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Love less -a pense poem

I’ve never done this type of poem. The format is straight forward.

Title 2 syllables

Description 4 syllables

Action is 6 syllables

location 8 syllables

ending 6 syllables.

And the final rule is that it can’t rhyme

LOVE LESS


it won’t hurt much
scrub off the scent of his odour
bleach the bath with your morning shit
love costs more heartache

Passion less magical

Cats demand cuddles
A clean page soaked in wasted words written in yellow ink
The music falls on deaf ears
Unread unopened books will let me down – or will it be my imagination?
I glance around the room of despair comfortably numb for three hours until a child smiles for her mom’s unfounded fears.

Untitled

so inept by a blackened imagination
colours wither away, winter outsmiles
stilled yet not frozen. those exhiled frowns en route stragglers exhiled to Siberia.


I’m desperately desolate that these nightmares took the by pass . Limits to hope of revelling in reality once more spring
bursts into a yawn , light stretches worn out clinging onto last winter’s stained sweater.


A scream demands tending to kettle whistling for it’s masters attention
it begs summer to part with mercy & grace
so inept by a blackened imagination.

A feud of words

I wish my words had more clout than my mortal weight. Once I wrote, spoke with the light,

A stream of consciousness without a tug from my mind the size of a crate.

Rhyming I sought not to intentionally copulate with.

Nor hesitate my hand from my inner ink.

Words never intentionally separated from their interwoven fate,

From the moment these star crossed others dared to kiss with a brazen grace.

I bear these words with the strength of a boulder ready to crumble

Rush my inner thoughts

Crushmy inner thoughts to a damn them to hell chowder of inner hate.

A feud of words. I hope these won’t be my last or I’ll leave this world a disgrace.

Entry three

Lo and behold!

(A slightly dramatic introduction). However, it’s inspired me to write about my recipe for kindness. I went to pick up B from school and she thrust a pamphlet in my hand.

It’s magic,mom! Ok , I realised the reason she thinks it is magic:it is a map that requires a powerful

ancestor with a great recipe to fold it back up to it’s neat , once untouched form.

The theme: believe in yourself! I read this first activity and realised I need to do this activity more than my daughter does.

Kindess.

Kindness. Why not bake a cake of kindness ? Add your own ingredients?

If I had to bake my own cake of kindness this is the recipe:

4 TBSP’s of no shit taken off people who don’t reiprocate your kindness wirh the respect you value.

A generous helping of be kind to those you say no to.

3 drops of mouth sealant essence. We are born with 2 ears and 1 mouth.

Surely listening and then (filtering our words) answering is a better way of communicating because responding is more effective than reacting. Reacting is reactive. Too many reactions can become radio active. An explosion and a recipe for an unkindly disaster.

4x cherries dipped in sherbet (tart and sweet) to remind myself and others that I can be sweet most of the time but if my sweetness means they forget to sugar their cake then they may lose all of their teeth when I sweetly give them another tangy aftertaste they aren’t expecting.

The icing can’t be too fussy or too messy. Plenty colouring of all the colours I can find in my kitchen to show my values and beliefs respect all cultures, religions, genders and the rest.

1 x candle lit in the middle of the cake. So, that people who are tempted to indulge in my recipe for kindness, remember that my kindness cake will lose charm and taste if the candle dies out by being watered down or worn down with unproductive critism, respect for the effort I put into making a cake of kindness.

A solid sponge base with the ability to absorb peoples different opinions and views. It will be slightly dry to convey my dry sense of humour. Add a dollop of butter or cream ( adjust portion as needed) to subtly suggest a flavour that reminds other people that my kindness is an act based in reality My reality. Oh, and a degree of sympathy /empathy at the very least.

My dry remarks and after taste can be tempered by adjusting the measures of butter and cream to soften my natural essence of character.

The final impression I would want to leave with baking a kindness cake is :I accept that we all have different tastess and degrees of what a great kindess cake tastes like. I promise not to take another slice of another person’s kindess if it doesn’t conform to my ideals of the perefect cake. I don’t expect to force fed others another slice of my kindess if it doesn’t suit them.

Truth

Tell me what you want to know.

Rainy days included, storms do pass

Under the bridge the homeless huddle around a fire trying not to cause too much trouble.

Together their eyes vacant, some stumble some stutter.

Hoping society will give them a second glance, a second chance.

Loveless -A pensee poem

I’ve never done this type of poem. The format is straight forward.

  • Title 2 syllables
  • Description 4 syllables
  • Action is 6 syllables
  • location 8 syllables
  • ending 6 syllables.
  • And the final rule is that it can’t rhyme

LOVE LESS

it won’t hurt much
scrub off the scent of his odour
bleach the bath with your morning shit
love costs more heartache

Passion less magical

Cats demand cuddles
A clean page soaked in wasted words written in yellow ink
The music falls on deaf ears
Unread unopened books will let me down – or will it be my imagination?
I glance around the room of despair comfortably numb for three hours until a child smiles for her mom’s unfounded fears.

Untitled

so inept by a blackened imagination
colours wither away, winter outsmiles
stilled yet not frozen. those exhiled frowns en route stragglers exhiled to Siberia.

I’m desperately desolate that these nightmares took the by pass . Limits to hope of revelling in reality once more spring
bursts into a yawn , light stretches worn out clinging onto last winter’s stained sweater.

A scream demands tending to kettle whistling for it’s masters attention

it begs summer to part with mercy & grace
so inept by a blackened imagination.