Life’s Vase – Poem

Sun still shining, slowly setting
Not a cloud in the sky, clear blue for the square in front
Long green leaves ending in a point show the gentle breeze
Telephone wires high up and taut, wobble precariously
A car moves past, a bird swims through the clear blue
The world outside continues living
In here, the stench of death.

Next to the box of others’ lives, a pot of other colours
Terracotta orange so hard and cold. How can anything live?
My how pretty, long and thin! Like straw to snap but strong as a trunk
Up them, fuel and eyes travel, journeying to the head, the summit of worth
Divergence the key to life. Variability, the fun
For them difference is visual
For us similarity is a mutation.

The strength supports, bringing life to the beauty, to the variable
Green shoots off, more fuel for their fire
The colours vivid, each one pleasing, each one unique
Fragrant smell, fresh and sweet, fills the surroundings
Each stands tall, petals soft and hydrated
Signs of life start to fade
The ways of death so close.

Each head wilts, closing tight, each smell flies away
New fragiles form, struggling and fighting for a new life
New and old join together until the withering patterns the floor
Clean them away, vacuum it up. Leave it all as memory alone
As the blue fades to black, the lives fade to light
New lives begin as old ones end
The terracotta vase is empty.

© May 2008.


Weathering Stormy Friends – Poem

Fair weather friends pop up, pop down, pop away again,
Taking what they want, leaching a soul away
Giving nothing in return, but a constant knowledge.
There is no falsehood. There is no pretence.

Tornado friends whirl in, swirl out and whirl in again,
Tossing up the fragile ecosystem, destruction left in its wake
Caring nothing for the path it takes, what it leaves.
There is no malice. There is no forethought.
Tornado friends simply breeze in unaware of their strength.

Every weather friends could be here three-six-five, or just now and then,
Acting simply as nature intended – a ray of sun in December
A drop of rain in August. There’s no matter.
It’s life. It’s unpredictable. But there is no leaching,
It’s a normal, day to day being, but there is no destruction.

© 6th November 2014

Last Place – Poem

Paint the clown into place
Slip the pillow over your face
Don’t let the façade call from grace
Never forget to remember your place
You have never stood a chance in the matriarch race
But it was never because you tripped on a lace
It can’t be your fault that you’re from outer space
Perhaps they all judged you with too much haste
Or you simply travel at a different pace
Are you the one bottle of cider in a Rose wine case?
It is simply that they are not of the same taste?

Perhaps it is they that are in the wrong case
It is them travelling at an incorrect pace
And once upon a time they were judged in haste
Nothing should stop everyone existing in the same space
Without needing their hands tied behind them with a lace
And you can all be Queen of your matriarchal race
Be positioned at the top spot, all in prime of place
As a group, you could all be virtues of grace
So remove the pillow from over your face
Live together in a harmonious place.

© 20th July 2014

Flowers – Poem

Standing tall and proud, it bears the only light,
Illuminating and radiating, warmth and smell abound,
As bright as the sun, as dark as the night,
Two opposing sides, battling to control.
One by one the petals unfurl, revealing an inner beauty,
The pinky white, tinges of deeper crimson,
And suddenly the stamen and stigma revealed,
Their weakness, the inner, fragile weakness.
Slowly time passes as petals fall from their height,
Tumbling to the floor with a pitter patter sound,
Cold is setting in, all the smell worn out,
Now is their time to wilt.
After the dehydration, after all the wrinkles,
After the colours fade from the eye,
The pollen all blows away, staining the heart,
Until the blinding stalks falter, fade and fall.

© 2011

Amputating the Old – Poem

One day, it was so very simple,
A little nick was all it was,
It barely touched the surface,
A fleeting glance.
There was no blood drawn.
Over time, its roots grew deeper,
Scabbing and crusting over and over,
Becoming engrained and permanent,
A familiar scar.
It was built now to last.
Only rarely can it happen,
Such an accidental contact,
Has such an impact on your health,
A friend’s smile.
What was it like before the mark?
Once in a million, is healing,
All it takes is one little bug,
To gnaw and attack, wear it all away,
A fiendish turn.
Now the wound’s open once more.
Opening wide, the bacteria reproduce,
Serving themselves and eating their surroundings,
And the smell is pungent,
A festering time.
It’s all turned sour. There’s one path ahead.
Owing nothing to modern man,
Medicines and salves are no cure,
There’s only one solution, away from all this pain,
A fiery pain.
The festering, rotting, once-loved scar,
Needs amputating before it spreads.

© 29th December 2011

The Perfect Storm – Poem

You, you are my storm
My sudden downpour
My flash of blinding light.
You are my constant upheaval
My constant source of confusion
My disorientating blind panic.
The thunder deafens
The rain water drowns
The spray blinds and the wind chills.

You, you can storm at anytime
My Spring day suddenly showered
My Summer day suddenly darkened.
You always flash in the blue
My Autumnal day now slippy
My Winter day now slushy.
And you pass on to fresh ground,
Unknowing and unwavering
As you leave behind destruction.

You, you are my constant
Your inflicting pain will return
Your contradictions always resume.

© 6th November 2014

how? – Poem

How do you tell someone something they don’t want to hear?
Something they will hate you for but that they should fear?
Is it unsolicited advice? Sticking your rear end in?
Is it helping them in their time of need? Offering invaluable advice?
How do you calm someone’s anger by agreeing with their enemy?

How do you tell someone that they are in the wrong?
That no matter how much they think they’re perfect, they need to change?
Could it be a suggestion? To do more, alter their lives.
Could it be a hint? At others you’ve seen and the pain.
How do you try and be a friend when you can’t be honest?

How do you tell someone that it’s not just them suffering?
That their actions affect others and are bringing society down?
Should you lie to them? Tell them they’re perfect and it’s unfair?
Should you do the hard thing? And risk losing your friend?
How do you break someone’s heart without ever owning it?

How do you tell someone that the words are true?
Words that sting and say you’re a failure, but true to the core.
Would you verbally slap them? Or comfort them?
Would you shush and soothe them? Or dig the knife in further?
How do you say the words without blood splattering everywhere?

How do you tell someone that you agree wholeheartedly and are glad?
Glad that society has seen and can rescue them all.
Can society solve it alone? Without a whisper from your lips?
Can you escape with your friendship? And them all with respect?
How do you decide whether their lives are worth more than your friend?

How do you tell someone that you’d do things differently?
That you would pass their tests, ensuring society’s future.
Why can’t you tell her? Is it selfish? Self-righteousness?
Why should you speak up? Them. Simply them.
How do you put your trust in a system five years too late?

How do you tell someone the words which would destroy them?
The pain would never heal and they would be lost to you.
Who is more important? Them, you or both?
Whose heart would be lighter by sharing your burdens?
How do you crush them in agreement with a faceless desk?

How do you tell someone that you can make their worst fears reality?
That their imagination is nothing compared to reality?
Watching as their dreams deteriorate into waking nightmares,
As your sleep becomes peaceful now your heart is lighter.
How do you decide what is best for them when you only dream?

How do you tell someone that they don’t deserve to be a forest?
When you suffer in a dry, barren desert as they bask in life?
Is that the whole truth? Or do you want to help?
Is their suffering your salvation? Is it your retribution?
How do you explain that they’re ruining everything you crave?

How do you tell someone they’re selfish and self-obsessed?
How do you decide if you mean them or yourself?
How can you live with yourself telling her your truth?
How can you cope not sharing your truth with her?
How do you find the thin line on which a friend stands?

Author’s/Poet’s note: This is the rough draft, by that, I mean that it has not been subjected to line counting and other things I would do to a poem. It may be at some point. It may not be. I kind of like the roughness of it. It fits the topic as does the repetitiveness and sheer amount of questions! Also, the title is in lower case for a reason and is not a grammatical or spelling error by myself 🙂 And for anyone interested, I still haven’t decided what to say to my friend! Leaning towards saying nothing and just listening to her.

(c) February 1st 2011