Wednesday, 12 April 2017

I Gave Each Friend A Word, And In That Word A World

So the nerdfighters are organising a poetry book! Still trying to decide which poems to submit. Wrote this poem a little while back and forgot to publish it.

I Gave Each Friend A Word, And In That Word A World

How easy it is to write for a friend
This thought strikes me, hard
In my head and my heart.

My words are sluggish, my thoughts are rusty
And my motivation, cries, curled up in a ball
Weeping at how easy it used to be.

What greater inspiration, than to write for the joy it elicits
In a community of fellow authors, poets, children.
In a web of friends, discovering themselves, through shared loves
Of books and school and words,
Words that linked us, from a thousand miles away.

Everything ends.
Everything changes.
Life and time and hurt wore down our precious family.
And when I look back, I have lenses of nostalgia on my eyes.
That tinge my thoughts with longing and regret.
And when my closest friend of all comes into view
They are tinged with betrayal.
For a friend I now know only as a ghost,
Talking to a fiction from twenty years ago.
That kind, scared girl I know,
She was living as her past
And she told the truth at last
And it hurt.

I changed, I made new friends.
And I love them very much.
But I do not share my words, my thoughts, my heart
Like I used to.
And they don’t share theirs with me.
So my words dissolved with my friends
Scattered away on the wind that tore away my ties.
And left me isolated,
Without a voice.

It’s hard.
To shout into the void.
Without the reassurance of company.
But the quiet ate away at me,
Turned from a companion to an abuser.
So I have to try.

I hope you can hear me. 

Friday, 23 December 2016

The Mirror

Have at least one poem, 2016.

The Mirror

I stand beside a frozen lake, searching for the words
Reflected in its surface.
I saw the thoughts in my head
Perfectly positioned on a page.
I knew I could never reach them, inside that watery mirror.
That the meaning of my thoughts, so elegant and clear when on the pedestal of my mind
Would never make a neat transition to paper.

My poetry is messy.
I sit for ages beside the ice, scrabbling until my nails are chipped and blood drips down my fingers.
Tugging at the elusive symbols, shoals of ink and concept
That flitter and disperse.
I clasp one, and it flops, wriggling onto the earth.
Others follow,
Seeking their companion.

Often, I gaze at a mirror,
Admiring the grace and beauty of the shoal.
A dance of emotion and calligraphy.
They are enthralling, ensnaring, invisible.
For no one can see into the mirror but me.

And I remember, that painful and tiring as reaching through the glass can be

No one can eat a fish that’s swimming in the sea. 

Monday, 18 May 2015

Swimming in Stars

Finally dusted off my old brain and put some words to paper.

Swimming in Stars

The myriad grains that glow with heat
The sand untouched by human feet
A long white stretch of island bliss
Where sloping shore and ocean kiss

The deep blue touch of night descends
To swathe the emerald trees
In silent cloaks of shadow stars
That fall into the sea

And leave them drifting on the waves
The luminescent glow
Of tiny lives left shimmering
The aurora of below

An indentation in the sand
That melds time ravished stone
With reams of curious glowing stars
And traps them all alone

Sunday, 22 June 2014

World's End

How To Train Your Dragon 2 comes out in about a month. This poem is based vaguely on that I suppose, as much as you can base anything on something you haven't seen.

I hope you all enjoy it, and I hope I can post things a little more frequently.

World’s End

In a harsh and snowy wilderness
At the end of a polar sea
Where the hand of justice pauses
When its fingers make out me

Where dragons ruled the thundery skies
And caused the waves to flee
Sent trembling back to safer shores
With a warmer history

And the dragons flew and tumbled
In a playful joyous spree
So raw and wild that not a thing
Could ever seem more free

But the hand of justice pauses
And the dragons couldn’t see
That the trap would be so friendly
That the friend they had was me

And now I roam the snowy wastes
And the cage of silence has no key
There is no justice
Just ice
And loneliness

And me

Thursday, 13 February 2014

A Puff Of Memory Gives You Cancer

It has been around about seven months since I've posted anything here and I'm sorry about that. I haven't written anything in a while and that's partly because I've had some big changes in my life, namely starting university and partly because of writers block. But inspiration struck and I wrote this. I hope you enjoy.

A Puff of Memory Gives You Cancer

Memory is smoke.
Intangible, lingering, drifting.
And then it dissipates into the night air.

Memory is inhaled in puffs.
Soothing, satisfying, calming.
Saturating the brain.
Watch the years billow out before your eyes.

A little cloud.
An essence of bluish grey.
The monotonous methodical moments.
And then a glowing ember,
Love, or fervency, or rage
A reverie that smoulders.

Yet even as the memories fade away,
Consumed by the chill evening,
In the light of the setting sun.
The desire to be remembered,
The longing for fame,
Progresses and grows.
Spreading through the nooks and hidden corners of the mind.
The dark passages and secrets alleys of consciousness.
Until it culminates as an action.
As a song or a scientific theory or a murder.
A feat to shelter your identity from the eroding patience of time.

An identity is a vibration.
A sequence of sounds that is labelled a name.
Specifically a vibration is how we share our identities with others.
And like smoke,
It lingers for a while
And eventually we dissipate.
But it’s still worthwhile to watch the patterns in the smoke
And see the shapes in the clouds.

Monday, 1 July 2013

I Survived

I just watched all eight Harry Potter films in a day and I'm feeling nostalgic and all the deaths are welling up in my heart again. So I thought I would express my feelings from the viewpoint of Harry after the death of Dumbledore. Because something occured to me, which I hadn't thought much about before that Dumbledore's death hurt me so much because he was just there. Someone so old, who has seen so much of the world, who has experienced things that happened a century before Harry was born, becomes a constant. And for me, and Harry, someone so young, to survive when that constant has gone seems bizarre to me. The same way that the attack on Hogwart's is a violation of innocence, somewhere that is always supposed to be safe is safe no longer, someone who is always supposed to be there is there no longer and it's weird and terrible and eventually accepted as obvious. Of course the young outlive the old, that's how things work. But it also seems a little strange at first and I tried to express all this in a poem. I hope you enjoy.

I Survived

Today I grieve an old friend
He was wise and comforting and he fell from a tower and died
But I survived.

I don’t understand.
He was a constant in my life.
He exists, always and absolute.
I thought my life would pass in a blink of an eye and he’d still be there
But now he is not, and I, so young, go on without him.
For I survived.

I feel violated.
This is wrong.
This isn’t meant to be.
He’s lived and laughed and loved and now
The light reflects from empty eyes, and a withered hand and spread-eagled limbs
Picked out from the shadows.
And I survived.

Mourning is an expression of betrayal.
I felt safe, and at home and I cradled him in my heart.
But then death reached in and snatched him away with fumbling fingers.
Not caring that my heart was bruised and my home was gone and I do not feel safe anymore.
And I don’t know why
Someone so small, when he towered so tall

He was kind.
And I learnt he was foolish and selfish and sorry
And it made me distraught but also a little better
To know that he was more like me.
And I miss him.
But he accepted his fate and left on his own terms and greeted death like an old friend.
To go on, to him, is a great adventure.
And how happy he would be, how glad he is to know, despite how sad that he had to go

That I survived.

Friday, 21 June 2013

The Killer In Black

So, Kallie asked me to write a Purple Roses story and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy. 

The Killer In Black: A Purple Roses Story

A giggle could be heard coming from a figure lurking in the shadows, as she perched on the wooden beam of the rafters. The timber creaked beneath her as she settled into a more comfortable stance, peering down from the rooftop at the group of people in the restaurant below.
The hushed murmur of whispered conversation floated up and the Thief In Black screwed up her face in concentration as she desperately tried to make out what they were saying.
“But you got to be surprise adopted last time we went out.” Thalia responded. “I haven’t had a go in ages!”
Octaboona frowned. “But I’m certain that this time, she has planned the most splendid kidnapping. There’s going to be a tea party and everything.”
Red spoke up. “I love tea. I absolutely have to be chosen! Don’t you agree Pyro?”
“Indeed, my love deserves only the best. Kallie provides the most amazing time.”
So we’re settled then?” Thalia said. “Red will have the honour of this evening’s visit from The Thief In Black?”
There came a chorus of ayes from around the table.
“As head of the Purple Roses my decision is final.” Skyril announced. “Red will be this month’s surprise adoptee.”
Red grinned and then glanced up at the rafters where she could see a pale face, still oblivious to the contents of their conversation.
Red cleared her throat and announced loudly “I’m just going to go to the bathroom. I won’t be a moment!” She stood up and the pale face beamed and swiftly withdrew from sight.
The Thief In Black giggled again and pointed dramatically towards the girl, with the beautiful flame red hair.
“I CHOOSE YOU! THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM THE THIEF IN BLACK!” before vaulting off the oak beam and bouncing twice as she clambered unsteadily to her feet.

Red Waterfall sighed, looked at her watch and left the bathroom, making her way back to the table. Everyone looked up at her in confusion.
“Back so soon?” Skyril enquired. “Normally Kallista entertains for hours. It’s barely been twenty minutes. That’s not even enough time for a drop of tea, let alone a tea party. I’m disappointed. Kallista must have whisked you there and then back immediately.”
Red interrupted.
“But that’s the thing! Kallie didn’t kidnap me at all. I waited by the bathroom for twenty minutes. I thought maybe she’d gotten lost, or bumped her head or something. Where could she possibly be?”
Octaboona frowned again. “We all saw her leaving though. She had a girl with long red hair thrown over her shoulder. If it wasn’t you, then who could it be?”
Suddenly there came a wail from the table in the corner and a tall man, with bulging muscles and really cool hair came running over, wringing his hands.
“Master! Master! He’s gone! I tried to protect him, but the girl was too much for me.” He wailed again.
Thalia looked at the man incredulously. “Thrasher?”
Thrasher sniffed miserably.
“So the rumours are true. Nye really did successfully perform a brain transplant. But that would mean… that girl… is Scapegrace?”
Thrasher nodded.
“Nye gave Scapegrace the body of a woman?”
“My Master is still a fearsome warrior. You should fear him. You cannot keep The Killer Supreme under lock and key!”
“Shut up Thrasher.”
Everyone started gathering up their things. Skyril led the Purple Roses out of the restaurant, Thrasher following meekly behind.

 Vaurien Scapegrace was not amused. He was sitting in a chair, wrapped up in daisy chains, whilst a crazy figure dressed in black cackled and asked him how she liked her tea.
“I am not a woman! I am a man!”
The Thief In Black paused. “Red, oh my goodness, I never knew! One lump or two?”
“Two please.”
“No thank you.”
“I am not Red! My name is The Killer Supreme!”
The Thief In Black looked at him worriedly.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You do look a bit different, now I think about it. Are you feeling ill? You look a bit ill. Or have you done something different with your makeup?”
Scapegrace stared at her.
“I do not wear makeup!”
“Yes... that might be it. You are still pretty either way.”
“Who are you? What do you do?”
“I am the Thief In Black!” she laughed. “No one knows my true identity!”
Scapegrace paled. What do you want from me? You cannot steal from The Killer Supreme! Not my thoughts, nor my wit nor my kidney!”
He closed his eyes and started humming in what he presumed was a meditative expression, waving his arms around his head, whilst making sudden jabs with his fingers.
The Thief In Black got up and Scapegrace quickly stopped, slumping back in the chair.
“Red, my dear… please tell me what is the matter. You look a little constipated. Did you not enjoy your tea?”
“The Killer Supreme found the tea perfectly adequate!” Scapegrace screeched.
“But my dear sister, you are not a killer. You are a Purple Rose. You fight the killers remember? I admit that you are of course supreme, but I do believe something is wrong. You are not in your usual mood at all.”
A sharp knock on the door distracted The Thief from her worries.
“The Purple Roses have sent out a rescue mission. They’ll never catch us though!”
However before she could free Scapegrace from his daisy chains, the door burst open and a tall man with a fine physique rushed in, followed by various members of the Purple Roses.
Thrasher ran to Scapegrace’s chair and started pulling at the daisy chains.
“Oh Master! Are you safe? Are you hurt? Here let me help you!”
“Idiot. I was enjoying some time away from you. With someone who can make good tea.”
“But Master, I make you tea all the time.”
“It’s horrible. It’s all watery without enough sugar. I bet you even put the milk in first. I hate milk. You always forgot that!”
“I’m sorry Master. You deserve only the highest standards. I try my best.”
Scapegrace turned away from him. “What do you say we forget about him,” he jerked a thumb at Thrasher, “and team up together? We could be The Thieves Supreme! No wait I’ve got it, the Killers In Black! We could be ladies of leisure,
Thrasher finally got the daisy chains undone. The Thief In Black turned away from them to stare at the other Purple Roses. She glimpsed Red and Pyro standing in the doorway and then turned back to look at Scapegrace.
“So… you’re… not Red then. I knew something was up. And I told you all about the Purple Roses too!”
The Thief smiled a crazy smile. “Don’t worry guys! I know just what to do!”
She turned back to Scapegrace and Thrasher who were looking at the frowning Purple Roses with concern.
“You asked me what I do. Not only am I the Thief In Black but I am also head of the Department of Bunnies!”
She started humming dramatically. “DUN DUN DUUUUUN!”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Release the bunnies!”
From a cage in the corner of the room, a large white bunny ambled out, and started sniffing at Scapegrace’s shoe.
Thrasher reached down to stroke it, and it bit him on the hand.
“My hand!” Thrasher shrieked in pain.
The bunny hopped onto Scapegrace’s shoe and bit his ankle.
The duo suddenly collapsed unconscious.
“Sedative in the rabbit saliva.” Skyril murmured to Thalia. “It takes them by surprise every time.”
The Thief In Black bowed and then somersaulted out the window before running off into the night.
“Indeed, we have these two under our control.” Octaboona smiled. “We must eradicate their memories of The Purple Roses before handing them over to the Sanctuary.”
Red turned to Skyril and the two started discussing who would be surprise adopted next.
“I didn’t even get to have a go this time. She picked Scapegrace! By accident I grant you but Scapegrace!”
“A Purple Rose such as yourself should be prepared for all eventualities. You should have gotten into position on time.”
“I’d like to have seen you have done better.”
“I’m head of the Purple Roses. My decision is final.”

Lurking in the shadows by the window, The Thief In Black smiled at her friends, and started thinking about plans for a double surprise adoption.

Saturday, 25 May 2013

Small Poems with Great Heart

So here are quite a few small poems that I adore. I hope you enjoy them too.

Dragon Love Poem by Roger Stevens

When you smile
the room lights up

and I have to call
the fire brigade

Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!Futile the winds
To a heart in port,
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.
Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!

Jenny Kissed Me by Leigh Hunt

Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me. 

Reflection on Ice Breaking by Ogden Nash

Is Dandy
But liquor
Is quicker. 

Self Pity by D. H Lawrence

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Letters by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every day brings a ship,
Every ship brings a word;
Well for those who have no fear,
Looking seaward well assured
That the word the vessel brings
Is the word they wish to hear.

Mr. Jones by Harry Graham

"There's been an accident!" they said,
"Your servant's cut in half; he's dead."
"Indeed!" said Mr Jones, "and please
Give me the half that's got my keys."

In the Desert by Stephen Crane

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”

The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
a red wheel
glazed with rain
beside the white

This Is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

First Fig by Edna St. Vincent Millay

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light.

"Life is mostly froth and bubble" by Adam Lindsay Gordon

Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own

"In this short Life" by Emily Dickinson

In this short Life
That only lasts an hour 
How much -- how little -- is
Within our power

"My life closed twice before its close" by Emily Dickinson

My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

Résumé by Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

War by Ebenezer Elliott

The victories of mind
Are won for all Mankind,
But war wastes what it wins,
Ends worse than it begins,
And is a game of woes,
Which nations always lose,
Though tyrant tyrant kill,
The slayer liveth still.

Common Form 1914-1918 by Rudyard Kipling

If any questions why we died,
Tell them, because our fathers lied.

Impromptu on Charles II by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

God bless our good and gracious King,
Whose promise none relies on;
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.

Epigram Engraved on the Collar of a Dog Which I Gave to His Royal Highness by Alexander Pope

I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?

Lord Finchley by Hillaire Belloc

Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light
Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right!
It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.

"Great things are done" by William Blake

Great things are done when men and mountains meet; 
This is not done by jostling in the street.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand by William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, 
And eternity in an hour.

A man Said to the Universe by Stephen Crane

A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!"
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
“A sense of obligation.”

The Coming of Good Luck by Robert Herrick

So Good-Luck came, and on my roof did light,
Like noiseless snow, or as the dew of night;
Not all at once, but gently,--as the trees
Are by the sun-beams, tickled by degrees.

A Word by Emily Dickinson

A Word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

A Clear Midnight by Walt Whitman

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

An Epilogue by John Masefield

I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces,
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races,
So I trust, too.

The Common Cormorant by Christopher Isherwood

The common cormorant or shag
Lays eggs inside a paper bag.
The reason you will see, no doubt,
It is to keep the lightning out.
But what these unobservant birds
Have never noticed is that herds
Of wandering bears may come with buns
And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

The Eagle by Lord Alfred Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

"Stars I have seen them fall" by A.E Housman

Stars,I have seen them fall,
But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
And still the sea is salt.

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes by Francis William Bourdillon

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying of the sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Sunday, 5 May 2013

On Semicolons and Ampersands: Forty Four Statements I Hold Most Dear

Firstly I want to thank Thalia so much for inspiring this poem with her own amazing poem. Click here. Seriously it's brilliant. I hope you don't mind I stole the last lines for my title. I really suggest that you all write your own poems on what you believe because people believe the most fantastic things and if you have no inspiration then this is a wonderful place to start. One of the things I don't mention in the poem is that the best inspiration comes at night but why did my brain chose 2:30 a.m to think over the things I believe?
Anyway I hope you enjoy the poem and if you haven't already read Thalia's then I hope you enjoy hers too.

On Semicolons and Ampersands: Forty Four Statements I Hold Most Dear

I believe in certain dark things but that they won’t seem so bad tomorrow.

I find fervency in fiction where others only see words.
I grieve the deaths and celebrate the joys of characters as I would my own family.
I believe that words can touch the heart and quicken the senses.

I believe in optimism unfettered by fact or convention or tradition
I believe in pragmatism infused with hope
And in pessimism not beyond reach of happiness.

I believe too often we define an ‘I’ and an ‘other’
And overlook the greater us.
I believe in letting your dreams consume you
Even when others find them amusing.

I believe the tragedy of King Lear is imperfect because it is unsatisfying
But its greatness stems from our sense of unfulfillment.
I believe the Jabberwocky was misunderstood
And Jub-Jub birds should never be shunned.

I believe that kindness, compassion and second chances are not innate
But learnt, chosen and even more wonderful for being so.
I believe no one is deserving of hatred,
Not even those who would not afford that same opportunity to me.

I believe that love makes us vulnerable but it also makes us trusting.
And those who nurture our trust will always be sacred.
I believe that spirituality is something greater than myself.
And I do not find it in God
But in the ocean, the stars and humanity.

I believe that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard there ever was
That happiness can be found,
Even in the darkest of times,
If one only remembers to turn on the light.

I believe that the universe doesn’t always conform to our expectations.
I will never understand why the mantis shrimp chooses death and darkness when it has access to a beauty beyond anything I can imagine.

I believe that the only place where a madman can invite you into a box
And it’s okay is on Doctor Who and that okay will never be my always.
I believe that man seeks for reason but is a truly irrational creature
And that our contradictions and our paradoxes make us human.

I believe that animals feel emotion and that we are not alone
And the most touching thing I ever heard was spoken by a parrot.
I believe that trees are sentient and if I could experience the sensations of another life form
I would choose an oak or possibly a pine.

I believe in the curiosity of Einstein and the dream of Martin Luther King.
I believe that equality must be fought for
That violence will only lead to violence
And that war is only a necessary evil
For those who find living with peace impossible.

I believe there is a community for everyone
And the day you are welcomed will burn bright in your mind
For as long as the candle of your memories is shining.
I believe that memory is our most precious possession
And that we do live with Dementors and we call them dementia.

I believe in lust at first sight and that love brings commitment and commitment brings love.
I believe in songs and stories and sunshine.
I believe that Time has a sound and fear has a taste and that Monday is a pale silvery blue.
I believe in friends I’ve never met and in cities I’ve never seen and the deeds of dead heroes.

I believe that we must acknowledge not all evil people are mad
That sane people can commit atrocities too.
That we should treat the mentally ill with respect
And that stigma is the ugliest word I know.

I believe that shadows are a symbol of presence because they lack substance.
That nothing will come from nothing.
And isn’t it strange that something so closely attached to you seems to have a life of its own?

I believe that Oscar Wilde said a lot of shit
But he really hit the nail on the head with “to define is to limit.”
I believe that cherries play a much larger role in The Picture of Dorian Gray than expected.
And overanalysing the trivial is both hilarious and meaningful.

I believe that darkness blinds and light blinds and moderation is only good in moderation.
I believe that love is all you need but oxygen is a nice bonus.
I believe the real food of love is not music but my grandma’s chicken soup.
I believe emotions are like good advice since it is important to listen to both.

I believe that 42 is the meaning of life, the universe and everything
And that 42 will always have a special place in the hearts of those
Who adore wit, humour and just plain silliness.

I believe that funerals are for the living
That they should be a celebration of life rather than a mourning of death
Which is a deeply personal matter.

I believe the expression “that’s so gay” should be reserved
For only the most fabulous objects and the loveliest of people.
I believe that privacy can be used as an excuse to justify hurtful behaviour
And just because there are no windows
Doesn’t mean a decline in standards is any less shameful.

I believe grammar should be used for clarity of speech
Not as a weapon to stifle the voices of others.
I believe the pen and the sword can both pierce the heart
But the pen has a nobler purpose in doing so.

I believe that change should never be feared
And I strive to accept that tradition should be respected.
I believe in thanking those who help you
So thank you Thalia for sharing the things you believe in.

I believe the most pleasant music of all can be found in the sound of our words
For there is no greater delight than voicing a word
Simply because it is unusual and beautiful and new.

But most of all I believe in behemoths and passion fruit.

Monday, 8 April 2013

Stolen Sorrows

I wrote this poem because I've been thinking a lot about Matthew Shepard who was murdered in Wyoming in 1998 because he was gay. This poem is for him. But it isn't only for him. This poem is for everyone who had their lives taken from them too soon, for everyone who has lost things that are never meant to be stolen. This is a poem for everyone.

Stolen Sorrows

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows
Sold and squandered my tomorrows
Hearing the sigh of time slip by
Crawling towards the day I die

I stiffen at the sharp stab of pain
I hear him whisper with disdain
Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows
Sold and squandered my tomorrows

I dream of a love that dare not speak its name
The disgust of a world that burns with a righteous flame
A black and gleaming, long and jagged scar
A voice so lost, I don’t know where you are

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows
Sold and squandered my tomorrows
You were the fool who threw away
The comforts held by yesterday

The barbed metal fence against my back
The never ending crush of fear
The blood that clings to all my face
Except the skin cleansed by my tears

They scream until I cannot hear
Until I cannot see the sky
Then leave me slumped, afraid, alone,
I cannot move, too late to cry

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows
Sold and squandered my tomorrows
I never got the chance to look
Or bargain back the days they took 

Friday, 5 April 2013

The Spaces Between

This poem is the result of a quote. It's a really awesome quote, it left me thinking. And then I wrote this. I hope you enjoy.

The Spaces Between

“And then the line was quiet but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone.” - John Green, The Fault In Our Stars

I love the quiet places
The spaces between worlds
Between people
I travel through the third space
Reached only by the phone
A place that is quiet, but not dead
It hums with a constant vitality
Sometimes I hear things
A sharp excited breath
The steady ticking of a clock
Whispers in the winds
I smile the ghost of a smile
I think this is what time sounds like
And I find peace in the empty spaces
The quiet places
I picture beloved faces
And let them trickle away
A moment of silence
Two souls, alone, together
On the edge of a great truth
And then the moment is gone
Whisked away by the onrush of sound
Life continues its conversation
Floods the quiet places
And empty spaces
But I still have the memories
They visit me whilst I sleep
Soon forgotten
But never really lost
Never really there
But real all the same