Simple Song

There are big poems as yet undiscovered within me. They are hidden behind bad memories, submerged in low, foul smelling lakes of recrimination and angst. These words are the marrow in bones that move a body in other directions, and by understanding their significance, the whole of my existence becomes smarter and stronger. I’m away right now, and whilst brain takes a much needed couple of weeks away from a full-time screen, there’s the words that have been left behind.

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Starting next Monday, until the end of the month, you’ll get two verses of the New Poetry per day on Monday and Wednesday, with EX/WHI on Fridays. It’s a window into the part of my brain undergoing renovation. You can’t see much through this darkened, dirty glass but let the management assure you that these changes are worth the vastly inflated construction fees, and you’ll be able to see the sea from here. Oh, and you can have the chicken for absolutely nothing. Gratis. All yours, squire.

Strap in people, there’s turbulence coming.

Poetry Archive :: Cease

I spend an awful lot of time in my life online being exposed to a particular brand of selfish, arrogant and blinkered attitudes. Many of these emanate from individuals who view me, as a woman who’s been gaming since the 1970’s, as some kind of curiosity to be poked, studied and summarily laughed at. Then there are those who creep me out by stalking my actions, or making lewd comments over everything I say, however innocent that might be. Mostly, people are the problem.

These people know who they are, and this poem is for them.

[This has been edited from its original postings via social media.]


Cease

The hubbub over this is mere distraction,
pointless tirade from he who does not hear:
allows anger to grant brief satisfaction,
short victory exposing faults as clear.

Continuing this course of self-destruction
a pointless, all-consuming pack of lies;
outcome will not result in reproduction
instead, expect a chorus of goodbyes.

Should truly you require to keep a friendship
for longer than the time between ad breaks;
put down that sword, prepare to shed your armour,
high time to reconsider what it takes.

Each gamer’s creed is written in their pixels,
intractable no longer from the soul:
attention needed for a range of muscles
not simply brain and hand to make things whole.

Forget those jokes about making a sandwich
‘Play of the Game’ no longer will impress:
if you desire a friendship in your bandwidth
drop toxic thoughts and actions to progress.


Poetry Archive :: Please Help Me

I would argue that the worthwhile thing you can ever do with someone suffering from any form of mental illness is to learn how to listen to them.

If you cannot express your anguish for yourself, sometimes all that is left is incoherent anger, frustration and tears. In those moments, help is absolutely crucial.

Here’s a series of haiku on how it feels to me when this happens.


Please Help Me

Nowhere else to go
Desperate plea: find method
Alleviate pain.

Knowledge eludes, true
Redemption out of arm’s reach:
Please, someone listen.

This voice, important
Requires immediate help:
Supply assistance.

Hand is offered, small
Gesture immediate: breathe,
Explain what is wrong.

Way forward defined,
Begin the healing process,
Together, stronger.


Poetry Archive :: My One and Only

I’d like to take a moment to state, for the record, I am INSANELY proud of this week’s Micropoetry. Firstly, I used the French term arrondissements and rhymed it in a manner that was not only relevant but utterly awesome.

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Second of all, a love letter was written to my favourite city: it is perfectly acceptable to express love for a place, I am reliably informed, and this is a town that was fallen in love  with at an early age. It is where my husband proposed to me, and where we went for our honeymoon. It’s also where my 50th Birthday was spent, and (if there is the chance) where I’d retire. Mostly, Paris is amazing, and as a result, utterly deserves more poetry to be written about it.

This, all told, is a pretty decent start.


My One and Only

Will never fail to understand
Always willing to take my hand
My one and only soothes the soul
Returning peace, making heart whole.

Her arrondissements surround
Life weary girl: effect profound
Agreement between life and death
Remaining even when I’ve left.

The Seine will calm inherent fear,
An understanding strong and clear:
From cafe warmth to Tour Eiffel,
Ring Notre Dame’s distinctive bells.

Your sounds will heal the broken parts
Of mind and body, then will start
The reconstruction of belief
Elimination of brief grief.

This city never cheats nor lies
Brings joy with greeting and goodbyes
My one and only, staunch best friend
Paris, beginning without end.


Poetry Archive :: Regret

Valentines Day, for me, is the anniversary of meeting my husband. As that’s more than thirty years ago, you might think I won’t grasp the minutiae of relationship pain, or understand the complexities of love and regret. Think again, fact fans. I fall in and out of love with stuff (sometimes) on an hourly basis. My mind is fickle and ultimately terrible when it comes to snap judgements. Of course, I’m sensible enough to never show this in the Real World and all the angst conveniently leaks out into fiction and poetry. In this case, quite a lot of regret and hate’s been about in the last week, and it seemed sensible (and convenient) to remove all that angst in literary form.

There’s enough of this to fuel more than a single month’s worth of content, that’s for damn sure.


Regret

So many things, close
To beating heart: where do I
Begin our story?

At the start, belief
Honesty placed: your passion
Swallowed soul and mind.

The middle movement,
Soaring, reflective: leading
Onwards to coda.

Then, ending arrives;
Passion departed: becomes
Simply memory.

Regret is our love:
Beautifully broken piece
Of once perfect whole.


 

Poetry Archive :: Transition (Micropoetry)

I’ve decided, starting next week, I’m going to try and do some longer micropoems for the next three weeks or so. These are tougher asks but are the best way to accurately flex my poetic grey matter. It is also important to be able to have a bit of time to think and redraft them after initially written, which means next week you’ll get the first part of the five slightly later than normally advertised. Real life has been tough at the end of this week but I’m still determined to keep this creative impetus going.

Come back next week and see if this plan succeeds but for now… enjoy last week’s efforts.

 


 

Transition :: Two

There is no way
Moment gets better;
Stop panicking
Pull it together.

Take a long look
At what needs changing:
Forget the rules,
Try re-arranging.

Remember this
Can still be salvaged;
Fight every fire,
Restricting damage.

Finally, as
The dust has settled:
What’s left to save,
From ideas levelled.

You’ve problem solved
All trouble destroyed;
Disaster ends,
Sent packing, annoyed.


 

Poetry Archive: Strong

The weekly process of writing on a Sunday has now become part of routine: I’m still getting used to the archiving, it has to be said, but give that a few months and it will become habit too. This is a particularly prophetic set of haiku, on reflection, and it mirrors a hard week of physical exertion. I have never been a great believer previously in the power of affirmation, but I would be lying if it wasn’t clear that it does have a positive affect on both mind and body.

These verses are my matra not only for the week that has passed, but for those that are to come.


Strong

I am preparing,
Mind attuned: expanding, now
Encompassing change.

Extending my hands,
Sense air: circulating warmth
Affecting focus.

In this space, altered
Consciousness: sharp sensations
Intensify thoughts.

Iterate mantra,
I am strong: this is my path,
Tread with certainty.

Each repetition,
Builds further, deep confidence.
The future is mine.