feel now they have been newly spun.
Dryer. I’m dry. He doesn’t notice the lack of moisture. He doesn’t notice that all of that fluid has shot up to my eyeballs. I refuse to let them free flow – I am not her. I’m floating.
Fly on the wall. Caught up in a spiders web. I have to watch. It doesn’t matter if I have a crick in my neck – oh hang on a minute is he choking me?
Leftover food languishing in the sink drain. He switched the waste disposal on to automatic.
Arrested, I am back in bed, under him. Time to vogue with my lips and give him a little pucker.
These white sheets have turned red in his need to let off steam. I come out in blisters hovering underneath his vapour.
Turn my neck – feels like I need a box of throat lozenges for having to get all deep throat.
5 am flashing in stimulant green.
I’m 5 months pregnant. I am going to be late.
Grab the nearest decent clothes. Pull-on my Adidas trainers. Scrape my hair up into a ponytail.
Finally the motivation to go on the run. I don’t have to time myself. I know his schedule well.
An Olympic torch passes into my hand. I’m running for freedom. Liberty is my destination.
I can start over.
Spring – blues, violets, colours in a perfect union – uncompressed. Naturally dressed.
For the first time in months, I feel like I belong. I too am a medley of colours. I blend in.
Natures milkshake collects in my breasts – 4 months to go until I give birth to a miracle of pure life.
Not branded a colour – just innocence – a chance to see a light – work on my soul and tackle it all. This is the only cure.
Vanilla.
I am no Killer.
Life goes in cycles. It passes by fast. There are no traffic jams when you have to pick up your feet and walk.
Eyes cast down, belly protruding.
Christian volunteers crouch down next to me- hand me a card.
Die and be reborn.
They can help me. I just have to give my old life to our saviour. I’ve never met him but he sounds
Forgiving, comforting, caressing- a handwash with extra Aloe vera – calming properties.
All I have to do is offer my unborn child to him and I can enter paradise with the rest of my weary comrades.
Eyes raise up to the bitter sky. I’ve always thought whatever is up there twinkling and winking down at me is having a far better time than me.
My unborn deserves a place in heaven. Earth only promises scars and wild jungle roots to keep it grounded to the spot.
The ultimate sacrifice.
Did I fold in with this cult out of cowardice?
I will drink my poison.
Maybe this winter I will be reunited with the one that let out a sudden cry.
Lead me not into temptation. I lie down, no need to be afraid, child. I close my eyes and sigh.
Hope is my last premise.
* Inspired by domestic violence awareness month*

OCTOBER 2016 (IMAGE SOURCED FROM GOOGLE)
27 responses to “Catch 22”
[…] Source: Catch 22 […]
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Very powerful Daisy!
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Thank you so much for stopping by, Marquessa.
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Your post just give out the most powerful messages in the poetic form!! Beautiful and very strong 🙂
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Hi Mithai. What a gorgeous name! It means ‘sweets’… Love that . ❤ Thank you for stopping by. Such lovely comments xx
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Haha yeah it means sweets!! Sometimes my mom calls me ‘chili’ as well 😉
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ha ha!
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https://summerstartstoshine.wordpress.com/2016/10/05/my-blog-has-been-recognised/ Hello lovely! I nominated you for the blogger recognition award and also did the sunshine acceptance post last night 🙂 Spreading the blog love haha 🙂 LOVE YOU AND YOUR BLOG! XXX Summer X
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oooh Thank you, beautiful xxxxxxxx Miss you xxx
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My pleasure 🙂 always on your team Daisy XXX I miss you too. Have you watched my flamingo vlog yet? It’s there if you want a dose of Summer 🙂
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yeah. I’m sure I did when you were active somewhere else. A bit vague isn’t it. Send it to me. I’m in a giddy mood. Things are starting to come together, make sense. Life is picking up – happy to share some of this energy xxxxx
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Summers gluttonous jazz bassline – love it!! X
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T Y A x
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I had to read this twice to see if I understood whether you are tucking away some bun in the oven news in the center of your thoughts…hmm, maybe soon 😉
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Ha ha noooo. Jackie. no babies. I have two already one turning 5 and the other 31 .that would be my husband. Oh I have a cat child too. So three is enough I. was just free flow writing and getting ideas out of my head for my masters. I’m writing a political theatre script to raise the homelessness issue in my community. A big crisis in Our society. No. None of this happened to me. No babies. Ha ha 😀😀😀😀😀
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Our husbands are the biggest babies ever and yes your hands are full 🙂
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Ha ha! yes. I had to call my husband by his full name this morning. He was acting like a child- and he thought he was being funny! Not good 😀 I felt like his mother! I was like ‘you are such a child- grow up and stop being so boyish lol…..
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Daisy, I love the way you express yourself. This is poetry in the most hardcore way expressed and I mean that in the good way. I think treasuring life and living in the moment is a blessing.
These lines I really enjoyed:
My body will burn up an exotic shade of hues. I will have no rest.
Hell is the other side of Summers gluttonous jazz bassline.
One hit. One vein. Blood – artificial nirvana could infiltrate my being.
You poured out what is in your heart and what experiences are around us in everyday situations. This poem is powerful and you always keep evolving and your writings are always different.
Brilliant my friend. 🙂
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Thanks for the feedback , Charlie. You always leave me feeling hopeful. 🙂 Take care ,my friend
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You welcome Daisy. Your work is always my favorite thing to read. 🙂
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Charlie! I’m blushing. I think your poetry is sublime!
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very confusing! should i congratulate you>?
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erm… if you want. What’s confusing? This post is not about me! lol . I’ve never been married to an abusive man, I’ve never killed my child to be accepted into a cult, I haven’t died. Yet…… I suppose – living can be something to celebrate. 🙂
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so you arehappy and not a mom?
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Define happy. Some days I’m happy other days I feel different. I am a mother. Some days I feel awesome! It’s a word that sits comfortably in my vocabulary list. I will be honest with you, John – I’m not the refraining/ withholding information/emotions/opinions/ kind of woman. mb? lol 😀 😀 Be happy.
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So yes, please John – have a congratulatory party for me! 😀 Cake, balloons, – sounds awesome!
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refrain from the werd awsome.
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