Archive for December, 2011

The Bird (Dec 2011)

The bird’s sweet churping said to me ” I am happy, I am free”

“I can flit and fly around and around”

 “I might drift over there towards that sound”.

At first when his mum pushed him out of the nest

He found it rather hard to digest

But when his wings worked and he hovered

He realised he wasn’t all that bothered

He could join any group that he met

And in in time, his mum he did forget

Having fun and then finding a mate

Food and babies were plentiful, life was great

One summery day up in the skies

He crossed paths with a face he didn’t recognise

It was his mother, all sick and forlorn

But he hadn’t seen her since he wass born

You see, he didn’t really need his mum

He’d had a full life, his lover and all of his chums

If only she’d kept him in the nest a little longer

Right now their relationship might’ve been stronger

Instead she chose a sad and solitary death

 And so all by herself she gulped her very last breath.  

What Am I Made Of? (Dec 2011)

I HAVE A HEART MADE OF GLASS

AND A MIND MADE OF COFETTI

MY BODY IS TINFOIL

MY ARMS ARE SPAGHETTI

MY BOOBS ARE FRIED EGGS

MY HEART’S AN INFLATED BALLOON

I HAVE LICORICE FOR LEGS

MY NECK’S A HARPOON

MY FEET ARE PADDLE POPS

MY HANDS ARE OVEN MITTS

MY EARS ARE CHOCOLATE DROPS

AND MY EYES ARE PEACH PITS

MY MOUTH IS A WILTED ROSE

MY TUMMY AN OVER-INFLATED TYRE

MY THIGHS ARE TRUNKS THAT GROW AND GROW

AND MY WRINKLES I WISHED THEY’D RETIRE

YOU SEE I’M A MIXED UP MASH OF ODDS & SODS

YOU MUST  HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOUR, GOD.

Nothing Much Of Anything

Dear Blogees

I don’t have much to write about, I don’t think. I’ve got stuck just writing poetry, when I really wanted this blog to be stream of consciouseness writing,with a little poetry thrown in. I planned on it being more like my thoughts and feelings + all of my various mishaps etc.

I think I’m boring but others say I’m interesting, so I’ll let you be the judge of that. I have to go to my psychologist today & I’m all in a tizzy because I’ve lost my homework book, with my assignement I’m meant to have done – which I didn’t. If I don’t like the homework he gives me I just write a pem, because I think at least I’m doing something. His pooey home work is all mindfulness crap. I’m not into hokum-pokum. I want practical answers for practical problems, not to get inside the core of a feeling/shmeeling. He’s a good guy & all, but he’s a bit away with the airy-fairies.

I’ve been enrolled in dialectical behavioural therapy. I don’t know when it starts but I’m scare already. It sounds very intensive. 3 hours a week for a year + homework. I’m not very good with long-term commtiments.

 

I haven’t showered yet & I have melted chocolate & god knows what down my top – sleep eating. Thanks to my meds I sleep walk & sleep eat & sleep smoke. Dangerous & messy. I wake up with cigarettes stuck all over me & chocolate shmeared all over my face. I’m gonna have to put all bad things far far out of reach & sight.

Anyway enough for now, I need to get ready for my appointment. Wish me luck. xo

Employment (Dec 2011)

Does anyone else feel like a blank android

With all of their once loved passions destroyed

My feelings were once at the top; they spewed

Now my self-regulation is totally screwed

My life now filled with analysis and contemplation

I feel no love, no joy, no elation

I have a financial need to be employed

But with myself jobless I’m paranoid

With no self-control, no solid foundation

My brain has gone into involuntary liquidation

If someone would give me a go I’d feel redemption

Instead of the unexplained rejection and condescension

Getting employment would give me a lift

I’m bursting at the seems to do a regular shift

My optimism and confidence I’m trying to sustain

And I try so hard not to moan or to complain

I’m not treating this like a long vacation

I take it very seriously, I realise the implication

Now that I’ve told you, now that you’ve heard

If you hear of a job, please do spread the word.

Child-Girl-Woman (Dec 2011)

The empty echoes of her childhood

The dreams and wishes of a young girl yearning

The harsh reality of getting not much good

Contributed to her early learning

By her mother many carrots were dangled

The promise of a special gift

The grey web of lies was twisted and tangled

Mournfully setting her hopes adrift

She didn’t know which was worse; the physical?

Her mother’s beatings were only brief

Or was it the torture which was critical?

And seemed to cause much stronger grief

Her father, cunningly, always an angle

He should’ve been there as a relief

Instead with his disdain he would mangle

Her unquestioning thoughts and beliefs

Her doubts and worries were hard to contain

She was left feeling dread and apprehension

As a result her grades and facade were hard to maintain

Her real self and feelings in a state of suspension

Whatever their meaning, whatever their intent

They had screwed up this girl’s youth

Now that all of her emotions had been spent

She could go on in the world practising only the truth.

1974 (Mar 2012)

It was the year of the tiger, the year of my birth

The first and only time that to my mum I had worth

Whether to be a whore or a mum, she was torn

Though she loved me, she wished I hadn’t been born

For years I’ve felt her icy abandonment

I’ve had to keep all the lies, the sneaky concealments

There were times when I wore her stinging slaps 

Inside my head it sounded like breaking thunder claps

But even worse than causing physical pain

Was the emotional turmoil felt in my brain

At times it was her hurtful criticism

And if I was joyous, her vengeful cynicism

She seemed to get pleasure from her bitchy derision

Why couldn’t she change? It was her decision

It ultimately added up to me feeling bereft

If only she’d gone for good when she first left

So instead of me having a nice normal family

I have been lumped with this cancerous anomaly.

Mister Night (Dec 2011)

Night cloaks me in his silky darkness

He takes away the scary shadows from the day

The bright light and glare of daytime can be heartless

Taking my safety and my hiding spots away

Evening brings with him a comforting hint of calm

Covers up the guilt and shame felt by day

When morning comes; with it blaring alarm

Mister Night please come back so my fears will allay

Night-time helps me to settle and rest

The glittery stars, my happy little friends

Daytime’s all “rah rah rah” and puts my nerves to the test

Sunlight is over-rated, it’s not all that it pretends

When the sky is black my eyes have fallen closed

Daytime sees loud brash people with prying eyes

Under daylight I feel pushed, naked and exposed

While beneath my protective night blanket, I can lie.

 

 

This is a quicky I wrote while pfaffing around with the pooda.

                                               Internet Connections Suck

 

Sitting, waiting for my computer to log-in

I’m impatiently waiting to be blogging

My creative juices are all flowing

This tedious delay is mindlessly slowing

I have things I want to say; to discuss

I’ve already been in the chatroom, chatted with Gus

I’ve written a new poem I wanted to share

I want some input from all of you readers who care

I’m very impatient, I don’t like to wait

It’s nearly at the top of my list of 10 things I hate

What did I do before internet, blogs, chatrooms?

Maybe some housework, maybe vacuum

Shows me how much I depend on it when it’s down

Tried refreshing and restarting, now complete shutdown

Now my creative fires have been extinguished

My wishes to write online have been relinquished.

I Am A Dorky Poetry Machine

Hey there. While my poetry might not be getting any better, my mind thinks it’s a poetry-writing machine. If only I could write music, I’d be prolific. Anyhoo, I’d planned to share my latest poem, then I got stuck in the chatrooms blah blah blah. And then I lost my internet connection. I’m not much of a computer person but I tried everything I could think of to no avail.

While I waited for connection to comeback, I started jotting down some ideas & the beginnings of about 3 poems started, but I actually finished one complete one, which I might show you now.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed that I’ve been trying out different styles. Feel free to let me know what you think. I’m a harsh critic of myself so it’s helpful to get an outsider’s perspective of what I say/write.

Oh, I forgot, I wrote 2 while stuffing around with my pooda. So if I don’t get sick of typing I might share my latest 3 – if you’re lucky hmmm nyuck nyuck. They’ll be my next posts, so read on xo love you xo