Category Archives: Poems

#1 Forgotten Series- If It Were You…

If it were you,

 

You’d have lost more than tears,

Countless drops falling on the parquet floor.

 

You would miss more than me,

Classes and books laying unattended to.

 

You would question more than trust,

Your days and times merging coldly as you go.

 

So I guess it’s good that it is me.

 

If it were you,

 

You’d die in the quiet of a house in the woods,

Despising the walls for not being friends.

 

You’d freeze in the cold of a body without warmth,

As anyone you hold dear is anywhere but here.

 

You’d float through life on an unconscious cloud,

With empty bottle contents contained in your breath.

 

So I guess it’s good that it is me.

 

As it is me,

 

I welcome the pain.

I let it serve as I reign.

 

I take all the blows and make it poetry…

 

So I guess it’s good that it is me.

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“Redemption Song”

That I didn’t break,

That I didn’t fall,

That You held me high,

Right through it all.

 

That I learned the truth,

of Life’s cold ways,

And You stopped the fear,

That darkened my days.

 

That You lifted me,

On wings of Gold,

And let me soar,

and kept Your hold.

 

That I became again,

Who I was before,

And learned to retain,

The “me” at my core.

 

That I fell in love,

With each new place,

And experienced things,

That I can never replace.

 

That You delivered me,

From walls too near,

And helped me to breathe,

Every breath so dear.

 

For redemption,

Emancipation,

Freedom from strain,

How can I better

Say thank You again?

 

More times await,

They’re looking to me…

Here’s to fate,

And to destiny.

 

 

Person. Under. A. Train.

Hi!

So I know I said I was going away for a while to revise. This is still true! But something happened on my way to the library today that forced me to write. At the train station, a very dark announcement was made which upset me. But I was shocked by how normally people seemed to take it, and how normally the announcer stated it. It made me realise how always moving so fast can eat into our souls and our humanity.

So I wrote the poem below as an ode to the person who seemed to be forgotten in the midst of city life. Bye again!xxx

 

“There are minor delays on all lines…

Due to a person under a train…”

His voice went out in slow, even beats.

 

“The circle line is part suspended…”

The ponytailed girls continued to sway,

The bigger one said as she giggled,

“Silly person climbed in the wrong way!”

 

“The central line is part suspended…”

I heard the groans circle my space.

“I’m already ten minutes late to work”

The man wrung his wrists, frowns across his face.

 

Someone’s ten minutes late to life…

 

“The jubilee line is closed between…”

“My doctor’s meeting is down the drain…”

Life just went on behind the screen.

 

“The entire district line is suspended…”

A woman groaned to her daughter’s pleas,

“It’s not the end of the world”…

Yes. It’s not, I wanted to scream.

 

At least not of ours.

 

Our time, our dates, and our silly pain,

Fall like heavy bricks along the drain,

If we try not to complain…

And think of the person. under. a. train.

Blocked Out

“Get your earphones out”,

My aunt would always chastise me,

For having the round things in my ears,

Clinging to my lobes like a life-line,

Wearing them as a statement of truth,

Using them as weapons of sound-

Against other sounds,

Blocking out the world and all its voices.

 

And then I did:

I took them out,

Ready to relate; wanting to listen,

Waiting to hear the sounds;

Hoping for the world’s voices,

But not getting anything real or true,

Stuck only with the sights,

Of people just like I was,

With their earphones in.

 

“Get your earphones out”,

Someone ought to say,

They are all so detached,

Standing together, but being apart,

Looking at faces and seeing nothing,

Walking past, always walking past,

Speaking but not saying a thing.

Never really saying a damn thing.

 

“Get your earphones out”,

I will be the one to shout it,

To make you hear the other sounds,

Not just the ones you know,

To feel the life around you,

That you forget to find,

It’s bad: the whole world is blocked out,

And has blocked the whole world out,

Reverse it: turn up the volume on life,

When you get your earphones out.

 

Friends For Sale

The pawn man asked me why I came,

I held no trinkets to be sold,

I looked down at the floor in shame…

 

“Do you buy only treasures and things?”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say,

“Well dear, it’s whatever the customer brings…”

 

“Then I have some strange goods for you”

I held out all the friends I’d made

“Don’t worry”, I said, “they’re still brand new”…

 

“Whatever’s the reason to give them away?

It must hurt to let them go”…

“Well, they were never there on a bad day”.

 

Mr. Pawn Man’s face showed disgust,

The same brand I’d always felt,

“Why have friends you can’t even trust?”

 

I was glad he could now see

“So how much would you want to pay?

I’m willing to let them go for free”.

 

“Well, my dear, it really depends,

They need to have some sort of use,

Since they are no good as friends.”

 

“Can they pick good places to eat,

And form good chats on headline news?”

I was really quite amused…

“Yes, Mr. Man, that’s their only feat.”

 

So there and then the deal was made,

I gave all my friends to this lucky man,

As I walked away, I let their faces fade…

 

“Aren’t you scared of hard times alone?”

Mr. Pawn Man asked as I went,

I guess this was a way to vent…

“I have always faced them on my own”.

Friends for sale

Thieved

The masked leader appears on my screen,

This seems urgent; all shows have been paused,

Our daily indulgences pushed aside to hear his voice,

Pushed aside for this unexpected intermission.

 

“There is a problem”, he says,

“Armed robbery is on the rise,

We need to bring an end to this issue,

To put a stop to our demise.”

 

His words rain down anger on my heart,

He doesn’t understand, but I can clearly see,

His potbelly dances to the rhythm of his words,

That “sign of good living” holds a well-known secret,

A secret seen in his limited edition watch,

In his Hugo Boss suit, in his Ferragamo shoes,

It tells of the nation’s wealth, its leader’s loot.

 

Don’t you see you’re just like those you condemn?

Maybe even worse because you had our trust,

Robbers need weapons to have power, control,

But your position is power enough,

Thieves deter our tomorrow, hold it ransom a while,

But you banish our futures, they’re lost forever.

Maybe if you stopped taking, they would as well,

And we could  reclaim all that had gone,

 

Now, you say there’ll be a nationwide search,

The police will scour the streets and find the thieves,

My laugh pushes out, abrasively against my thoughts,

Don’t you see that if they did it right,

They’d all be gone, and you’d be gone as well.

 

Greens

There were greens left in her teeth.

 

She used to eat them so slowly,

Smiling at the thought of how she’d look,

Smiling as they slid down her throat,

Sliding off the years that’d passed.

 

It was really rather sad to know,

She’d betrayed her sweet tooth,

And those greens couldn’t save her.

She’d lived less for even lesser.

 

And in her finest of forms,

This lady could still not fight.

She was beaten as she would be,

Because her victor never missed.

 

And it left the greens in her teeth.

 

Piece of Work

You’re a piece of work.

Damn. I mean it literally.

Your body and your mind

Symbolise something real.

Time and effort crashing.

Nothing as real as that.

But I mean it really.

How long did it take to make you?

To mould your curves just right,

Placing the nips and dips,

Fixing them around your frame like soft clay.

 

You’re a perfect streamline of years in time,

Of a medley of mother and father,

Of grandmother and greater,

You have her nose, and his soul,

And you’ve also got that $5,000 bag I paid for.

 

You’re a piece of work,

And you aren’t finished yet.

It takes pain to maintain you,

Your dopey-eyed glances passed

From the first dopey generation to me.

 

Now I create you,

Having you dance,

To the sound of notes on the ground.

Baby give me this, baby give me that.

Baby clothe me and feed me too?

Damn. You’re a piece of work.

But you would never ever work.

My minty notes transformed,

Into the leather, the shoes, those rings.

 

When Pygmalion’s task is done,

I’d put you up in a glass box,

And show off my money’s song.

Maybe people would pay to see.

That’d be my reward- the only time you’d ever pay me.

Cause damn baby, you’re a piece of work,

Making me work harder than I ever did.

Ugly Hands

He told me I’ve got ugly hands.

I believed him, and that’s what made me cry.

My tears moisturised them,

My palms embracing my chair,

Hiding them away under my weight.

 

I would only bring them up to watch them work.

They worked hard too. They still do.

I’d marvel at their craft;

I could draw the straightest of lines,

They never dipped if I didn’t let them.

Those lines dance for my pleasure,

Cascading smoothly around my thoughts.

 

Or when someone made me mad,

Those hands, they would work hard.

The sound of their meeting the offending cheek,

Oh it caused the deepest contrition,

It made me believe in their force.

 

Would I give them up for dainty ones,

That I would file and leave limp by my side?

If I ever met him one more time,

I’d show him what my ugly hands could do.

Perhaps I’d draw him a line,

Maybe on paper. Or maybe across his cheek.

The Weight of Cake

The lights of my life flood the room,

With sweet sustenance to last the year,

Voices sing in notes saved for this,

To convince me that it’s happy.

 

I smile through the flashes and red velvet,

Blowing out sticks that carry grand wishes,

Praying they can bear the weight.

 

It feels like such an out-of-body time,

Moving from the silence of eleven fifty nine.

 

Stale words from staler friends abound,

Phrases used like old clichés,

Weakly fighting a space we’ve made,

More sweet sustenance to last.

 

It’s a game to build that only breaks,

Blackened by the age I left too soon.

The mourning of time slowly befalls us,

But we smile through mouths of cake.

 

Loving this would be the greatest gift,

Hidden in that brown box?

I can only wish.