poem

Remnants

It bubbles beneath the skin,
Small ripples emanating from the core of a wounded heart.
Tiny lingering flecks of closeted anxiety,
Compressed with age and hidden by tenacity.
Living fossils that once roamed freely within her soul,
Tearing through the ages and spreading corruption,
Flavoring her every passing thought – her actions.
An excruciating monologue jammed into a loop
– and stuck fast.
What was once a whole sea of anger, now lingers a quiet resignation.
Yet I feel it. Simmering, festering, a silent volcano,

Waiting to submerge.

……………

This poem was written using inspiration supplied by Sammie Cox and the Weekend Writing Prompt was ‘submerge with a word count of 86.

If you want to join in you can check out her blog over at sammiscribbles

 

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Rejuvenation

I need to update –

Refresh, revive, to stay alive

A new mandate

And all that jive

The stagnant air needs to be cleared

Cobwebs have to disappear

This apathetic soul  must fade

Create a chance to be remade

No longer stifled, strained by fear

We’ll have no sadness, no more tears

To make a break to brighter plains

Transformation: life’s true aim

Another Time, Another Place

 

I could have loved you,

but you didn’t see the magnitude of my request.

You were not able to feel the weight

pressed into every word

scribbled, on tear stained paper.

 

I would have loved you,

if, after careful consideration

you’d told me,

it was too much – I was too much.

You just couldn’t comprehend the change,

not just of lovers, but whole lives too.

Perhaps, being apprehensive, you were scared,

unsure of your feelings, where they lay,

and who with.

I could have loved you

for wanting time to contemplate.

 

I could have forgiven you,

of being unaware of loaded pressure,

for not sharing the burden

of the ticking bomb I held in the dark.

I would have forgiven you

for not understanding my clumsy plea.

Not seeing through the flimsy charade of subtext

that was so easily dismissed.

I accept this fault as my own

 

I would have loved you

with your words recanted.

After nights of indecision, 

If your voice had only offered emotion

rather than indifference.

I could have loved you.

Even after the painful walk home,

of shame, of sadness, of anger.

Devoid of affection,

or admission.

 

But when days and nights pass

into weeks, then months,

and eventually she leaves you

for another man, another baby.

If after all avenues have been scoured,

options weighed up,

and my offer of love is recalled

from the depths of its ashes.

When you want me to love you

and wonder where the fire has gone.

Remember

 

I could have loved you completely

Only the timing was wrong.

 

How to catch a Judge’s eye?

There must be something in it

Some method – some madness

Some sacrificial ritual to evoke

To claim their eyes and ears

Sew them to my words

And raise my vision

From the grave of poet tears

In July I will write,

I shall carve out my heart

Paint only by the light

Of a weeping orange candle

I will relinquish all ink

To glean admiration

Soak parchment in hope

With this incantation

By the waxing fingernail

Of an August moon

I will pray to all Gods

For answers back soon

I will bake lots of cookies

Bare all of my secrets

Stitch buttons on poppets

Post each judge to keep it

I could stalk them on twitter

Devour their heroes

Smuggle a cheque

With several zeros

Bribe them with candy

Kidnap their cat
Sneak in some Semtex
And that would be that

Oh what am I thinking
Oh where has this led
I can’t share this poem
That’s stuck in my head!

 

I’m Fine Thanks

I’m not OK
Not within the weeping of trees,
Or inside wailing caverns,
Nor whilst walking home,
alone,
on a Saturday night
after the fight we had under the opaque moon.
 
I’m not OK in the vast open spaces,
of myself.
When I come to the end of my time
as a host, as a lover,
as a child,
as a friend.

I’m not OK
in my forced role of parent, or therapist.
Nor am I a sturdy shoulder,
a prop, a raft: left to hold others afloat.
 
After the day is through and the walls become silent
Hours left to my own devices,
my own thoughts, feelings even
Here – I’m not OK.
 
You cannot see,
yet in me lies a detonator
waiting for sanity to finally give in.
Silently mocking – willing me to explode
so that every bit of me is opened up to scrutiny,
and judgement.
Disappointment,
for both you and me.
 
And only then,
when my body is wiped from the walls,
and scarlet pools around their shoes
will they claim –
 
She seemed OK
She was always OK

My Muse

 

It’s as if you make my fingers type somehow
Lure thoughts from my lips, staining the paper
– with inspiration
There are days when you tire me
Incessantly driving my mind forward
Creating strings of words ,that take form
Just a line or two at first
Then suddenly a whole cacophony
Of symphonies: the muse in triumph
And unbeknownst to most, you sit
Perched firmly in my chest
Your voice at the forefront of my mind

Go on, you say
Write it – write it all out
Write it for me