Tag: poem

Writing up the Past and A Pair of Shoes.

In the last few weeks I have been working on a novel, which relates to aspects of my past, so I have been digging deeply without trying to let it swallow me up. It has been difficult to both recall and write about. So the novel itself may be a long way off. Although I have started writing, I have been relying upon memories which have not all been easy to dig up again and so dealing with the demons which inevitably come out to play in the process. All whilst trying to maintain the status quo and a happy home life. It has been a bit of a strain and the posts over the past couple of weeks have been up and down along with my emotions and thoughts.

It feels quite cathartic to have finally typed up all my poems which have languished in the loft all these years, after finding them last week. There would have been 40 of them. A nice round number (and I do like those) if there weren’t two missing, perhaps I threw them away in disgust a reminder of a love that once was, but that is unlikely. I wrote an index of them all along with the dates they were written, even approximately if I didn’t know the actual one. There are bound to be others kicking about in notebooks, handbags etc which I may find years from now, the one I wrote for my friends wedding still eludes me, along with the other items which I have yet to find. I fear moving in case one of the items I have been searching for, gets disposed of, so I will continue to hunt for it until I can find it again, although that may take some time. Meanwhile, whatever gets thinned out is getting checked over very thoroughly for that piece of jewellery until it turns up.

I have tried really hard to not judge myself too harshly since I started to go through them, whilst muttering “Gullible child” under my breath quite a lot. The facts of the matter are that I wrote all of these during the ages of 16-20 and I was young and sometimes very foolish back then. There are a lot about my “Loves” from way back then. At least I can rest assured that I have grown up a lot since then. It’s funny how the inner voice conversations go though, when you read something going back that far about yourself. I found myself thinking about my transformation over the past year or so and telling myself, “Who are you trying to Kid, you are still the same person as when you wrote them“, whilst arguing the fact with my inner voice. I am not! (she shouts like a five year old, almost stamping her foot) Lots of years have gone by and I know that I have learned a lot, however it has not been a joyful few days and quite emotional and I have probably been rather teenager like at times. Just wanting to get it done in the single minded way, which isn’t really fair. So I have also been trying hard to get other things done for the family too, so that they aren’t left out. However I have still been able to relate to the person I was when I wrote them, not the ones which are about the Loves in my life, but about the feelings instead.

I will share only some of them, others’ I have deemed “not fit for consumption,” so will stay where they are, I resisted the urge to edit the hell out of them although some of them have been slightly tweaked, they are raw like I was back when they were written and they would lose their integrity and make them something new. Maybe that would be a good thing after all, but as yet I am undecided.

Anyway, here’s one I wrote and do want to share with you, It‘s called A Pair of Shoes, I wrote it 23 years ago. I laughed when I read it again, thinking that even way back then, I loved a metaphor. The shoes did actually exist, now if only I could remember which ones they were….

A Pair of Shoes

At the moment, I feel like a pair of shoes…. 

I bought them two years ago.
They’ve been in the box ever since.
I like them.
But I’ve never actually “Needed” them.
They might be useful at some point.
Occasionally I take them out and look at them.
I didn’t want to get rid of them.
Sometimes I try them on for size and they’re comfortable.
Then I put them away,
Until next time.

 

I am a Survivor!

I am a Survivor!

The things which I have gone through, I have come out the other side.

Broken, Yes Sometimes for a while…

Forced to hide away and repair myself, when others have chosen to just brush it aside.

Rebuilding each and every time without fail, essential for my survival.

Finding strength I didn’t know existed all over again. To help me grow instead of wither and die, like they expected. Making me a person far different from the one I could have been.

They did not win. They will not win.

I did not fail.  I will not fail.

My Branches may have been cut and I bled, but they grew again.

My wings may have been clipped, I waited for my feathers to return.

My impatience to continue evident, not content just to wait for it to be over.

I gathered the wind under my wings, ready to soar again, back where I belong.

My Spirit, untamed, released at last from my experiences.

Free to Live, to dream and to Be.

The Daily Post – Survival

Desert Boots

IMG_1237

These boots have been to places
Of where I dare to dream
Of people and their faces
That I’ve never seen
Of hills and deserts yonder,
As far as you could wander.
These boots were made to win the war,
For the feet of soldiers, the stories they could tell.
But these came home, you know the score,
On someone fit and well.
They did no longer need them, as their war was at an end
A dearly loved father, a brother or a friend.

On reaching 100 and Counting, (Still)

Well, that’s one for the list of Yay’s…
To those of you have been waiting and would like to know, you’ll be pleased to hear that I have now reached my 100 poems. This is the goal that I set myself to write, before I would choose which ones I will include in my first book. It also appears on the list of Yay’s. For the uninitiated, this is a list which I made myself in February, just as I began this blog of things that I wished to achieve (preferably) this year. As I complete them, I place the Yay! By way of celebration in the completed column. See Intentions – Things I want to do this year

The truth be told, I have surpassed this particular personal goal in a glut of writing that began yesterday and went on through the night. It was daylight when I finally clambered into bed at 5am having been unable to sleep once again, the words and thoughts just kept coming and I am but its slave. Having been in bed for the grand total of three hours I was suddenly awake again, at 8am the notepad pulled from under the pillow, the pencil poised once more. Round two, ding-ding!

I am not stopping yet though, let’s continue to make hay whilst the sun shines. (Although this morning is actually met with rain) the selection process will begin, just about the time that my current stream of writing falters a little, I will then feel able to edit and work on how it will all come together and final quantity that will be included in the book itself, also on how on earth I am going to get it out there and market it on my non-existent budget. Hold on to your hats.

The intention is there and I had anticipated that it would be my first book, but since my butterfly mind is flitting once again I may conclude something else I am also working on first. I know, I know the voice inside my head warns the old me to finish what I had started, before moving on to the next thing. But there is another deadline I would rather like to meet. It is a competition entry, with a month to spare and would be my first entry for writing. It could be a short story, but what constitutes a short story and where is the line drawn before it becomes a long one?  If last night was anything to go by, it could end up a novel. It started off a couple of months ago, notes on a page, characters in my head, stories to be told. It has sat there, whiling away the time, until more thoughts formed in my head and I began to consciously write it, I somehow knew that once I did it might open a floodgate.

This particular story is of a young girl, reaching womanhood and the people she encounters, who try to change the direction her life should take and the people thrown into her path. The way that it is coming thick and fast at the moment, I might just ,make the deadline for that particular competition, dependent on what else May holds for me. If not, then there’s a rather large shelf full of stuff that I could put it on. I’d been sitting on there myself until recently, but it was time to dust myself off this year and start something new.

Oh metaphors, how I love thee….

I said that May is going to be a good month, where good things happen. It is traditionally so and I don’t want to break with that particular tradition. I have a lot to accomplish this month and so far, progress has been made, so Salut and long may it continue.

There is another goal, which I am so close to reaching on the list, the magical number of 50 followers to my blog. So, if you are reading this for the first time and want to do me the honours, I’d be over the moon to be able to tick that one off too and I‘m oh so close…

I am filled with Gratitude for the people who follow the blog and regularly send me their comments and emotional support, sometimes the road can be rocky, but your words continue to inspire me. Thank you!

 

 

 

The Girls from the Beach

Surrounded by beautiful countryside,
That’s where he took her off to hide.
It took so many years to see,
The friend who’d left Leigh-on-Sea.
Through our teens, we’d grown together,
A storm to fight almost any weather.
But like a cloud she drifted away,
In my heart a place, she’d stay.
Years went by and a message I’d send.
To the girl, who’d been such a dear friend.
Would time have changed her beyond reach?
From one of the girls who sat on the beach.
Had habits wrecked the person I know?
If she was hurting, would it now show?
But we got in touch and to my relief,
The girl I knew was still underneath.
Scratch the surface and you will see,
A part of the person she’d wanted to be.
A passion for travel was her desire,
She’d at last got away from that terrible liar.
Who’d built around her a wall you could shove,
Now thankfully found a man she could love.
They now have a wonderful family
Of beautiful children, I’m dying to see.
So into the car a visit was planned,
Will we stop by the beach, put our toes in the sand?
Should we sit for a time and dwell on the past,
Let’s sit in the park as time’s gone so fast.
A picnic with her and three of her brood.
Couldn’t give them a lift and didn’t want to be rude,
But couldn’t fit them all in the car in the back,
The years have been kind and she’s on the right track.
Stayed there for hours as though no time had passed,
Would she still be my friend? I’d know at last.
In conversation, you’d see that she’s changed,
The same girl you knew but just rearranged.
Is it her past? or just motherhood,
Quietly reserved, are things for the good?
You see that under it she’s fragile,
But what else hides behind her smile?
Was once like your sister, will be so again.
Wonder if she’s managed a refrain,
From the sad life that she’d come to know,
Before way back when she’d decided to go.
Imagine my true happiness,
When she gave me her address.
An invite for her family to see,
A shade of the girl she used to be.
This is the girl who would go with the flow,
Who is lots of fun and a pleasure to know.
She’s gone shy and quiet, doesn’t talk on the phone.
Off with her kiddies for hours she’ll roam.
Exploring the places they’re eager to find,
Space for some thinking or there to remind.
Up and down trees or charging about
“Where are you Mum?” “Over Here!” she’ll shout.
Hide and seek up hill and down dale,
A photo of them sitting on a hay bale.
A great imagination, a thirst to excite,
A great bunch of kids, they’ve brought them up right.
Over the time her children have grown
But a wonderful family they have shown,
That they stay together through thick and thin.
Way back then, he was determined to win.
Not prepared to give up at all cost,
Do not dwell on the time that we lost.
So glad that she settled and turned things around.
Glad that finally my friend has been found.

The Daily Post – The Girls from the Beach

 

 

This Beach, The One…

CAM00095

This Beach, The One
The first real one that you ever visited.
With it’s sandy spot, where you took off your shoes and pushed your feet into the cool sand.
Where you carefully navigated the section with the smooth pebbles trying not to find a crab or jellyfish.
The swimming pools, where you paddled with friends.
The beautiful views, never ending water, reaching for miles.
The boats bobbing and swaying on the tide.
The mud flats when the tide had gone out,
One of many children searching for crabs.
Beachcombing, to see what can be found.
Kiosks selling ice creams, or chips and the smell wafting along the promenade.
Friendly dogs running up to say Hello and share a picnic.
Sandcastles and random artwork, left for someone else to find.
Listening to the waves, crashing against the breakers.
The trains rumbling past, shattering the peace and quiet.
The seagulls swooping and squawking investigating the remnants of the day.
This Beach,
The one you used to play on when you were ten years old and had just moved close to.
The one you were baptised right out in the open air in the swimming pool, followed by a Barbeque with all your friends from church. A celebration of your life given to God.
The one you used to walk to as a teenager, when you needed to think when you thought you were broken hearted.
The one you bunked off from school to walk to, since it was just far enough away for you not to be found.
The one where you watched the windsurfers and the beach bums and toasted your skin for hours, working on your tan.
The one where you sat and sobbed, when it was all too much for you.
The one where you yelled at the top of your voice, when you felt that things were unjust.
The one where you met your boyfriends, years apart.
The one where you had parties on the beach, listening to your favourite tunes.
The one where you used to meet your friends.
The one where you used to sit on the wall to look at the boys.
The one where you walked your dogs,
The one where you met your current love.
The one where you walked hand in hand with him.

This Beach,
Is also the one where he used to go to think. His favourite beach, where he had sat in the same places, done some of the same things and for years and you had just missed each other. The one where on that day, years later the time was right and walking back from the beach, you met, talked for hours, arranged to meet again and began to fall in love and your story began.

The Daily Post – Beach

Hope is Waiting

Hope sits waiting.

She is ready, willing and able.

For when you have conquered it you can go out and face it all once again.
Garaged, Off Road for when your new life awakes.
A tank full of fuel and her bodywork gleaming, like a crystal blue lake.
Bringing back your smile, as you race towards Adventure together once again.
She is patient, relaxed and all the things you are not.

You must never abandon Hope, you must allow her to pick you up and travel the journey together, experience what Life holds just around the corner, as you travel along the road in your bid for freedom.

There may be twists and turns, unexpected obstacles, but Hope will get you through.

India Blue – Hope is What it Represents

The Daily Post – Hope is Waiting

 

The Music of The Hills

6 (6)A storm is brewing, keep things close at hand.
The woods gently sing their quiet song.
The wind is blowing across the top along the land,
Begins it’s low howl it resonates deep and long.
Building itself up, as though to make an entrance,
Bending trees along the way, start to sway and dance.
Reaching it‘s crescendo thunder crashing through the hills,
A dramatic drum roll there it’s mad frenzy sending chills.
Hurling itself up before swirling around the ledges,
Nature singing out from the safety of the hedges,
Cattle calling across the way, invisible in the mist.
Lovers lost to it’s emotions, meeting for their tryst.
Eerily silent once again, this weather is a curse,
before tinkling raindrops signal the next verse.
Thoughts are stirred up taking you right back,
For a moment, you temporarily sidetrack.
Lost up there in music, a world away from your own,
As they rest again exhausted, the hills will sigh and moan.
This is the music of the hills,
Pay close attention to how it feels,
Of all things fierce and good.
Played out by the Orchestra of the Wood.

The Daily Post – The Music of The Hills

Hurly Burly

Thinking of the Hurly burly,
In my brain when I’m due up early.
No rhymes have come for almost a week,
This is not exactly like counting sheep.
Lay me down again you know,
That this is the moment, it starts to flow.
But by way of recompense,
It kind of makes perfect sense.
The brain is busy, the fever gone
And into my room, the bright moon shone.
Waiting for my head to burst,
As I quench the writers’ thirst.
I will write in present tense,
There is no form of defence.
Emotions out and feeling weak,
No chance for me to even speak.
At the end I must concur,
That the night becomes a blur.
It seems as though it’s been an age,
Since writing words on the blank page.
Lack of sleep, Oh what fun
As often, off my mind will run.
A free spirit, don’t try to tame
As it plays this silly game.
Feelings deep, behind the eyes,
Not the time to criticize.
Rest a while as you lament,
When you suffer this torment.
The lights are out, the room is black,
There really is no turning back.
Your own fault, who lit the fuse,
Don’t hold them back there is no use.
Hope the words will come out right,
When I’m awake half the night.
Feelings will come into play,
If I awake at break of day.

The Man About Town

I started to think of all of it,
Of how a cut is tailored to fit.
Where the threads are woven so light,
Tugged and wound around so tight.
The lining placed to cover the marks,
Hiding the body, naked and stark.
Creation of outfit your day to start,
How it meets in the middle to cover the heart.
To make one smart and represent,
A person or an image is meant.
Your case and cufflinks and a tie,
Dressed to kill, you’re living a lie.
Coat or hat to accessorize,
Weighing people up for size.
Persona or sense of style abound,
For all to see as you strut around.
when you wear your suit and cover your frown,
On your way to work, you man about town.