Poetry Blog by MARIA ELENA

Recent Comments

Paul Sayer on Desire (Wed, 30 Sep 2020 05:12 pm)

Robert Haigh on Ignorant to society (Mon, 14 Sep 2020 07:47 am)

Shifa Maqba on A Bohemian Journey (Mon, 27 Jul 2020 07:32 am)

Paul Sayer on A Bohemian Journey (Sun, 26 Jul 2020 10:01 pm)

Paul Sayer on Amy Johnson (Sun, 26 Jul 2020 09:57 pm)

Philipos on Amy Johnson (Sun, 26 Jul 2020 07:25 pm)

Jordyn Elizabeth on When we were Gypsies (Sun, 26 Jul 2020 07:14 pm)

Andy N on Shower Time (Sun, 26 Jul 2020 06:55 pm)

Paul Sayer on Shower Time (Sun, 26 Jul 2020 06:47 pm)

M.C. Newberry on Death (Thu, 23 Jul 2020 01:12 pm)


knees buckle beneath the heaviness

of your creamy taste between my lips.

Inside I'm like a waterfall: gushing, dripping, a soiled mess

I tremble, drunk on your desires

and, the vivid scenes you whisper to me-

- makes me only want you more.


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Ignorant to society

Our ignorance makes colour just an illusion

We latch onto black and white for vision

Purifying our naivety, protecting our fears

Whether it be blood, sweat, or tears; no trace can be found

Recognition is the key to unearth beyond our judgemental lines.

We deny ourselves the truth, yet believe in immortality.


Observing a bag soar through the wind

Can you feel its freedom?


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A Bohemian Journey

So many nights I have rested beneath the unnerved sky,
plucking the strings of a lyre.
Sacrificed made decisions to be free-spirited.
I'm living the life of a Bohemian
a man,
comforted by desires and serenity
just like a canvas invites paint to a dance.

Red wine spices my tongue
feeling the essence as I swallow.
Wiping the discoloured effect from my lips.

Strewn grass caresses my feet

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Amy Johnson

Penetrating through soft light clouds: airspace; blended for all who dare to impress.
Assiduous Amy Johnson did just that: a derring-do role model: a legacy;
relative in the minds of many that still lives on.
Renowned for her solo flight: London to Australia in 1930.
Transcended the hitherto, male domination, seizing world-recognition.
Flying away from ground possessions, flying amongst the s...

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Shower Time






from her silky long hair,



a fine, structured bridge: her collarbone.



and lower,

striking and 



a curve

of fine, pert breasts

and erect nipples.




Caressing nude skin.

A delicate, seductive, touch.





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Death is a heartless Bastard!

A rotten, snarling thief!

And all that remains

are feeble words

and emptiness.

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When we were Gypsies


Don't stop when the music stops

Even when the fever drops

The castanets have ceased to play

The romance in your eyes I see

Could I take you away with me?


I'll take you through the rain

Where the light remains

The only rhythm of the day

Where the sound of the patter

Which really doesn't matter

It's insane that the rain

Could make me feel this way


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To the Lost Trawlermen of Hull

O' if you could see the Devil's grin, would you trespass on his mortal sea?
Thy is no sanctuary to those perils, bound phlegmatic men;
whose hands labour in enemy boundaries.
O' trawler men, who art thou unite in brethren, fight incoming battles; torrential weather.
Many address the danger, huddled together; trying to keep warm
but we know death is no friend and is always hungry for more.

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The Bailaora of the Ball

From the balcony I see her

In the composure of the night

The Bailaora takes over the streets

As she absorbs the mood into the moonlight

I perceive the Jaleadors and Jaleadoras

Providing the ultimate rhythmic Palma

She smiles enticingly.


Arms held high

Above her head

She looks so sturdy

So proud of herself

Her hands turn inwards

Then outwards

Then the zap...

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