Tag: writing

A colourful character 
Whispers under a Welsh breeze
Hints of fresh linen and sweetness 
Delicate as tissue paper
My grandmother, Iris. 

Stop saying ‘my understanding is’
be active and straight with your words
Stop second guessing your position
say what you need to say, be heard.
I’m not going to be here.
I’m not going to answer.
I’m not sitting around waiting
I’m dancing like a sunflower.
Courage is not the absence of fear…

Aged council houses in the Home Counties
backed onto deep dark historic woodlands 
haunted by castle ruins and shelters
brought to life by village children.
At the end of the short cul-de-sac
a long footpath disappeared with the night
mothers shouted curfew bells at sunset
and demanded a return to the light.
Do not go into the woods after dark.
Not a step beyond the street light shadow.
Across the line the boogey man will wait
for naughty children who never listen. 
Do not go into the woods after dark.
The flickering shadows are not your friends.
The boogey man will come, wait and see
and you’ll wish you had just listened to me.
Fast forward to the turn of the century 
this village child became a teenager
where adventures went beyond the woodland
but never beyond the path after dark.
Because the boogey man could be waiting. 

And I wrote you a playlist of
Bob Ross’ voice, more serene than
Coastal lakes lining mountains.
Did I get the right vibe?

Even if we are not leaving 
For the next year or so 
Google drive through the same day 
How down the hill did we fall? 

Is it this time of Autumn?
Just an in between of seasons.
Know how to get the old boys back 
Like those immortal 90s shows.

My phone died like a car crash 
Not sure what happened but it 
Ordered a few more days to 
Park in the present, oi vey.

Question? We have to go ahead
Rest and breathe for tomorrow 
See I will miss the next dream
That you planned without me.

Until it’s like a normal 
Video of you and me 
What do you want to do?
X-ray the situation?

Yeah I’m not sure about road trips.
Zaddy, I’m writing to you. 

Let me count the ways I’m not into you
You have enough red flags to line a street
But my heart does not care what maybe true
she fantasies about the day we’ll meet.
Why do you have to be agreeable?
You’re like a puppy waiting to be fed
love and worth. It is unbelievable
that I cannot get you out of my head.
But, in the moment my phone starts chirping
lightening sparks my fingertips and I type
my heart hangs from words that keep it racing
while my brain doesn’t understand the hype.
In the moment, my heart is into you
But in the morning, I’m over it. True.
 

Inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet 141 and one of my fav rom-coms 10 Things I Hate About You.

Where the voice in my head connects to pen
Onions of feelings turn into scribble
Reaching to pieces I need to question
Deconstructing a veteran riddle.

Pour me a glass of the finest whiskey.
Oblige me to a bottle of cheese and wine.
Endeavour to bring mental liberty.
Mend the broken quatrains that jail my mind.

But, a poem is more than verse or song
Like the tide it changes with differing eyes
Understand it’s not something to get wrong
Each one has a way of seeing the sky. 

Be the message you want to tell the earth
Excite, amaze, and know your worth.

Grey haunting fog.

Stepping forward, from
shadow selves.

A flute echoes across the sky
stirring the dark and twisted
sounds of thunderous clouds
echoes the rushing rivers
meandering down the hill.

Angels favour the brave.
The oaks stand tall in the woods
battered and bruised
at the mercy of Zeus.

I am a wedge of cranberry cheese.