A beautiful little response
If I saw me,
What would I see?
Would it be me?
Or would it be
A reflection of
What I wanted to be?
When I see you,
What will I see?
Will I see you?
Or will it be
What you wish
For me to see?
We see us,
What do we see?
Do we see us?
Or are we self created visions?
I was feeling childish and petty
And I didn’t feel like telling
What the colours meant
They meant more than one thing
To me at least. I thought why
Should I say what they meant
Into consideration must me taken
The context and location
To know what they meant
To most they meant nothing
The colours simple pretty
And nothing by them meant
Or maybe they were telling
The people already knowing
What the combination meant
Let slip subtle signs
No one sees, OR
They pretend they HAVE
Colours, words, silences
They IGNOR or miss
THEM. The signs
That could have told
A story TOGETHER.
Be open to the words
They don’t bite
They’re WORDS aren’t they?
Or are they more
‘Do we need them?’
Bring people together
Then why not let them
We have a NEED
To explain, to categorise
All just want to belong?
Here is a responnse to one of my prompts by nombredelapluma. Please go check out their blog.
He had never been good at striking a bargain
His mother should have known
Better than to send him to market
Never know what you’re going to get
Worried, he told himself these things,
Not wanting to be a disappointment
He had coins in his bag she said should be enough
But no candy or fluff
He wasn’t smart, he told himself, a lie
But he was strong, willing to learn and try
At the markets’ edge he met a man
Who said, catch the pig, and if you can,
He’s yours to keep, but if you fail
I get your money and the pig, tip to tail
Back at home he talked to animals
So he whispered to the pig about future meals
And shook the strangers’ hand
Who oiled the pig with a grease can
The man was surprised to watch the pig
Jump into the boy’s arms…
View original post 46 more words
I got the idea for this post from Anni, her blog is Gentle Kindness and the link to her post is Writing Challenge “Alphabetical About” Yourself Poem.
Artistic in my own way
Beauty make my day
Careing about everyone
Daring to love someone
Enjoying what I’ve got
Fearing it will be hot
Growing and learning
Helping and planning
Just some about fairies
Kind of a bit awkward
Like a bear, with a sword
Makes cleaning fun
Not neccessarily for everyone
Organised in some ways
Playing netball always
Quiet and very shy
Really wish to fly
Still getting lost a lot
Trying new thing in a pot
Unsure of who I am
Very sure of some
Writing is fun for me
X finding can also be
Years since I’ve been to hospital
Zero tollerence for very little
Wave after wave in an endless cascade,
Starts to ease but can never quite fade.
A wave that washes over you day after day,
There’s nothing you can do and nothing to say.
You watch the reports but they tend to lie,
You even start, to stop trusting the sky.
It’s heat waves that keep on making you cry,
Wishing for cool is liking wishing you could fly.
Tomorrow I will clean my room,
Wash the windows and vaccume.
Pick up clothes to hang and fold,
Cleaning up makes me feel bold.
Dusting books, and sorting them,
By the authors name again.
Clearing off all the flat surfaces,
There will be more open spaces.
Get rid of things I shouldn’t keep,
Leave room to walk, work and sleep.
Words that are so interesting and new,
They make stories come out of the blue.
Words that whisper things in your ear,
You don’t understand yet what you hear.
You taste them on you tong let them roll,
And slowly fall from your lips and toll.
Words you’ve never heard before now,
Their power leaves you wondering how.
How could you have done without them before,
These words leave you wanting to learn more.
New words that make things more succinct,
They can now be used with your instinct.
I feel the need to write, come like a hunger,
Then pick up a pen but then it is no longer
There. The words they have all gone away,
I chace them, wanting for them to stay.
Then other times I feel no need to write at all,
But feel the obligation and the words just fall,
Right out of the end of my pen or from finger tips,
But creative words rarely fall from these lips.
Knowing when to write is impossible for some,
Easier for others, and to some does natural come,
It can flow free or be forced, onto the white pages,
Lasting only seconds or surviving through the ages.
I’m sick of all these feelings
Their stange confusing meanings,
Wishing fun was simple again,
And I could just pick up a pen.
But things change, don’t they,
Unexpected feelings make you pay,
Feelings you can’t, make go away,
Moments in which you wish you could stay.
Wishing you didn’t have to feel,
Wishing for, a heart of steel,
Simultaneously, not feeling enough,
Maybe you shouldn’t be so tough.
Leaving is hard when you know,
You have got nothing to show,
Nothing to remember the moment by,
Except the stars, in the night sky.
Confusion is all part of growing,
It comes from now knowing,
That you don’t fit in the boxes.
Some of the boxes are inflexible,
They make you uncomfortable,
But some have a bit of give.
The boxes, are inescapable,
Though some are very unstable,
And new ones can be made.
So don’t give up, be brave,
Find ones you’d like to save,
Or, make the new ones.
My room now resembles something vaguely functional,
A place that now feels far more manageable.
It no longer looks like a crime scene,
The floor can suddenly be seen.
My desk is clear of the piles of books,
That threatened to fall at the slightest of knocks.
But there’s still plenty to be done,
Lurking in the corners out of the sun.
When things go wrong, one after the other,
I start to wonder, why I bother.
But then, I remember the reason why,
Without the bad, good’s hard to spy.
What if I quit?
Threw a fit.
Had a day off.
Would it take off.
Would I give up,
Or is it enough,
To remember why,
My fingers fly,
Across the keys,
Thoughts of mine,
In an untidy line,
Does anyone else, see faces in wood?
Does anyone else, feel misunderstood?
Does anyone else, feel safe in bed?
Does anyone else, call spiders Fred?
Does anyone else, see dragons in clouds?
Does anyone else, feel anxious in crowds?
Does anyone else, feel safe high in a tree?
Does anyone else, or is it just me?
Sometimes it’s easier to finish everything when there’s more to do.
Sometimes it makes me feel energised to run when I’m tired.
Sometimes it’s easier to keep going when it’s harder.
When I get more done when I have less time.
When I’m tired it’s hardest to sleep.
I smile when I’m really angry.
I laugh when I’m hurt.
You may be the only mother, that I ever had,
But you are the best, don’t worry about that.
Thank you for always, being there for me,
Even when I drive you, totally crazy.
Thank you for loving me, no matter what,
I don’t know if you know, but it really means a lot.
I’ll love you back forever, we both know that is true,
I just want to tell you, just how much, I love you.
The stages of a cold,
Are something to behold.
They go a bit like this,
They start with just a sniff.
Then you have a headache,
A sore throat and an earache.
You feel completely miserable,
But noticing people are unable.
Then you suddenly feel okay,
But your nose almost runs away.
Then suddenly everyone notices,
Your sick, giving sympathy overdoses.
I’m tired of staying up late,
I’m tired of sleeping past eight.
I’m tired of uni assessments,
And ridiculous group assignments.
I’m tired of all the confusion,
I’m tired of this seclusion.
I’m tired of rushing around,
And there being too much sound.
I’m tired of missing my mates,
I’m tired of the lack of debates.
I’m tired of all the disasters,
And the ridiculously happy broadcasters.
I’m tired of living in moments,
I’m tired of missing components.
I’m tired of missing the past,
And fearing what the future will cast.
I’m sick and tired of my hair,
I’m sick of finding it everywhere.
In the shower and sink,
In my food and my drink.
In bed tangled around my toes,
On my pillow, tickling my nose.
It wont dry in the winter,
Make me hot in summer.
My pony tail slaps me in in the face,
Makes me loose my place.
Strangles me at night,
Giving me such a fright.
Tumbles all over my work,
Why does it have to be such a jerk?
I have way too much hair,
I have more than enough to share.
I love you like a sister,
And right now, I miss ya.
No I love you more than that,
I think but like, I don’t know what.
We’ve been best friend for ages,
And friends since the early stages.
‘Is she you’re sister?’ people say,
‘No,’ I smile and laugh and it’s okay.
If they looked closer they could see,
How different, you are, from me.
We laughed about it often before,
Spending time with you is never a bore.
I read your thoughts and you read mine,
We answer questions at the same time.
I didn’t realise how hard it’d be,
Not to see you, reg-u-lar-ly.
Rain drops, on a tin roof,
But they, are not real proof.
That the drought is now over,
That Australia will recover.
Politicians want to look the good guy,
No water restrictions needed, pigs might fly.
Of all the year round the best time of all,
Is winter when you want to predict the rainfall.
This usually works, when you live in Croydon,
You’ll be glad of my advice when you don’t get rained on.
When you open your door on a bright sunny morning,
Don’t be fooled, just listen to me and take my warning,
The rain will be falling in the next twelve hours,
The frogs will be happy and so will the flowers.
When you open the door and its misty and cold,
Don’t be put off, that weather won’t hold,
The sun will come out and banish the fog,
But predicting rainy mornings is like predicting a dog.
Snow falling in sheets,
In thin paper sheets.
The pages online,
In lines that all rhyme.
Through layers of links,
Like snow that just sinks.
It all seems endless,
But it’s for the best,
When it is all read,
I’ll sleep well in bed.
My eyes may fall out,
But it’s what it’s about,
That makes it worth while,
It still makes me smile.
I dropped a gold coin in a well,
I watched it sparkle as it fell.
I made a wish that couldn’t come true,
I wished I could fly, in the sky so blue.
To my surprise my wish was granted,
I could fly whenever I wanted.
But I’m afraid, it wasn’t all I’d heard,
It’s over rated, being a bird,
Bush fire on our street,
Pitter, patter of some feet.
Fire engine goes past,
Shut the window fast.
To stop the alarm,
From causing more harm.
When people sleep,
Without counting sheep.
The fire wont spread far,
No need to prepare the car.
They are just burning off,
Or some similar stuff.
Why would they not explain,
It really is a pain.
To wonder what’s going on,
Anxious something is wrong.
It’s probably okay,
But I can’t really say.
Running until you feel sick.
Head spinning, breath gasping.
Sweat running, dripping.
Collision, skid, bump.
This is how it feels.
This is what I love.
The crocodile lay submerged.
He saw a bird and emerged.
His jaws opened wide.
The bird tried to hide
They, snapped closed.
The bird was enclosed.
Now all that is left is a feather.
Oh well that’s nature.
The magpie black and white,
One day took flight.
He flew up, into the air,
He was, without a care.
He sawed and swooped,
He twirled and looped.
The air currents, he enjoyed,
He thought he’d never be destroyed.
The gun went bang, the feathers flew,
And that was the last, that poor bird knew.
There once was a girl
She would get in a whirl,
When there was too much to do.
She would stress far more than you.
She would get in a flap.
She could not take a nap,
Until everything was as, good as new,
And there was nothing left to do.
The python lay in wait for prey,
Nothing could keep that monster at bay.
It’s eyes upon a bird did land,
The bird upon the ground did stand.
It opened its mouth wide,
And caught the bird inside.
It quickly wrapped its coils around,
The bird couldn’t move or make a sound.
That poor old bird it got squeezed,
It suffocated, how could it breath?
When the bird died he was gobbled up,
If you are a bird in the air, I would stay up.
There are many types of fears,
Fears can make you burst into tears.
Fears were made for your safety,
Fears can inspire great bravery.
We all have, our own fears,
They will pass and change, over the years.
Is fear good? I think I know,
Its for a reason and it is so.
i wrote this a while ago hope you enjoyed it.
Spiders are creepy, there is no doubt in that.
They hide in dark corners and under my hat.
They build webs where that’ll surly get in my face.
They want me to scream and myself disgrace.
I try to refrain, even when they,
Crawl down my leg, I don’t want to play.
They sit and they wait, eyes watching me,
They are waiting for, the best opportunity.
When I see one sitting in wait,
I know I shouldn’t take the bait.
I want so bad, to take my shoe,
And belt that poor spider, to TImbuktu.
Sorry spiders but you really scare me.
Why can’t you, simply leave me be.
Do you hear, that sound so clear?
Does it echo, in your ear?
When you touch, the smooth cool bark?
Does it, in you, light up a spark?
Does that taste, a memory stir?
Does it remind, you of her?
When you smell, crushed Autumn leaves?
Does it, remind you, that one grieves?
Do you see, what I see?
Does what you see, set you free?
Does seeing it, make you happy?
Or your heart, feel more lonely?
Sometimes I wonder what should I write?
Not every issue, is black and white.
Sometimes I wonder how should I feel?
Not every ones will is created with steel.
Sometimes I wonder what will come next?
Not every answer can be, found in text.
Sometimes I wonder what should I do?
Should it be something for me or you?
Sometimes I wonder what does it mean?
Not all answers come from what’s seen.
Sometimes I wonder…
I write poetry occasionally. Most of it’s silly and lighthearted. I always write rhyming poetry and I try to get it to have some form of rhythm. For me the rhyming is easier. Sometimes when I’m having trouble talking about something directly I find it easier to just write a poem.
When my Dad went over seas on a holiday a few years ago I wrote him a book of poems for him to read one a day. Some of them are quiet amusing and I thought I’d share one. If you like it I’ll share some more.
Some are colourful, some are plain,
Some are mad and some are sain.
Some are hunters, some are pray,
Some are quiet some will play.
Some can only make harsh noises,
While others were given very sweet voices.
Some can talk and imitate noises,
Others don’t have as many choices.
There are many types of bird,
And they all like to make themselves heard.
My thoughts are my thoughts and my thoughts alone.
Don’t read them unless I offer, they’re mine to own.
Here I offer them up for you to read, if you choose.
But don’t take for granted, that the rest are yours to use.
They may be on paper, no longer in my head.
But don’t assume they’re there, just to be read.
They’re there because I trusted, that people understood.
That they were mine, not yours to read, I didn’t think you would.
I love my dog Millie
Sometimes she’s silly
She’s small and fluffy
She’s naughty and scruffy
She hates baths and cats
She loves walks and pats
She’s loyal and sweet
People she’ll happily meet
She sees me clearly
I love her dearly
I’m addicted to, this thing called chocolate.
Without it for me, my life is desolate.
A day without eating it, I can’t for see.
If I ran out, then sad would be me.
Chocolate may be, my only addiction.
Though later this, may seem a contradiction.
If addiction to chocolate, comes so easy.
I guess it’s best to steer clear of smokes, booze and coffee.
Those three I’ve not, dared yet to try.
I’ve also stayed clear of thing, that could make me high.
Well that’s all I have, for the moment I think.
About my love of chocolate, that I’ve put down with ink.
Is one human life worth more than another’s?
Is your sister’s life worth more than your brother’s?
Why should we execute those that we fear?
Is it really to protect, those we hold dear?
Why do we justify, killing for wars?
Why do we justify it, for a ‘good’ cause?
Should one person die so many might live?
Is it okay to kill, if the action’s defensive?
I ask these questions for the answers, I truly don’t know,
You may try to answer if you wish, you can give it a go.
I don’t drink coffee
Not even frothy
I hate the buzz
And the brain fuzz
It makes me shake
I’m scared I’ll break
Plus it tastes bad
That makes me sad
Now don’t ask why
I’ve told you why
I don’t drink coffee
Not even frothy
Hope you enjoyed this silly little poem. Let me know in the comments what you thought.