Morning breaks the night
Shards of colour in the light
Spreading hope and inspiring delight
In that brief moment there’s no fight
Firey waves through clouds ignite
It’s the morning, the day, a welcome sight
Having never done it before I decided to try sketchnoting one of my poems, I wasn’t sure how to go about it to start with so, I’ll be completely honest, I just sort of winged it. But I’m really enjoying the process and it’s an interesting way to see these two things coming together.
I’m delighted to say my poem ‘Autumn Storm’ has been published on Spillwords today.
The ink runs ribbons
Caressing the paper
As it soothes
Fire in my heart
The corners curl
Inwards from the pressure
As if to cocoon my words
Artistic in it’s catharsis
Delightful in it’s musicality
The flow and the fall
From heart to page
Soothes my torment
In it’s cadaverous stage
The pen & the page
Are my saviours
A poem about being acutely aware of time, all the moments passing
It’s a rhythm, a beat, a subtle intrusion,
It’s permanent, present and an illusion.
Whether silent or shouting, time speaks in my tongue,
If you’re watching or not it’s a siren’s song,
That calls and calls in cascaded clicks,
With dulcet tones if the hour permits.
Hypnotically absent, but every where in your mind
Unavoidable awareness of each moment in time.
The hands spin round drawing in my thoughts,
I feel him near, in this space of mine
Turning in my mind with barely a pause,
I can hear him always, Ol’father time.
And missing pieces
Make a mystery of my motives
And my manic heart
In my mind
A free-written poem about a journey through a final goodbye to a loved one, as part of a Grand Guignol suite of monologues in poetic and free verse ‘Cabaret of Confessions’
Published on Spillwords in 2016
As she gazes into her eyes can she see the pain,
Will she see the shadows, will she see the shame,
She can see the love, she can see the light,
She can feel the pull, feel her chest coiled tight,
She hopes her heart won’t break as she tears away,
Will she hear it crack and feel her fingertips stray,
As they grasp onto the moment that’s no longer real
As they clutch for hands that can no longer feel.
Lost reaches — brush nothing, her heart begins to flake
Her soul hopes for sleep and the longing lays awake.
Would she really be missed, her mind starts to break
To feel like she belongs, what would it take…
Love like thunder, as light and as fickle as the promises now unspoken.
A poem about finding the beauty and trying to hold onto the positive after a broken heart.
Published on Spillwords 2016
What’s your favourite moment?
The question is often posed,
A recent, beautiful moment,
With hopes and hearts deposed.
And in an instant I can see it,
Feel your body, smell your skin,
Because the beautiful favourite moment,
Is when I end and you begin.
I can still feel my arms around you,
Hear the song as the needle coasts,
The melody, the pedantic cracklings,
The record player contains these Ghosts.
A poem to illustrate those moments where fading out is a comfort or freedom from anxiety, or when the everyday seems overwhelming
Enticing in its familiarity
Terrifying in its ferocity
Alluring in its predictability
Isolating in its contorted comfort
To tired to fight but a light, a flicker of something keeps her here
Unable to catch enough breath
Unaware of the world beyond her thoughts
Self-centred and alone in the thick darkness and heavy silences
It’s just wallpaper. It’s just an escape.
A poet struggling with the unrequited love of their muse
Published on Spillwords in 2016
And so it starts; the question of the ending begins.
Knowing you can’t love me.
But your arms can hold me home
Knowing you can’t need me
And I can’t bear to be alone…
Omnipresent stuttering holds the pen fast in my grasp
And the juxtaposition of my desire is disillusioned fast.
Tortollogy of my feelings fall fast upon the page
But ink kills the creation –