poem

Life

 in everyday / normality / now / poem / still life by

Sometimes I feel as though I don’t know quite where I fit in this universe. Almost as though I am living in a dream or dreaming of the world I am living in. I wake often unable to tell the difference from real life and the dreams I must have had. Unable to find things, as I must have put them away on in dream state. A sudden sense of deja vu overtakes a moment, haven’t I done this before? but where and when? Am I just going through the motions? How do I tell the difference between the actual and the perceived? I want to wake up and make the more »

Marching to the beat of my Drum

 in band / poem / Wednesday writing workshop by

  I used to be in a marching band I used to play the kazoo yep that awful, awful gold thing that no one knew what to do I used to wear a uniform with frilly knickers underneath I used to wear a big white hat with a chain that hit my teeth Green and white or Red and blue The uniform depended on what you do I had gold epaulets and a sash with medals on My mum and dad were very proud and used to cheer me on I had a feather in my hat knee high socks that just wernt cool This was the secret that I kept more »

All that Remains

 in mastectomy / pain / poem by

White on white, raised and hard So obviously foreign in their origin Not flowing, not organic Just Jagged and sharp Like quiet footsteps on a hard floor Pattering against the soft smooth skin puckered, raw and taught  Alien in the lunar landscape gripping pain, prevents rest and sleep no amount of rubbing can realise me I press against my muscles with my fingers Too tense they refuse to give electric currants pulse through the wires still no release from the incessant pull warm swimming feeling from opiates in mind pain penetrates all options I sink in to the deep warm water hoping for some realise Deeper holding my breath stifling the more »

Writing Workshop 9

 in out my window / poem / Wednesday writing workshop by

The Yellow top of a ride on car A red plastic tractor that hasn’t gone far The sandpit lid sits all forlorn For no children are out this morn A whirligig, not spins or holds Any gently drying clothes The children’s slide, swing and balls Still hiding under previous icy snow falls But there is signs of life and hope In my garden with its slope A robin red breast pecks away On a bird feeder filled today The Brussels sprouts stand proud and tall Some leeks too survived the snow fall Inside, all warm I scheme and plan for spring to come and lend a hand For this winter has more »