Writes from the heart

Fairness

One Way Letters

Speech.
2 way
communication that
consists of
A speaker(myself for once)
And the listener (i guess that must be
you, as I hear no words from your
end of the line.)
I talk and talk
and scream and sigh
and call and cry
and search to seek
To find the answer
As to why (oh why)
my, my, my, my....
letters, my phone calls,
my ever growing poetry....

Go unanswered.

I haven't written poetry that rhymes in so long....so I don't really know where this cam from xD

Walls have ears
but they not need speak
To share the words
that creep, that creep,
and weave through staircases
slither down halls
"Come listen! Come listen!
Away!! They call!!"

They think I lie
They think can't hear
How can they know me
as I disappear
From the sight and sound
that they've 'banished' me from
It tough, I know
but it's what she's become.

xx

New Year's Resolution - A poem a week =) At least!!

She'd cast her wave to the sea
It was dark, but the end of the chapter
was caught by the moon
And melted through into the
emerald phosphorescence of the tide....

But like the tide
deep black pages of a written past
floated
back to the forefront of reversed sight.

Gravity turned the moon
and withdrew its light.

She didn't want to read again
She knew the ending,
of how salt of the wound
hurts
as her music box heart is healed by the ocean.

The tide came closer until
it adorned the shore with the paper-
thin leaves of the written heart.
Jealous for the heat of the sand over
sand with its shell so calm.
So protected.
So beautiful.
(It was bound to want what it cannot have -
you loose what you are unable to hold onto)

A reminder? A regret? Does the writer wish for a different ending?
(Only one to blame for that - She's sure)

She runs, though sad,
the final chapter was meant to be.
It was right.
Against her wishes, curiosity turns to the moon....

Who questions....
What am I to think?

Once again, it is effaced from her mind.

Until fate has the tide crawl in again.



xxxx

As the spider casts it's charm
across the window
of streams, adorned with dew drops
delicately, deliciously positioned
across a sheet of crystalline glass
transforming into that of iced clouds
that snap. Bitter,
in all four corners.

She looks on.

The next, folded, fading faces.
An army of painted curves
tip, unbalanced and fall.
Their cries echo in the colour
of terror,
muds of autumn traced the ground.
But they cling on.

And she looks on.

A solitary stand.
Mirror of me, it reaches
in all direction, yet
the same direction.
I know,
christened with the fairy's dust
a few hopeful thoughts
and I will fly.
Fly on.

She looks on.

xx

And the scarlet rose asked
Why did it hurt?
When my strings were pulled
to choke?
My stem not pulled,
but twisted?
and why (I cry)
do I heal - for now -
to make a choice,
a battle with the brain
(if I only had a brain)
I didn't call
(we're not living in a fairy tale after all)
I can't speak
(just listen....listen to the sound of the wind)
nor feel - not really -
A toy a most.

Bye bye Petals.

Yes....
No....
Yes....

No.



xx

Sorry it's been so long, coursework and all =(

Shine of a coin
Passes from the ‘gentleman’ to the other
For her.

Red flush
As dainty as the petals he promises
For her.

The smile
And a whispered word to bring bubbled delight
For her.

That look
And the knowledge of truth
Is all for her.

xx

Heyheyhey :) Here is one I wrote –rather last minute – for a mass in school. I thought it was rather neutral, not necessarily religious, soooo why not post :)

The truth will set you free,
And a confession to seek forgiveness
For everything –
For every time we have ever closed our eyes – will set us free,
So we can grow,
And prepare to remember the sacrifice,
Which made the simple divine,
And the possibility of our forgiveness
Possible.

We will remember you.

x

Apologises, my fault. I've just had a lot on my plate recently and haven't been able to blog. Not that excuses matter. Anyway - here is a recent poem. I had a bit of a Sylvia Plath moment when I was reading it aloud, and thought it sounded quite good =D I like it sooo..anyway. Here it is, I'll begin to dance across these eggshells...


Dare to dance across the
corners, the points and curves
of the eggs
Lined in perfect rows.
Each polished to the perfection of a dream
of my dream.
I’ll stay asleep, not to wake the giant,
and close the lid to protect myself from the harm
Of disorder.
Moving forward,
with the grace which is as clearly nonexistent
as the future.
Most unfortunate indeed.
I crawl and crawl,
to balance and perfect
No danger, (just the fear of what in truth is not really there)
So I spread my weight, to be sure, down I fall,
until the shell breaks
piece, by piece,
Until all that is left, is the sting and remains
Of those perfected lines.
In each fragment, a memory of the picture before
which I find
I am embedded in every piece
Which shattered across the silver of that cloud
Hung, in the midst of everything
On the balance of what was meant to be.


x

I thought I'd better post, considering that I have at all so far this year. I guess I was just waiting for the right poem to come on by...well there's enough...fun going on to supply inspiration so here it is...

My week was made
you tied the red strings wrapping my world
back with normality.

It's holding, just about,
but it's still so delicate
after the 'mistake' you made.

Now the strings are straining
but not because you wrapped it too tight.
The threads which make you are against you.
and I don't think you know what's going on.

This thread is different, the black amongst the red.
It's making its way out, into ribbon with the best intentions
but another motive? as much denied?

Or is that just what I hope?
The only lie I ever hope to be true.
Something just doesn't feel right.

I hope it's all wrong. I hope I can
s-n-i-p away at this ribbon until it's only the thread thats left
so it can all go back to normal
and I wont flood this gift away.

A single red string is enough, it's all I need

I think I was hoping a little more than even I knew.

Sparkled tears dry on those closed lashes
Blink. blink.
Be strong.
Two years is too long.
Be the rock.
Remember, there are others who need her more.
You are needed right now.
The rock? Or the stone in the shoe?
And as much as you wish she were here
Someone else needs you to be here in her place.
Or at least try to be.


Some shoes are just too big to fill,
But sometimes all you can do
is try and make the owners proud.


x

I found this one when I was looking through some of my older stuff =) I quite like it so I thought I'd post it, reminds me a bit of a character in a book I'm reading at the moment =D

Its not the time passing
That I catch with my eye as i’m half focused
Half here
Half taken
I do not hear anything though
I know when something is...
Not paranoid, just aware.
I worry in a sense if seen, but confident enough
to know he wouldn’t let anything happen.
I think.
But it’s losing control,

No

It's the adrenaline I fear the most

Where and when and how and why
Trapped in the same old circle
of reliving and remembering
and feeling how I did.

And the dusts of time keep on falling
and everything around me is changing
but I still can't see far enough in the past
to understand why im stuck in the sand

I can't help but stay here
and though I know it's not good for my health
I don't want to change from what I was
what I am, though you already are too far gone

And the dusts of time keep on falling
and everything around me is changing
but I still can't see far enough in the past
to understand why im stuck in the sand

Fall, again and pick yourself up,
again, before the fall you forsee,
but if it reminds you that you still feel,
is it really that bad? If you still have a heart.

And the dusts of time keep on falling
and everything around me is changing
but I still can't see far enough in the past
to understand why im stuck in the sand

Maybe I just need to sink into the sand to make it back up again

Heaven kids us in our infancy
Pulls at those heartstrings
Breaks the boundaries
Sparks those tears
Those cries for help

I am here

I fold with care
and cut to the line
(don't cross it, don't break it)
Should I ask? Or use my common sense?
Play it safe
(Cause who knows what could happen)
Colours run
into nothing, pretty but tainted
and as it grows,
takes shape and knows where
and when
it wants to be
who's to stop it?
(and you forget the other half,
you forget there is a center to
every petal)
and those yellow paper roses
just don't want to stick anymore.
So why did the red?
Which is to work?
(You should have seen it coming

I'm Sorry

).

OK, I'm fed up of drama drama drama...so I thought I'd post up some completely irrelevant poetry today, it's up to him now, nothing more I can do, no amount of poetry can change that...

Also I haven't really written much recently, I've been attempting song writing...(key word attempt) so the poems have come a bit of a slow down, but they'll be back soon haha =]

Anyways, seen as it Remembrance Sunday this week here's 'Where Poppies Grow'

Bombs have blown
To pieces and scattered
Across the ground
As if nothing mattered
Where poppies grow.

Hearts have been broken
And tears have been shed
Memories of war forgotten
From the heroes now dead
Where poppies grow.

Lives have been taken
For a cause thought to be right
Now as each name is recalled
We remember their darkened fight
Where poppies grow.

Flags are raised
To show our respect
For the soldiers who have fallen
Simply so they could protect
Where poppies grow.

Bright poppies now bloom
Pride clear and well known
Red petals for red soldiers
Your poppies have grown.



x

It's been a while

I finally have the chance to beat,
to move, to fly.
I see and I have the power
to smile, to form butterflies.
It's been so long
since I last stretched.
Not that I'm counting but
the dark, loveless nights seemed countless
and now I can feel again
It feels strange
and unused muscle
shrunken
but the potential for so much
love
brings happiness which steals the lows
and makes them soar again
over each cloud, taking in
every detail of every second
so every sight, every touch
is remembered and locked
up into a box with reeling rainbows of ribbon.
So beautiful.
So...
So...
So.

I slot in where-ever is left once everyone has found their place.

No disturbances.

No hassle.

No problem.

Do I make things complete or just complex?- Who knows?

But am I the piece that has gone missing?

Maybe. I'd like to thinks so.

I'm the piece that works around everyone's lives.

To try and make things flow better...

For everyone else but me.

They matter more so what is a moment of pain,

Or frustration

When everyone else is happy?

But what if I'm growing tired of it all?

What if I'd like-for a change-

For things to work without me drawing the short straw.

But i feel bad, I'm an inconvenience,

Sorry.

So sorry.

Story of my freaking life...

I know I'm probably gonna kick myself for putting this up later but I feel like I kind need to. It's not great poetry but I feel like crap right now and it might just help me at least for a little bit.

I wrote this the other week, and it is followed by a few panicked poems. Anyway here it is.

Is it bad?

Is it bad that I can work out the exact day we met?
Is it bad that I know where to find your favourite biscuits?
Is it bad that I know in which drawer you keep your socks?
Is it bad that I know you’ve eaten pizza...with mint sauce?
Is it bad that I already have an idea for your Christmas present?
Is it bad that I hope your here with me to celebrate my 18th?
Is it bad that when I see you perform, I have eyes for no-one else?
Is it bad that I hope you think of me, even just a little bit every now and again?
Is it bad that my heart skips when I hear my phone, in the hope that it’s a text from you?
Is it bad that I think of you often, more often than I probably should?
Is it bad that I honestly can’t imagine what I’d do without you, now that you’ve become part of my life?
Is it bad that I worry about being a good-enough-girlfriend, only because I know you deserve it?
Is it bad that I love you? Cause I really can’t help this anymore.

x

Forever and Always

Purer than innocence's first
Crescent moon appears and remains
- to my delight -
Cause I return the favour with a sparkle,
though less in brilliance,
a star not so beautiful
(but made up with hope)
knows this is as close to perfection as I'd
want to see.
A clear night framing the moon
and a sigh so infectious
ever star takes it's turn.
My favourite forever and always.