When you feel you’re hanging on the vine,
Remember- a seed push forth a mighty sign.
You must take the sunbeams and treasure what’s thine
Wild Kansas City is but one destination on the sign.
Take hope, light and lose the animosity,
for inside you, there is no monstrosity
Get caught speeding in high velocity.
It’s not a train smash — nor a catastrophe.
When you’re stuck in the middle of time.
Jump off the fence ‘cos that’s doing yourself a crime.
Don’t you let commoners think your words cannot define,
Your value, worth and dreams are not benign.
Take it from the apple tree
He allows fruit to aid in his victory.
Oh don’t, hide like a willow tree
Cry, but remember you have a destiny.
Everything will start to — lookup — allow the clouds to throw some shapes.
Open them wide , mind expand — understand the lessons from life’s true greats.
You’re already one them-slightly chipped — still most valuable of porcelain plates.
Never doubt what you can do — take a leaf from natures golden ratio
You radiate when you guide the fates.
Lets’ lasso this up and keep your spirit wild
Grow tall — never lose your inner child.
A silly poem to spread to the crowd
Accept her quirks — light-hearted, silly sap — never lose a day when she has smiled.
*I Iwas inspired by the song ‘This little light of mine’. live, love, don’t hold as grudge. Remain true to who you are and you won’t stand alone for long.
This ain’t my home
the carpet absorbs too much memory foam
Screams bubble from that bath without a familiar odour
Eerie eue de cologne
when we write freestyle we practice the art of being Kosher
Them lot are raised in Yorkshire lives on a sofa
Bish boshes a meal
Low enough for the tokoloshe to tickle your feet
A modern-day poacher
This is how to learn carefree origami or to crochet
One needle & a free hand
makes me a multitasker boaster
I can barely use a toaster
This rhyming thing is starting to sound Amish
wi fi free fantasies in Kansas with Dorothy on tarnish
Toss your pride
Lay down your courage as a garnish.
The wind in slippers
Ruby rubs of blisters
Wrap up cos the due to unforeseen circumstances
We have to cancel – Hurricane watch
With a dose of kippers.
Some folk say I speak too much
I say that’s rich.
I’m not even 40 years old & my bones are crumbling
Hind sights a bitch
Hell – a sight so unappealing
it brings me out in an itch
A rash of nervous eczema.
Today is my first adventure
with my partial denture
Like life, it’s only temporary
at least I’m not doing time in a state penitentiary
I can’t speak
this foreign object prevents me from talking
The older I get I realise how naive I was to forget
that my mind is my greatest asset
Body, I love you
Looks? you’ll do
I’m yet to find perfection
I’ve almost given up on the pursuit of it
What is beauty?
Judge we do under a unique hue.
Age has its wicked way with us all eventually
I’ll never let go of my character to laugh, be stubborn
go against all adversity
No, I still won’t conform
The shy girl will not come out to perform
Inside my pride has been wrenched out of me
And I laugh at the old me
I laugh cos we are so beautiful
We just can’t see what others never fail to see.
You starring yourself
titled ‘back in reality ‘.
And at the peak of my insanity
A moment to glance away from my apparent reflection gunning down with its eyes of La Mort
I know that if I am able to glance away
at that reflection
of utter fear and self-loathing
my child in her stark purity dancing in front of the mirror.
If I found myself standing over her
pick up the comb, attend to her dutifully then
This motion is fuelled by a fierce love.
A fierce refusal to allow her child to be abandoned
by her own mother
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
I see the reality I have created.
I’m ready to tipple
Tears or bourbon
I’m no longer sure
Does it matter?
Then it is a moment of clarity.
These are my words.
Inspired by reading a passage of ‘Memoirs of a daughter’, written by Simone Beauvoir and her relationship with her mother.
Speak up for those who are unable to at this time
I am doing this post for my local community. Specifically, for the women in my community who every second as I type and every word you read, are being abused.
People get frustrated wondering why women don’t leave or won’t leave abusive relationships.
‘If it is so bad just leave’– is still a mind set of many.
I have decided to waiver my anonymity and tell anyone who cares to hear my story and experience with ‘The freedom programme; because I want to reach out to those who are affected by an abusive relationship.
I also want raise awareness to those who care or know about some one in an abusive relationship.
I want to emphasise what Igained from reaching out and doing something that I saw as bat shit scary.
First of all,
WHAT IS THE FREEDOM PROGRAMME? Please take the time to read the blurb…
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In the twilight of that mind,
Turntables blast out despair
Unable to fathom out her own kind.
Two open-ended books splay their outward innards.
Hesitant to accept the possibility of another perspective.
Suppose there is alien life out there…
That we can conceive of.
An outcome for her resolve to never give in to her woes?
Roses feel pain when cut down by brutal shears.
Where are the moderators in this game of Divine consequences?
Have they too been bribed to ostracise the rest?
A product rebranded a Rose.
Children toy with her parts, cut her hair, drown her until her lungs, over-bloated
Spew out flotsam froth.
A final rattle forming a bubble of foam.
Youth is fleeting
as a pirate’s final orgasm freeing his seamen to rest.
This flight became her ghost – it tormented her in a walking state of slumber.
When Rose was of a venerable age she sat upon her own Fate.
Ignorant to all counsel,
She lacked common sense for a daredevil debate.
‘Mere islands’, she would bluster.
An ancient mariner couldn’t deny that she was born to a concubine.
Made from unusual voodoo cut cloth.
She mixed rarely with other groups
Outside of Fear
For impending wrath.
Her weeping congealed by third-degree burns.
Shuffling her feet- rarely led to any sudden about upturn.
What prompted Rose to behave in such a manner?
Emotional intelligence IQ lower than an abyss in Alabama?
Regret staggers not long after
Rose’s final walk down the marching plank.
Swords of sleeted ice pierce into her back.
She ignores all those gallant enough to help her find her to her new abode.
She has the the secret code to,the Outlaw, of the conquered seas.
Why put the world on pause when time is has its own entity?
Reality is indendant of thought.
She thrashes about with the sense of an insecure perception of identity.
The FATAL FLAW for love on the grandest vessel
She sunk to her final resting place –
the bottom of the plastic strewn, infested seabed.
The day she allowed this rogue to assault her
Though she did plea;
Her screams were ignored-complicit to acquiesce.
Love is partly veiled.
One can’t see through the composition of the waves.
She casts one final look around,
She sees the world in all its chaos- divided into self destruct.
We don’t have love!
How can we summon humanity?
It’s merely a spectacle!
A damning show.
She turns around and winks at the one who took her to his chambers.
wonders if this Outlaw knew that he was taking her soul’s ability to speak.
There is no ending to pain.
Only true bedlam can express her reality.
She is the thorn.
She is the rose.
-the one frozen in hell with her never-ending guilt.
If I let you creep under my skin
would you forgive me for wishing myself to die from sin?
If I let you hold tight and folded into your arms
would you forgive me for needing someone to look to for my daily psalms?
If I had you ravage my body in kisses, linger fingertips over my flesh
Would you forgive me when I can’t let go unless under the influence of a narcotic
If I had to be the mother of the year
Would you put me down when I fall from grace
I’m only human
That’s my greatest mistake.
Charlie met Esther on abortionist roe.
Hedges neatly trimmed – enough to dishevel a bearded vagabond to weep after his latest woe.
No coat hangers to gut the newborn sac.
Charlie stood for hours until her number came up.
rouge screen screams with a tremulous beep.
to strike the star lead role in a Bolly wood film deal.
Unsullied arrived in a cumulous cloud
stricken by a thunderous compulsion to wail.
Esther didn’t hear the bond lust, lilted scream.
memory hazed -by two fat ladies at gate number 8.
Efforts disarmed – inability to count down to the primal odd.
nebulous chlorophyll masked her mouth.
Envy immobilised to an unrecalled dream.
swinging on tyres.
Freddie Kruger caught in a static slumber loses nightmare credibility to a sterile clinic;
Action paralysing every unconscious scene.
Stratham, London-night defends to keep watch.
Both stumble upon a tidy little room – 1970’s style. No disco defiblerater harmonizing jolts to the beat of
‘ Staying alive ‘
Old granny hoovered up flowers chocked in ivy a patterned carpet,
Mist of lavender lingers. This bitch knows how to spray.
Don’t mess with the O.G.
Peppered, seasoned hair, non-linear lines carve out a facial narrative.
Don’t be fooled by this kungfu hoe.
desensitized to her strategy in a game of cruel cluedo.
It’s all so normal. It’s life, you know.
Scissors ready to stab a beating heart,
Positioned in foetal
Sucked out the uterus.
Tall walled wars.
Bricks bolster the Illusion of affairs in order.
Nobody is scrutinized so fiercely as the woman who maps out her own destiny – navigates the boundaries that her ideas can afford her.
The NHS paid for a private eye.
Two signatures deemed sufficient to see her through the hours of her sobering silence.
Shameless in her flowered disguise.
Ginger nuts, unsavoury tufts.
No, this wasn’t her nine month due – no ice cubes for killing in the name of freedom to govern her own vessel.
No need for pro-life Stepford wives lies.
Where would our saints stand without a dissident at hand?
Society sits down, protest proudly.
Part the veil of clouds
Peer piously downwards,
ready to strike thunderbolts of judgement.
Rain down booming terror tactics.
Esther cares not for their gospel band
Society sips, exhaling wafts of fair trade, Ivory coast coffee beans.
Privilege smells of a modern holocaust of starving babies in bony mothers arms.
Who said any of these women consented to consummate?
Penetrative obedience to the phallic statues erected in morning glory psalms.