Written for R U Okay Day 2015

I started writing this weeks ago for R U Okay Day but forgot to post as I got distracted with life. But here it is. Better late than never…

there is
thunder
in my thoughts
this enemy
has been caught
today
my attention
shorts
as a silver lining
is sought
the curtains veil
my weary eyes
this lead weight smile
my only disguise
people keep asking
why?
It is what it is.
Sigh.
Every day my thoughts
climb this wall
heeding to the worldly call
A soldier must never fall
Every day, the same old game
screaming silently in mental pain
the heart is beating
the lungs are breathing
but the thoughts want to blame
and escape
the suffocating shame
of the toxic enemy
haunting this brain.

Dear …,

You’re bird shit on my window
every day, I don’t see you
but if you left, I’d miss you.
You’re a cloud around my dreams
try as I might, I can’t see
how you could possibly be.
You’re the abstract on my wall
images painting the clues
can’t you see my, your, our truth.
You’re a voice drawn on my phone
speaking words I cannot hear
I just don’t care – that’s my fear.
I’m the unicorn you wanted
I’m creative and I flaunt it
I’m screaming for you… can you hear it!

white noise mornings

I’m a bi-racial unicorn

just living life and going strong.

I got my non-fat-mocha-latte

a pick me up from last nights party.

Morning time is always buzzin’

social media all a fussin’

Way up North the earth is shaking

Way down South they’re all a baking.

Mr Z has spoken honest words

two links up from the dying birds.

Mysteries showed on a foreign shore

but that was it, they say no more.

Sports fans are afraid to boo

just in case the media shoot

no need for questions, no need for why

that’s there story, don’t bother to cry.

It’s all white noise in my ears

propoganda, sensationalist fear.

winter

Winter is her weakness

a body trapped in bleakness

shaking and aching

the darkness enchanting

her hopes bequeathed

as she falls like leaves

windows fill with teariness

as she is locked inside by weariness

waiting to see again

waiting to hear again

waiting to sing again

Tomorrow starts with latte

the fuel of fearful Friday

and the fire inside her ignites

as Winter continues to bite.

Postcards picture…

Postcards picture perfect days

that magnified glasses will betray 

these fantastical notions

of still quiet oceans.

A mind, like a carousel spinning 

knows something is missing 

like a broken doll part

all alone from the start.

Dancing to someone else’s beat

unable to feel her own feet 

a marionette of expectations 

pulls away in every direction.

All I need is someone to lean on

a strong arm to keep me strong

A kindred spirit to harness 

the secrets and the darkness.

Postcard pictures perfect days

that hazel eyes will betray 

with the worn imperfections 

of a weary souls reflection. 

Twilight thinking…

Twilight thinking composes my next verse

The essence of my dreams dance in the sky

my life unwritten, a show unrehearsed

I want to be someone before I die.

I see her long frosted chestnut hair 

lending her ears to life, her eyes are shut

creaking along with her old rocking chair 

humming quietly by her lake side hut.

A lifetimes of words floating through her mind 

a verbal orchestra telling her tale 

a library of moments capturing her time

her life was for rent and now it’s for sale.

Twilight thinking of where I want to be

And where I want the song to end for me.

NaPoWriMo 9/30 – Is it worth it?

Is it worth it?

To do, for the sake of doing
to follow the motions of growing
following what is expected
oh, this society is infected.

They say follow the yellow brick road
as long as you also do as your told
The land of Oz is for dreaming,
just fairytales and meme-ing.

Reality is conformity
follow the rules – happily
be judged if you take a detour
They ask, Is it really worth fighting for?

I like the unknowing of tomorrow
choosing which line I’ll borrow
making the day as I go
just another face in this show.

Why should I follow the motions?
When life is as immense as the ocean.
Why should I do what ‘they’ say?
Who are ‘they’ anyway?

Is it worth it?

Bluey Thoughts

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Thoughts fall to my bashful Blue
as the world spins without you.
Daydreams of Cabrera woods
where long ago we once stood.
You in blue, brown, black and white
Me in navy dress and tights.
Our bench sleeps quietly
nestled within the tall trees
if those ancient oaks could talk
they would tell tales of our walks
trotting around the river
after school until I shivered
then up the hill to our home
where I would read a heavy tome
and you would curl at my feet
enjoying the roaring fires heat.

a sad thought

Brunching in the city park
shopping from dawn until dark
inhaling strong chai lattes
in the labyrinth of laneways.

I’m staggering to recall
memories of us, is this all
random moments here and there
tucked away beneath the stairs.
Pictures of you are calling
through the hallway echoing
I remember, you were there
popping in to show you care.

The seasons have clouded my
memories of you. I want to cry
yearning for the could have been
dwelling on the should have been.

With the storm came the changing
your life was rearranging
contemplating what was next
every conversation hexed
a tired withering flower
yielding to a Spring shower
drowning in abundance of time
poisoned by the cheese and wine.

Ode to an old photograph

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Nestled in between some ageing letters
the bright young face of a family tree
captured time is a historic treasure
another life for my great Welsh granny.
Why did you girls cross the River Severn
and pitch your tents on England’s mighty shore
starting a trend of nomadic children
far from the valleys we found our heaven
London, Surrey, and the Devonshire moor
exchanging tales on the pavilion.

You left the world before I could breathe
before you eldest son had a daughter
You are a fairytale I want to believe
studying every corner of your picture.
I have the copper hair that curls and twirls
I have the deep hazel eyes of wonder
I have the Welsh blood running through my veins
and with every dream of this little girl
your memory echoes like a roar of thunder
in your granddaughters hearts you shall remain.

Written for Writing 201

Drawer (things you find inside) > Ode > Apostrophe (talking to someone or an object)

The person I am talking to in this poem is my grandmother, Iris. She married my grandfather shortly after the war leaving Wales behind and travelling the world while my grandfather continued to serve in the army. She passed away a year before I was born leaving behind six granddaughters and two grandsons. Four of whom she never met or knew existed. I have an old photograph of her for as long as I can remember and have always admired it quiet curiosity.