Branded in my memory – those headlines.
“Everybody’s going to war”, she said
in big bold irrefutable lines
caterwauling across the world: “you’re dead”.
I remember summer, so exciting
hanging together in our township, there
used to be laughter at sudden lightening
we were innocence at the village faire.
But despite the darkness that lingers here
you’re flickering in the deepest shadow
and where there is light, there is hope my dear
inspiring a better tomorrow.
Tag: death
NaPoWriMo 17/30 Death of a poem
Placed neatly in the wooden box
the lid is grazed by graceful fingers
over the long years you took some knocks
and now your voice echoes, lingers.
Creating a dance of letters
the words fell from my pointy pen
nights trying to make you better
but the sun was setting, my friend.
We should have sung at our first chance
thrown those words out into the sky
but shaping had us in a trance
and now your words will never fly.
You are the reason I am me
Therapy from reality
helped me conquer the how to be
helped unlock the insanity.
Your voice may have faded away
Your words dissolved into nothing
and this empty blank page will stay
but your memory will keep on living.
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It’s only life
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.
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#NaPoWriMo Day Thirty – “April’s Journey”
She noticed the line between B and D
on the worn out stone in that photograph
and thought, what could that line possibly mean?
When she leaves here, she’ll paint an autograph
of all her thoughts, moments and poetry
signed, sealed, delivered with a smile and laugh.
Walking through time, her quest to history
where she wrote letters on a Wiltshire hill
pondering the worlds greatest mysteries.
Lie with her in fields of daffodils
as she gazes into Albion’s windows
from the grassy bench of Salisbury’s windmills.
Or find her dancing sunshine and rainbows
as she encounters New York Down Under
April Twenty Fourteen was quite a show
just like lightening in a storm of thunder.
Her line tastes like chai latte on Mondays
a blissful moment her heart could plunder
From point B, the line is a disarray
of wibbly-wobbly moments
just waiting to be played.
Prompt: All the 29 poems I’ve written this NaPoWriMo 2014.
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#NaPoWriMo Day Fourteen – “Song of Sorrow”
Whilst upon my weekend web travels I came across this artist: Victoria Frances – and was so taken with this piece I couldn’t help but write about it. If you want to see more of Victoria’s work please see here: http://www.victoriafrances.es/en/
Painted smiles and comical tears
lie beneath a gold plated mask
so many faces; so many years
Who I am? It’s only natural to ask.
I am the forgotten extra
a dark, morose, Venetian clown
just waiting for my exit, so
Death can rescue me from this crown.
For my master sits on the bloody throne
a cheater of time and of death.
I am a mere mortal instrument
to entertain until my last breath.
He found me by the Grand Canal
a weary flower weeping
took me for his possession
another toy for his keeping.
Winter breathes inside these walls
compelled to the dreary and dark
bound by magic into the night
cursed by an invisible mark.
At sunset, the music will start
and echo through the dusky halls
I am captive in his shadows
imprisoned inside the dark stone walls.
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Goodbye, Uncle
We got the word on Christmas morn,
And they told us you were gone.
Asleep, at peace, with the angels
The Silent Night, your Swan Song.
So, rest your weary head, dear uncle
your work on earth is complete.
“God is good”, you used to tell us
Now you’re sitting at his feet.
Sitting in the kitchen corner
With your cigarette and smiles.
“Oh, My” and “Exaa-ctly”
we would laugh with you awhile.
I’ll remember your red jumper
And the coat that was too big.
I’ll remember your brilliant mind,
And playful mischief with us kids.
I remember the last gift you gave
Was a box of “Indian Sweets”
We all gasped, and gave you “the look”
But were grateful for the treat.
Rest easy now, dearest uncle
Your light shines on us from above
No words can describe our sadness
Always and forever, sending our love.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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