I started writing poetry as a child at school but have only kept a record of them since 1993. In 16 years I wrote 59 pieces, often with gaps of a few years as my creativity had always previously been triggered by an event in my life, poetry becoming a kind of catharsis to help make sense of my situation or sometimes simply vent my emotion or pin my turmoiled thoughts to a page. Then as my healing progressed my writing once more became quiescent until another event. A recent event in June 2009 triggered such a creative phase and inspired by another poet, my writing has become much more prolific; in the last 18 months I have written over 100 pieces which are much more varied in both subject and form. I now know that I can keep writing indefinitely and that my poetry is no longer merely a tool to help me through the tough times, though it still does...
Butterfly Sun energised Stained-glass angels Fragile strength Breeze harried Powdered wings Ruined by rain Tarry a while Under sheltering leaves Gem encrusting Lilac bushes Ever off course From nectar cocktails Intoxicated petals dance Across summer fields (18.9.09) Allow the Hope to Last Allow the hope to last, fade not to black protect the dwindling flame Scattered pins of trust bring back lest lose self completely frayed faith in tatters blame Secure release from spell that binds me here, ensorcelled by desire Seduced by pervading fear deaf to all entreaty, once more to life aspire Former glory lost in battles waged left on dream field dying Wounded inner voice bleeds rage ignored not defeated choked by fury crying Search a bitter heart for love's last seed the bloom of hope renew Turmoiled soul to find the creed ere last judgement meted, ruin too late eschew This cup to overflowing again fill with courage bold to heal Supply strength to bolster will see it not as duty, vision future made real Let this river of sadness wash away the terrors of night past Standing now in this new day blind not to its beauty allow the hope to last. (12.4.10) Autumn Comes Wake to a silent morning pale moon riding westward over ivy rusted conifers. Clear sky breathless, trees unwhispered still, for my inspection perfect in my dream released view. Outside in slippers chill air raises fine hairs along pajama'd arms sipping first tea while sun squints eyes, warm on sleep creased cheek. Damp smell from last night's rain remeniscent of earthworms. At last a breeze, the Mother's blown kiss; I am noticed. My contented sigh joins Hers as we breathe together my tea grows cold.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
For my parents (16/08/2011)
The Changeling (20/07/2011)
The Arriving (03/04/2011)
Twisting Knives (18/03/2011)
Waking Whispers (15/02/2011)
Title revision in progress! (09/02/2011)
Writer's Block (23/01/2011)
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Displaying 2 events (1 Jan 2018 to 31 Jan 2018)
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