Poetry Archive :: Driven

I like this, for lots of reasons. A fraction of my work suffers from the inevitable stresses and strains forced on me due to daily production, but this piece was born pretty much fully formed. It has inevitably been influenced by SciFi Brain which is prevalent in my direction and actions (thanks to NaNoWriMo) but is, in effect, a marker for my own development as a poet. This is five verses, all with a visual prompt at their centre, that combined allow me to explain how it’s felt to push past my mental shortcomings and start producing content I am consistently proud of.

May this be the start of a new and fruitful period as a result.


Driven

Within is not your space to overtake: begone
spectres, unexpected disappointment. Tonight,
optimism’s slowly growing, expanding
unassuming, quiet elimination of all doubt.

Propulsion’s self-derived, accelerating
past vast, shattered hulks, ideas once revered
failed plans, decomposing concepts;
now, vital escape velocity attained.

Driven away, pursuit of excellence,
thousand possible brilliant conceits;
desired from countless wasted days.
Combine precisely, self-derived intent.

Behold, fresh start word-fuelled sprint;
cornucopia of unexpected variety.
Stuffed full; poems, acrostics, non-fiction rants
fertile mind erupts: continuous, artistic flow.

Sum total, determination’s push succeeds
redefinition stamped, increased notion refuels
renaissance, fruitful path to greater glory.
Entire existence liberated, standing strong.


Poetry Archive :: Scared

Sorry it’s late. I have a lot on.


Scared

Running late, phone conversations
under-cooked chicken, evenings alone
psychological horror stories;
my hair straighteners are still switched on.

Locking myself out of our house, again
forgetting which tablets were taken with lunch;
a constant ache I am not enough,
inability to keep up with their games.

Remembering other people’s names
whitening that nasty grout,
chipping off the limescale;
consumed by crippling self-doubt.

Rooms full of people I don’t know
The countless ways to cause offence;
Replaying those last three instructions
Refusing to argue, on the fence.

The truest, deepest fears within
far crueller fright, mind scared beyond
that shonky nightmare fuel on screen
avoid the lake, idiot teens.


Poetry Archive :: The Last Gasp

Starting Thursday, we have a thirty part Haiku spectacular on the cards, so it will only be Micropoetry scheduled across the week.  As a result, I promise that this form will not suffer and is being given extra special love and attention. I also wish I could do bold and italic on Twitter so there’d be a chance to add some spice to my rhymes. Perhaps I should consider some emotes across November…

Now, there’s a thought…


The Last Gasp

It’s over. Lame excuses remain pointless,
arrogant assertions; blame shamed remaining
lack of explaining: just shut up and listen.

My fault. What a shocker, fault fraught
embrace selfish default, expelled suddenly
finally grasping pointless asking.

Let’s talk. Combine grievances, settle
differences, constructive discourse, on course;
resolution is a solution?

Fresh start. Dispense recompense, redefine time
warm hearts, depart from history’s bind,
beauty in kind, joint meeting of minds.

Last gasp? Not a chance, firm romance
redefinition without attrition, perdition
avoided, happy ending enjoyed.


Poetry Archive :: What He Said

As you read this, I’m taking a much-needed weekend off before the NaNoWriMo push becomes very real next week (more on that on Wednesday.) It is an opportunity to take some photographs, chill, maybe finally sort out some new playlists to exercise to, and spend as little time as possible thinking about anything except relaxation. I am not very good at this stuff, let it be said, so process could use some practice.

I can also guarantee that a ton of ideas will emerge while I’m away too. We have that option covered. We’ll see you back here on Monday evening ❤

Oh yeah, here’s the first of last week’s poetry.


What He Said

Dispense those outdated metaphors, again
stupidity, your name is him. Whose idea
labelling world, unique, seven point four billion
facets of one blue-green, perfect whole, as
us and them, his and hers.

Disrespect becomes poison, choking smog
restricting true evolution, collapsing;
condemning brighter future. We remain atoms,
Universe’s star-stuff, wealth’s division
breaking humanity’s natural bonds.

Destruction is inevitable, unless change
fundamentally alters individual minds
shifts inwards to outlooks. Selfish desire
materialistic, altruism beats capitalism;
money, evils destructive revenge.

Deciding who’s to blame, mug’s game
what he said, she bled part of history’s
blistering, nature’s planning. Dispense
petty name calling, shame throwing shade
everyone deserves their day in the sun.

Declare independence, from what he said
embrace us, not I, him or her. Teamwork
builds best foundations, solid futures all
embrace, nobody loses. Lessons learnt,
allow everyone’s input, potential.


Poetry Archive :: May We Be Them

There’s a small picture on my notice board, hung above my computer. STRONG WOMEN: May we Know Them, May we Be Them stares back at me every day, reminder that if I want to improve the World in which we all find ourselves, there has to be some individual effort expended. Expecting someone else to do the work is largely pointless, and as tomorrow could be your last day on the planet… honestly, there’s no point in mucking about.

Both poems this week therefore are reminders of the legacy we have been given and a future that hangs in the balance.


May We Be Them

Within ourselves, awakening
sense of true purpose galvanised
faith and strength’s rightful combination:
together, we are strong women.

Those who came before, their tracks
heeled footprints, barefoot; warriors, all
trailblazers, heroes, martyrs to same cause:
generations of strong women.

Stoic, long suffering partners;
mothers soldier on, inventors, expanding science
whilst bettering mankind for all:
those remembered as strong women.

Scorned lovers standing tall
no longer victims, capable voiced opposition
strength increasing, numbers swelling
builds army, new strong women.

Bring past, present to bear, as one
cohesive unit, equality’s allowance
deserved reward, humility presented;
shoulder to shoulder with strong women.


Poetry Archive :: Your Loss

Starting next month, I’ll do my best to provide at least a paragraph of explanation per poem. Often they just get written on the fly without much thought, but occasionally something begs to be written. This is a case in point, and is one of what is likely to become a running commentary of how people live their lives so much online, as to make it impossible to devolve reality from fantasy. Relationships will suffer. People will get hurt.

Nothing good comes from obsessive behaviour, and never will.


Your Loss

I am sorry that suddenly
we are no longer whole;
overnight, unexpectedly
perfect World caved in, messy
puddle of emotional frailty
left at your front door.

I am fully aware circumstance
has overtaken reality, swallowing
moments bring clarity: intent,
zenith of combined passion
lies buried in that hole
dug with garden shovel.

I am conscious of your loss,
meticulously recorded across
all social media, tinged
blood red indignation
endlessly retweeted outrage
no end in sight.

We were never an item
despite protestations
contrary positions posted
until, crucially, reality
intervened after which time
nothing else was real.

You have created drama
where none previously existed
in a clever attempt to
deflect reality’s glare
away from a truth
that never involved me.


Poetry Archive :: Sinner

If you follow me on Social media you’ll know I’m taking a week’s break from poetry to focus on long-form fiction for a deadline. That means this week it’s a selection of already-written work, from times past.

This and the Haiku seemed like a decent high water mark to temporarily bow out to.


Sinner

Not afraid, happily admit
mistakes indeed, too many made.
Perpetual sinner, begging
repetitive, bleak forgiveness.

Cast adrift, harsh memories, this
becalmed soul waits for tide to turn.
Wind’s change of heart, kindness presents
safe port to harbour mounting dread.

Becalmed, distressed, undernourished
siren’s song no longer distracts.
Passion evaporated, sea’s
salvation, unexpected care.

Washed up existence, shore-line breaks
gentle motion, stroking tired limbs.
Reanimate being, salt licks
bearable pain, healing mind’s wounds.

The sinner, repentant, standing
prepares again to face her fears.
Start another, measured journey;
creation returns confidence.