Thursday, 22 June 2017

Wait. poem

Take a breath and a years gone by
Hold onto sleep a few seconds more
leave behind a hundred thoughts.
Impatience is rattling at the window
and each day is a hurricane of ignorance
wait, the whispers say, wait and wait longer.
Shifting beneath the sheets, in the humidity
waiting for the spill. Torment to the soul
the body's choice, natures will
wait, the whisperers whisper again, wait wait wait.

Sunday, 4 June 2017

Hope Poem

London Bridge is falling down
and still the world keeps spinning round
as terror fills the hearts of average man
we walk amongst strangers on our own land
In a world where you hold your phone,
not each other. Where you update instead of talk.
Here we stand in the rumble and ruins
of what was once a miracle.
The life we pass onto our young
tainted by years of war
and yet some joy still remains
hidden in the cracks of Hope
Hope for a future we'll all lay down our arms
when we wont shout and scream that the other is wrong
What if we each saw the other side?
What if when we die, I ended up in your heaven,
and you ended up in mine?
What if one day we're all that's left
stood together on the edge of death
nothing more in common than the Earth that we shared
and fought each other for, until the bitter end?
Or a world changed- because we suddenly realised
that everything would be better,
if we stood side by side.

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

Private posts

Sometimes I write blog posts, and then don't publish them straight away.
I click save, thankful just to get those thoughts down somewhere.
Some things are too raw, too personal for immediate attention from whoever reads these posts, whoever you may be.
I like to think I am safe here, safe from judgement. Although I don't write anything nasty, or controversial, or about others without changing names and places - I do think what I write here is very real to me. I give out a little of my mind and soul each time, quite careless as to who ends up reading it.
and yet...sometimes I am not ready to share everything, some things are just for me for a little while.

Saturday, 20 May 2017

Missing Connie again. poem

Missing Connie again today
while I search to find my way back home
The Tower is nothing like I thought it would be
and how much I wish I'd been wrong.
But the road I hoped to follow
eludes me even now
the breadcrumbs have all gone
that a year ago I left out
Home is just another childish dream
hidden now under a lost plant pot
and Connie is no where to be seen

Friday, 19 May 2017

The Darkest Corner . poem

Into the darkest corner
Is where my heart goes
Like a child in a blanket
hidden beneath the shadows.
Some things I don't tell anyone,
kept strictly inside myself
and in this place, I retreat
to find my lost self,
and forgotten promises, I made to me
a long time ago
when all my dreams were of trains and roads,
How little I used to know.

Thursday, 13 April 2017

Connie. The Tower

I've known since the first moment we shut ourselves in, and I knew we were committed, that The Tower wasn't right for me. I didn't pack. I laughed a lot. Carelessly threw a few things in a couple of bin-liners as if I'd be back in a week. Those who knew me best said I was in denial, maybe I was. I guess when your gut tells you something, you ought to believe yourself not just blame excitement or nerves. I couldn't see it. I couldn't see myself planting crops out there, nor entertaining in those rooms, or writing anywhere. I can't see them, growing in this house.

If someone asked me what's wrong with it, I could list off a few things, but really, it's not something I can pinpoint. I can only say...this isn't Connie, and I have tried so very hard to make it so, in my head and my heart but I can't. It's not here. This isn't where I should be. I think a part of me has seen into the future, seen what's to come and I know how it should feel.

I don't miss everything about Connie, I don't miss my four walls of childhood.

I just miss the feeling of coming home.

I haven't come home since August.

Everything will change again September this year. Everything always restarts in September. I have no intention of still being here by then. I'll cut my path back to Connie, I'll make sure it works out. Jones will be with me, he's always on my side where it counts. At least that's the one constant thing in my life. Here it's an oubliette but Jones never forgets me.

Connie poem April

Have I left my notebook with you Connie?
Did I leave behind the story?
I can't find my way to write the rest
I've lost something along this way.
Did you laugh when I turned my back from you?
Did you know I'd left a box behind?
When did you look up and miss me?
Is it my heart or my soul I can't find?
I found my church in you,
but lost my faith up here.
When we move along to somewhere new
I'll walk through a hundred doors...
I'm still looking for you.