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!
Like an old weary discontinued doll
She breathed all her music to her last breath
and now she is thrown down the dark rabbit hole
no one wants her, there is no one left.
Tears streaming down those glossy plastic eyes
her dreams deflated like an old balloon
times bumps and bruises can not be disguised
as her heart drifts further from the blue moon.
The truth radiates through these broken parts
a truth that cannot be written or said
a truth that has been there right from the start
whispering quietly inside her head.
They say it’s better to have loved and lost
so cherish the moments before they are tossed.
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.
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.
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
Inspired by Pooky’s Poetry Prompt: Pyramid
padlocks
solid and firm
linking and connecting
two souls happily on a bridge
together forever
in the city
of love.
Todays entry was inspired by yesterday (23rd April) being St. Georges Day in my beautiful home country of England. As much as I love my new digs in Australia (been here 10 years now) England will always have a special place in my heart…
B By and by, I’ll be home in those woodlands
R remembering myself in yesterday’s
E earldoms, skipping along the ruins – gran
A alway there, with her sea candy in May.
T too many tales and stories to relive
H happy, we were kites floating in the sky.
E every memory and moment was a gift
E Etched in my soul; eternal in my eyes.
N now I’ve departed my darling island
G grateful I am to be a part of her
L long may she breath through my feet and my hands
A albion, my soul you have conquered.
N next time I see you it shan’t be for long
D don’t be disheartened for I live your song.
A little girl waited for her “true love”
Studied her reflection in the mirror
She hoped to be as lucky as Jasmine
Happy ever after was her future.
Like the caterpillar in the oak tree
She grew into a pretty butterfly
But her one true love she still searched for
she concluded Sir Walt Disney had lied.
Instead, she wandered the world like Alice
created realities of her own.
She painted with her words; coloured the wind
She flew far far away from her home.
Just like Elsa she dreamt of letting go
All her skeletons fallen and broken
She sailed along life’s crooked road, in summer
Young and free, she left no words unspoken.
Once upon a time there was a young girl
who dreamed of meeting her one true guy.
Now there is a woman weathered by life
and beneath an old oak tree, is where she lies.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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