Poetry Blogs (daughter)

Your polo shirt is slightly askew.

Eyeliner you try and hide.

My daughter baby’s prime;

we have fought for this.

You now sit in classrooms,

open windows, warmth drained.

Queue, face mask clad, in corridors

dreaming of seeing faces 

The boy you pass notes to

you are no longer free to kiss

or find the ecstasy in another.

Your childhood is on hold.

W...

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Mother:

I look at your body with curiosity.

Your curves, hirsute and strange,

fill me with awe.

You undulate where as a child I am firm and flat.

Mother:

same four walls,

waiting for me to anoint your back.

Bent and frail,

spent, wrinkled, deflated,

unsure where once you were deft.

I look at your body with curiosity.

Mine will follow,

always behind.

I shad...

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Forgive me, for not 
being the mother 
you needed me to be.

For being too busy,
too naive to see 
what was happening 
in front of me.

For being silent
when your father 
screamed and demeaned.

For when I thought it
was sweet that your 
boyfriend carried you
to your room when you 
"fell asleep".

For not enough hugs
and too many lectures.

For not seeing the signs
of addict...

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The day I met you

My soul awoke;

a sound of crying so joyous I could cry myself
The thought of opening my eyes

without the sound this little life I created would be just as scary as it was

when she had opened hers in the first

moments of life 
She lit up my night sky
She came to me with golden hair
The color people would dye to have
For her, I'd die a million times to have also
...

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I see the opening of your mind's eye, 

glittering like a starry sky. 

Asking yourself, how high? 

The iron will that says, I try. 

Go my darling, you'll fly. 

Full of joy, I cry. 

The apple of your father's  eye.

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The wind blew us away,
but we stayed sure footed.
Evening drew in 
as dark clouds swam 
in post storm
Dreams:
a God dwelling sky. 
We built shelter 
for your game,
The way you faced
the wind 
made me so proud. 
We the warrior queens, 
wanting nothing but this. 

By Emma-Jane Stradling

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What is an alcoholic?

When I was 2 you were all I knew

I had no idea what the bubbly juice was

But I knew it was good and it came from you

At 3 I can only remember seeing you hyper

Never understood your words were you speaking proper?

I don’t know what happened but mommy had to go

Now im just left here no soul 3 years old.

Grandma and Grandpa are extremely nice

Spent 10 ...

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Trisha M. Hopkins
March-15-1994/June-12-2013
Dedicated to my mother Christine Barrek
I love you mom 

I remember Back then 
When i was a kid
The memories i hold
On everything i did
And the stories my mommy told 

Tucking me into bed
Saying sweet dreams love you and don't let the bed bugs bite
Then before leaving the room 
She'd kiss me on my forehead
And i'd reply with "love you and good-night
And bef...

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October-7-1997
Trisha M. Hopkins

{I}
Waiting for him, sitting in the car
Under the erie moonlight
Imagening what he'll do 
Seing him in the distance, Seeing him in the night
His mind shouting "I'm going to get you!"

{II}
He sees himself going after the man
He sees himself dragging him, dragging, dragging
Tying the man up
Everything is so dim
Under the erie moonlight

{III}
Torching him almos...

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If I asked you if you loved me
would you mean every word you spoke.
If I asked you if you thought of me
- your distant child-
would I find that special moment
when you thought of me so dearly.

But if you ask me if I loved you
there wouldn't be any words
that could express my feelings
I have towards you, just silence in reply.
And if you asked me if I thought of you,
you would see tears ...

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You are sunkissed hair

All seaside skin

The tomboy princess

Scraped knees, bruised shins.

A tree climbing angel

My hide and seek belle

All beauty and promise

Like an old wishing well.

Such a natural leader

As you're learning and growing

You shine like a beacon

So head strong and knowing.

Bringing joy in abundance

As I watch you develop

S...

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The bayonet. I've had it a decade. There's provenance here... not written I'm afraid. My mate Richard, who I went to school with in 82-87, had a lovely sister. Lorraine. from a different dad. He was a soldier in the British army. He's dead now. He collected weapons, guns and knives. His wife asked Richard what to do with them. Some were real guns. I said tell any cops the guns are fake...

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