How the Seasons, always
they do separate
when comes the time is final.
To leave us only, with their absent faces
caught between the brittle branch
of man, and wind.
Red random now, are those petals poor,
thoughts of tears
that bury deep, beneath our hurried feet.
In blacks and whites of reason
whose distance far divides
in what tomorrow strives to bring.
And, when the mornings, sunlight smile,
diluted in it’s length of stay –
shall dim to fade.
We, will offer no more
understandings of this fight.
But in words of empty, shallow ending days
I hope you understand:
We are sorry for your loss.
death, female poet, female writer, hurt, loss, man, pain, poem, Poetry, sadness, sunlight, war, writing, WW1
Feb · 22
You begged to go swim –
deeply, of the fish and ocean.
So slowly with the rising of the tide
we sank to our knees, dancing
for reasons of know, knowing.
We had a love house
flooded plains, hidden from
the fat eyed women and flat capped men
who sat outside, beside their view of life
tongues, of debased woe.
Remember when they found us, seaweed
rolled – with hair a mess and features
Didn’t I say – we needed to rise
but instead we
kept on dancing
far beyond those fields of
golden, swaying daffodils…
daffodils, dance, dancing, drowning, female poet, female writer, flat caps, Flower, hurt, love, Love and Romance, pain, poem, Poetry, sadness, swimming, woman, writing
Feb · 07
There is no one who can touch me
beyond my feelings, for that sleepless
red, gigantic moon.
Our love was not of art, metered
in verse, or painted in scenes that coloured
the watchful eye.
I will you, take flight –
not to return; taken by those suspect winds
that blow the chills through
No complaining – no intentions ever meant
no smiles, no voiceless regrets, now
long solitary reviving those times
on so many counted ifs!
You called me – your autumn
glazed in tones of fertile gold.
I replied, that autumn, always she comes to die
leaving those who once did touch her
brittle cold – buried deep as snow…
alone, Autumn, female, female writer, lonely, Love and Romance, moon, poem, Poetry, red moon, sadness, snow, trees, woman
Feb · 03
You know not my history
yet you would destroy me with no prior
My skin matches not your chosen shade
so in the back streets of ignorance
you colour me grey.
I speak not the language of your birth
but I too had a mother and father who
spoke only to me of understanding.
Never would I communicate to you
of war – yet kill me – you would.
There is nothing within in my DNA
that marks me not of human being.
Though in this, self chosen ignorance
you bring your own hate to batter down
my innocent beliefs…
Anger, black, colour, death, female poet, female writer, hate, hurt, pain, poem, Poetry, race, racial, sadness, skin, war, white, woman
Jan · 31
I think I’ve had enough
gonna get myself a drink
before chiselling out your name
upon the passing subway wall.
You can verbalise me down
send my dreams nowhere bound
along with your, rough edged
kicking hard against my reasons.
Why don’t you try to make me stay
plant me flowers – wild sown.
Colour out those visions of scenes once viewed
from dirty, bedroom windows
whilst sleeping all alone.
Call me sometime, filling
in those lost, empty spaces.
Can’t promise to ever pick up
still too busy reading:
graffiti on the train …
drink, female poet, female writer, Flower, graffiti, hurt, leaving, Love and Romance, pain, poem, sadness, train, woman
Jan · 27
The trees suggest
to me of dancers.
Weaving their brittled bones,
skilful on the breeze of winter’s
Supple indications, shaping
and shedding – sapping
the act of soon to be springtime’s
From such rugged growth to
sway of draping bodies bowed
No cries of encore –
No plaudits please, screech their moans
stricken they, amid
breaking limbs of woe:
Left now for wasted
dying in the unkind cold…
Poppy Jan 2017~xx~
ballerina, cold, dying, female poet, female writer, nature, poem, Poetry, sadness, snapped, spring, trees, winter, woman
Jan · 09
We don’t know yet
that you are dying – when it arrives
embracing me lost, I shall take this place
deeper to me bending our bodies
into day and night.
Sleep shall leave me shallow, remote
in it’s hum of peace-less antidotes.
Décor of early mornings
stirs the reminders – my fingers
holding back the clock
until that final tick tock, foretelling
the ending of our summers concluding
from that final letting go
– then you always
sleeping with your cold eyes shut…
Sometimes I cry
for there are days when this
seems to be the only way, to discharge
this troubled mind of mine.
There are times, when my feelings
traverse back and forth
like a zip wire out of control.
it comes a calling
( ) I refuse to offer it a name
for it is no friend of mine.
presumptuously garmented, intent on
a long stays vacation.
Oh, I know it well
for what it is –
Name or no name.
It’s self destructiveness, lies deeper
than the creases in the smiles,
of my long hard, fought resistantance.
This kicking back – refusing
to let this un-invited visitor becoming
my constant companion, wears me thin.
For I know this battle
is my battle, long.
Always must I be
never willing, to permit
this self, destructive intruder:
To, come inside – and stay…
female poet, female writer, illness, mental health, pain, poet, Poetry, sadness, sane, sanity, woman
Oct · 15
Last night in the long drawn out darkness
I finally realised –
what it means to be alone.
No one –
will ever understand me
as you once did.
Oh they try
how they try
with their well meaning
words of truism –
and yes, tomorrow
will always be another day.
But today, gentle in my black
I can only walk away when they say
they love me:
For what is love
without your understanding?
Back Room Smiles
She is the vividness
around impure prisms
of engaging fire fly light.
Assumptions – predetermined
flicker past her tissues
The ghost of something, one
treads in shadows by your side.
She, always politeness
playing frivolous games.
Make believe – the touch
of something dark, rubs eyes
Origins of back room
absurd in their self-satisfied glow
of naked, adulteress smiling…
adultry, female poet, female writer, lies, lonely, man, pain, poem, Poetry, poppy, sadness, truth, woman, writing
Apr · 30