Category: Life

Posted in Life, Loss, Writing, Writing 201

An Elegy to inner darkness

Posted on by Charlie Alford

Haunting melancholy avenue
a silhouette in foggy hue
weeps for what could have been
while she waited for the great ‘begin’.

Her can of love remained unopened
the voice inside remained unspoken
she never knew how to be
all she knew was how to breathe.

There was method in her madness
There was style in her apparatus
She could see what needs to be seen
She could see inside the in between.

Our very own Joey Potter
but smarter and oh so hotter
She was the brains behind the beak
a genius that didn’t speak.

Clearing the fog of self doubt
and sweeping the shadows out
are done with friends, hand in hand
for only they can understand.

That with every drop of laughter
and every silent whisper
will roll away the darkened clouds
and a life is left, standing proud.

Written for Writing 201

Fog — Elegy — Metaphor

Posted in Life

the game

Posted on by Charlie Alford

The whistle blows loudly and there you are
kicking and screaming to an endless field
a great adventure for you to embark,
a dangerous game with no weapon to wield.
You can’t go back, there is no rehearsing
experience the moments as they come
another soul just beating and breathing
when you are afraid just hold onto mum.
When you begin your plot is unwritten
it is you who makes you who you are, and
searching the rubble like a lost kitten
will push your head further into the sand.
Head for the stars like the tips of a flame
roar over mountains, bounce over the waves
there is no book to this eternal game
today happened and tomorrow came.

Posted in Life

An unproductive Sunday

Posted on by Charlie Alford

If I were a time or day
I’d be an unproductive Sunday
sleepy with pre-storm glow
wondering where it all goes
deadlines roar thunderous grumbles
flashing my messenger
its quarter to three
all I want is the answer

pretending to write letters
feeling the delete buttons
editing my mind
haunted by the fear
its raining outside
and I am screaming
on the inside

goaded by universal truths
weighing down my confidence
anchoring my thoughts

dreaming of the tomorrows
procrastination’s pal
is hoping for a time out

I am an unproductive Sunday

Inspired by a rather unproductive Sunday. I made a pact with myself to spend Sunday afternoons editing my NaNoWriMo novel, today I failed, as I drowned in plot and blank pages. 

Posted in Life

words

Posted on by Charlie Alford

venomous words are hard to clean
darkness taints a perfect blue sky
the photograph smudged and ruined
as the strong stench of yesterday
pulls on the chains of resentment
as her world crashes with a thud
her soul melts in the acid rain.
she made daisy chains in the park
on a pleasant suburban day
dreaming of all her tomorrows
while tomorrow lingers in the dark
wondering, how did she get here?
Hi de ho! Old friend, old neighbour
the dividing fence was her home
the promise of stability
with endless woods for her to roam
but the trap of good impressions
lit the snowball of red anger
corrupting her soul, she wants out
she wants sunshine in her picture
she wants the suburban postcard
the venomous words cannot beat her
the venomous words will not defeat her
she will scribble her daisy chains
on her suburban photograph

Inspired by the nursery rhyme ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’

Posted in Life, Writing

What will your legacy be?

Posted on by Charlie Alford

What will your legacy be?
Someone fetch me a cup of tea
Vacant eyes in a photograph
a smile with potential to laugh
the voice quiet and unheard
the writer speaks not a word
hidden behind hazel eyes
an ocean of silent cries
make your mark on the page
own your part on the stage
you’re the lead in your story
reach for your inner glory
stretch it to the sky like a tree
what will your legacy be?

Posted in Life

It’s only life

Posted on by Charlie Alford

Can you smell that picture?

It smells old and betrayed

burns when you look closer

The sun weighing over

the bones that climb the hill

lost girl at the crossroads

broken – social schism

rains bittersweet regret

there’s no escape button

just left, right and forward

until the end game – death.

Posted in Australia, Life, Loss

Put Out Your Bats

Posted on by Charlie Alford

Things happen.

You just don’t think they are going to happen

but they do.

A fallen hero

things happen

but then they get better

but sometimes they don’t.

I saw red bold letters

I saw yesterday on replay

I felt the sun shining

I heard clouds on the bay

Flags fell

Wishes made

Prayers barely answered

hope fell into shade

Darkness cast shadows,

against the light of humanity

but breathes of love

in the veins of a global community

roared across oceans

to the place I call home.

Streets lined with cricket bats

wherever I roam.

I didn’t know you

I only knew of you

I feel the pain of losing you

because I feel the grief left by you

Things happen

Nonsensical things happen

and we all keep asking

why did it happen to you?

—

Written for Phil Hughes & Cricketing Community. I can’t say I ever followed cricket or know much of the team but what happened last week I felt in my heart just like the rest of the world. It’s just so shocking and I still can’t believe it.  I had to write something.

#putoutyourbats

Posted in Life

Live the Journey

Posted on by Charlie Alford

Originally posted for 365 Days of Creating Charlie:

Dwelling inside is my inner Alice

perplexed by the choices she has to make

the Cheshire cat, his words mean no malice

but enigmatic words are hard to take.

If the destination is unknowing

than the direction doesn’t matter

when the moments in between are flowing

that is when your road begins to scatter.

So, take a jump down the white rabbits hole

stop for tea with the Hatter and the Hare

scribble and sketch all over your life scroll

for life is outside society’s square.

To be here – is the greatest game you’ll play

another decision, take it your way.

Posted in Life

Poem for Mental Health Week

Posted on by Charlie Alford

Inspired by Mental Health Week that is sweeping across Australia.

Empty

like a glass of wine

on a Friday night

spinning happily

wonderland

spices and chilli

stings shivering nerves

casacade of goosebumps

the real world screams

from all directions

piano keys at her temples

bass at her heart

eyes like lead

oh, a paper-weight of a head

Downton’s Daisy, is

devilishly clever

a marionette under the wrong master

she doesn’t know what to do

society says she will not do

in her family tree of servitude.

That story stops there

hack and halve and hack again

dreams submerge reality

or is the other way around?

She is tired.

She is empty.

She breaks her down

to build her up.

She is the builder.