Poetry Blog by Eva Curless

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fitzroy herbert on Anonymous (Fri, 24 Nov 2017 06:51 pm)

Big Sal on The Last Night with Grandad. (Fri, 24 Nov 2017 06:50 pm)

Eva Elizabeth on Jam Sandwiches (Fri, 24 Nov 2017 05:36 pm)

Laura Taylor on Jam Sandwiches (Thu, 5 Oct 2017 09:55 am)

raypool on Jam Sandwiches (Tue, 3 Oct 2017 09:23 pm)

Hannah Collins on Child's Play (Tue, 3 Oct 2017 04:32 pm)

Eva Elizabeth on One Love (Tue, 27 Jun 2017 08:27 pm)

Rose Casserley on One Love (Thu, 25 May 2017 09:03 am)

Eva Elizabeth on Far Away (Sat, 1 Oct 2016 08:38 pm)

on Far Away (Sat, 1 Oct 2016 12:44 pm)

Anonymous

I am the warm arms of a mother
That sweep you up
And carry you away from this pain.
That smother you in happiness
Absent parents couldn’t provide.
You’ll drift for a while.
Then with the flicker of a lid
You’ll slide into clouds of
Sweet perfumed dreams.

Just a child of 15.

Floating from job to job.
Hour to hour.
A withering flower
Blossomed for drought.

Let it happen.

Shut ...

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addictiondrugs

Jam Sandwiches

Her slippers shuffle along
The carpet, with swirls of faded bronze. 
Wrinkled hands worn by casino youth, waltz 
Through the smell of hot leather,
Balancing china cups and saucers.
With eyes that sing the marble green
Of the Empress staircase, her face is the ghost
Of a lost love.

And I, with tiny toes that cannot yet tap
On the ballroom floor below, 
Eat jam sandwiches
On my Grandmot...

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familyGrandmothermemoriesWigan

Child's Play

Running through the playground with a red ball
Kicking up dust of a joy he once knew
A right footed volley is greeted by the roar
Of helicopters circling above the street.
As the few play Jenga with the lives of many,
Walls and dreams crumble around his bare feet.
A kaleidoscope of gas, blood and orange
Ambulance seats tumble before his eyes.
Simply a child. Lullabied to sleep by mother’s ...

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ConflictSyriaWar

Cardboard Boxes

I thought that love drifted through the ages
Like dandelion seeds on the breath of a young dream,
Before I watched my father click shut the car boot
Under an ashen sky. Memories caged in cardboard.
Ice cream smiles on Scarborough beach.
Sand clinging to tiny feet. The beating of spades
Against red castle turrets.
Until evening tide devours the fortress.
Bills crash through the letterbox,
...

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Divorcelosslovememories

Just a Nurse

A daughter, a mother and a nurse, sleepwalks to work
On four hours’ sleep, as the moon peeps above the clouds.
The sun snuggles under the covers.
The familiar uniform bares her arms against the breath of December.
Clinical blue shrouds her worries of money troubles
And ailing family members
She wears a compassionate smile.
There are blisters on the soles of her feet,
From chasing the lost ...

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NHSNurse

The Last Night with Grandad.

entry picture

The sun bows, outside the window
Clouds don a shade of black.
In a dimly lit side room,
Bulbs flicker. Hope turns its back.
Clock hands stack the seconds.
Eyelids straining with the fear
That in the hollow of my dreams
You’ll disappear
With the wave of a gloved hand
Under a pristine white sheet.
I trace the wrinkles, map the dimples
Painted upon your fading face.
Until sleep seduces me
...

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alzheimersdementiagrandad

One Love

One people. One voice. One Love....
United as a city, we rise above the hate.
Because these are the bricks that we built.
A labour of love. And it’s the workers’ hands
That make them great.
From the beating heart of Albert Square,
The vessel of music takes us everywhere.
It owns a bucket hat and Adidas footwear.
You can feel it alive in the streets, in the air.
Indie music. Madchester. No...

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ManchesterRed Cross Manchester

Far Away

Maybe it’s those absent eyes,
gone searching for their better days,
that give away your hide and seek disguise
and tell me that you’re far away.

Are you back in New York,
chasing that old American dream
through the concrete foundations
on which you built our family's beam?

Or are you in Wigan’s Central park,
in Billy Boston’s Empire State,
watching Warriors paint the town red
then p...

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dementiafamily

Growing Up

A colouring book becomes Facebook.
A tweet isn’t the sound from a bird.
Mobile devices hold us hostage
to high definition
when ambitions are blurred.
Light up trainers become stilettos
that shush insecurities
and tightly crush toes
,flashing in the strobe lights
of newly found adventure,
that makes us drunk on
possibilities and hope.
But dazzled by choice,
dazed by possibility,
we be...

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adolesencechildhoodgrowing upparenthood

I Know why the Youngster Sings.

 

The night blossoms
as Charlemagne reaches
through the speakers
of the dusty Crosley cruiser.
Guitars rattle the shutters
of turmoil ridden hearts
and release the inner song.  
The vinyl spins.
Troubles crackle
and burn as Catfish
and bottle men
cackle and dance
around the fire in our souls.
They pacify our wandering minds
through headphones
and late night strolls.
In the cold,...

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growing upmusicyouth

First Date

She
paints her lips with a false confidence,
smacks them together
and sits
and waits.
Her apprehension perches beside her
on the lonely park bench.
She pushes it away,
an embarrassing parent
hugging her outside the school gates.
She stitches her words together
to avoid the inevitable stumble
over ragged letters
and shards of silence
and talk so small it could be shattered underfoot
...

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datelove

Poetry is within us.

Somewhere
in the basement of our generation,
in dusty cardboard boxes,
between internet sensations
and society’s temptations,
there lies a voiceless cry,
immortal through the ages.
Like a vampire from its coffin
it rises from its pages,
haunts Monday morning English class
and dirty, hidden stages.
It changes our perspective.
Ignites emotional spark.
To blind eyes a flicker of light.
...

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poetry

Paper Dreams

Paper Dreams.

On a grotty Northern Rail from Manchester to Leeds,
a poet feeds his love for words by
pouring his heart out onto crumpled receipts.
A baby bleats.
The clink of the track as rhythmic as heart beats.
The nasal voiceover floats through the carriage
and bloats the ears of tired commuters;
spiral eyed from a day in front of computers.
Nothing but a coffee cup to see them throu...

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commuterstransport

School.

School.
It’s a conveyor belt for children who we assume are the same,
whether they realise or not they are part of a game;
a game that most will never win.
They’re asked to tackle the wheel of fortune
when they don’t know how to spin.

 In the real world, a board rubber can’t erase your mistakes,
no sharpener can recover a heart when it breaks,
you don’t need a fluorescent liquid to highl...

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educationschool

Barbie Doll

~It’s scary these days what girls will do to become thinner,
drown in protein shakes, eat nothing but Vogue for dinner.
Why is the ideal woman seen as thin?
When bones visible through cling-film-like skin
is not my idea of healthy.
You can have a size zero waist but have a size zero brain.
I’m not saying that when you gain
weight you gain intelligence,
I’m saying that when you preach hate ...

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imagesocial stigma

Every Day Battles


Right now, there is a battle being fought which you won’t be aware of.
It isn’t the war to end all wars, but it’s one you will have heard of.
It’s called anxiety.
Like a wolf spider, it lurks beneath the surface of society
ready to catch its victims off guard,
often leaving their mind permanently scarred
when it chews them up and spits them out.
Worry, anguish, fear, self-doubt
seem to h...

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anxietyawarenessmental healthsocial stigma

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