Forest Song

If we'd but time to wander through,
The forests of our minds anew,
What fairytales would there unfold?
What secrets of our souls be told?

In whispered rustles mighty trees
May yet enchant their erstwhile leaves,
To tempt us from our narrow paths,
Lead us to glades where danger laughs

At timid eyes which dare to glance,
See hidden truths amid the dance
Which heaves and sighs and calls us on,
While we play deaf to nature's song.

For in that wood of soul-filled spires,
Which stretch and bend with sheaved desires,
Are many trees of light and hue,
No cloned or man-made avenue

Can capture hearts transformed with seasons,
Respecting not the need for reasons
To either bloom, or fall in turn,
Be evergreen, or yearly burn,

And yet be all, though none complete,
To choose one branch would yet defeat                                
Our spirits flight from soaring high,

Or laying still to watch the sky,

That filled with stars, yet loves the day,
Adores its rest but longs to play
In undergrowth of Autumn fruits,
Whose fallen jewels will send spring's shoots

To live again, though dreams be broken,
Hopes be drowned by strorms which soaken
Every wish we'd see come true.
We'll drink their power, and hence, renew.

Wha's Mental???

Wee bit of poetry in Scots for ma twa wee witches. #poetober continues...

"Ken, yer maw's mental!"
That's wit the bairns a' cry,
Tae ma twa queans,
Wha climb up trees,
An' jump oot tryin tae fly.

"Ken, yer maw's a loony!"
A've heard the bullies say,
While twa wee lassies
Squelch in mud
An' hunt for sticks tae play.

"Ken, yer maw's a nutjob!"
The bored wans fret an' tease,
But laughter fills
Ma sweetheart's ears,
As they imagine a' they please.

"Ken, yer maw's a ____"
But they've caught the wee yin's eye,
An she's stuck them wi
A look sae fierce
It'd make the de'il die.

"Ma maw's no a nutter,"
Her cackling voice explains,
"She's a witch,
Who brews up spells,
Tae transform nasty weans."

"Intae a' sorts o' monsters,"
Her sister comes tae add,
"That eat their taes,
An' breathe oot smells,
That couldnae be mair bad.

Her powers are Tremendous,
Yer right tae look sae scared,
For come the night
O' Hallowe'en,
Ye better be prepared."

An' noo they've got them runnin',
As they shout "She's after you!
But the thing ye'll wish
Ye'd ken't the maist,
Is that we are witches too!"

Daughters of Chaos

Well, you can't really post a poem about the wonders of insomnia in the middle of the day, can you?!? October poetry month continues with a wee Spenserian Sonnet I rather like actually! You have to make the best of the talents and curses you're blessed with after all....


Do not lament for me my endless night,
Dear Friends who feed your souls with fruits of day.
The Darkness sends me wings for spirit’s flight,
And whispers words which sunlight cannot say.

For while you sleep my senses dream their way,
Through waking trysts of clarity so pure,
The colours of the night are never grey,
But paint with fired tongues that do endure.

Yet blessed with Nyx’s gift some search a cure,
To dull our wits, our visions, grand and true,
Recant our pow’r, submit to ‘Normal’s’ lure,
Hide madness in the dusk as others do.

Surrender not my curse of chaos child,
Embrace the stars, I must, and blaze them wild.

Seeds of Neverland

 
What fog filled furrows fuse my dreams,
Of summer rains, while autumn gleams,
Into a mist of mem'ried pain,
Of seeds, I shall not sow again.

Now Gravestone bails that stand so bold,
In lonesome fields of fog so cold
It steals my soul as I ramble through,
Engulfs with pain and bond like glue.

What do they know, what could they tell,
Those rolls of hay, wrapped up so well?
A summer's store of sunshine blessed,
Enclosed within a love that rests?

Such heat that lives inside those swirls,
Cannot escape, nor yet unfurls,
Into my heart to live forever,
Grows only in the Land of Never.

 
I seek the sun to burn the sorrow,
Drink up this veil and light tomorrow,
But the haar enrobes as dark descends,
And my tears ask when the torment ends.


For, what looks so gentle, hurts to touch,

To wander bare foot asks too much

Of a soul that searches but knows not why,

In sharp cut fields of fog filled sky.

As dawn approaches I drink the dew,

Of a hope that's promised each day anew,

And I try to believe, with a cynic's heart,
As I smile at the world, and walk on, in my part.

Patient Prayers

There are so many misconceptions about depression but many are not products of malice or mistrust -  they are simply that for those lucky ones who do not suffer, there is no logic in seeing a heart that is breaking, also be capable of producing a smile that lights up a room.

That a soul who has so much to live for and wants desperately to survive illness to see their family grow up, yet feels torn apart by that struggle and is haunted by the desire to take their own life so that the fear and torment ends.

I wrote this poem originally for one of my friends who desperately wanted to understand the depression of those around her. It is my eternal hug of strength to her. Depression is an illness that affects even those who are not not depressed themselves. Those people need support too because it is hard to know what to do when you cannot begin to reason a way forward.

Just having the strength to stay the course, be patient and listen, over and over again. Know when to leave someone alone, when not to, when to talk and when to be silent. It can be torture to a desperate heart who wants only to help. For all those who try, this is for you.

Patient Prayers

The secret fingers of despair,
Who hide in smiles their unmouthed prayer
Of gloved emotion, raw and stained
With blood soaked tears of hope that waned.

How silently your whispers grow,
To flood the ears of souls who know,
That from your tide they're doomed to drown,
With each gaze up, you drag them down.

Not to a depth that sees no light,
Nor ignores the pain of others' plight,
But swallows sorrows as if their own,
Til self sown prisons are overgrown,

With helpless vines that twist through hearts
And knots all hope before it starts,
Though love surrounds the ones who cry,
That voice inside will never die,

That one day soon they will not wake,
Hear not the pleas that others make,
In desperate love, to fire their soul,
For despair's inferno has no control.

Though perfect days of joy and bliss,
Can visit yet and send their kiss
Of happy tears, of sheer delight,
Still yet cruel thoughts do come at night,

To hunt all hope of happy years
Ahead, instead replaced by tears
That cry inside but seldom show,
Respect not logic, and will not go.

No matter if the sun's rays share,
And fortune favours all that's theirs,
A wound un-found is hard to heal,
Spirits so crushed refuse to feel

That future's dance reserves their place,
That life will e'er forgive with grace,
And yet it will, it can and should;
Depression never goes for good.

Heart's prisoned chains were locked by them,
It is within the cruel keys stem,
With patient wings they'll find what's lost,
Would you dare to stay, at any cost?

For they do not wish to leave your side,
To lose their hope, to run and hide,
But time is what their sorrow needs,
To heal the holes that sadness bleeds.

Do not despair, show them the way,
Lend patient prayers in every day,
And they will try, though the climb is steep,
To banish gravesides where loved ones weep.

Quantum Love

Over the years I have observed that it is precisely the things which are so exquisitely impossible to understand, which capture my desire to try to more than anything. For example: 

1. Love 

2. Quantum Theory 

3. Why the hell I should adore Andrew Purdon so much and continue to share my life with him when he persists in EATING EVERYTHING LIKE A FRICKIN COW!! 

 So this crazy Petrachan sonnet is for him. An impossible form for an impossible subject matter. Quantum Theory is just like love after all! 

 ******** 

Our quantum love whose waves do break each test,‎ 
Cannot be tamed, explained, by those who look, 

Theories which cry their tears in every book, 

Have answers not, for particles who jest.

Dimensions string their way through hearts at rest,

Realities which term our love a fluke, 

Infinities of chance were not our hook, 

The pattern of our souls will not be guessed. 

And yet entangled as we are we try, 

To know the things perhaps we never should. 

Photonic love will never answer why, 

Into a box must live desires which would. 

What matter shares with light that will not die,

Dualities like love, which never could.

 *********** 

 (and if you don't know anything about quantum theory...don't worry, your 1st response was correct...this is a ridiculous poem...but then, that's exactly the point!!)

‎

Little Eight Year Old Bones

On Friday 19th September, like so many other rebellious butterflies, my heart finally gave way to the sadness welling up inside and I took to my bed to sob in broken exhaustion. I can never express how grateful I am to the many friends from across the world, of all political persuasions and none, who sent emails, messages or picked up the phone to tell me simply that they were thinking of me. It really helped and I am sure every person involved in the campaign had that same heartache and has been renewed by someone special who allowed them to feel love amid despair.

One message broke my heart though. For lying in my bed, a little line came through from my precious Amelie who used her mum's old phone to send a bbm. It simply read: 

 "Mum, I'm so sorry that it's a No and I don't want you to feel sad about it. Love Amelie, the Ninja! xxxx" 

Nothing could have meant more to me but as she came later to try to stop my tears, I felt a new pain. I only hope that she does not understand its truth.

Little Eight Year Old Bones

I cannot look in the eyes

Of those arms which come to comfort

Her mother, so broken

From dreams, early wakings stole.

Though for me she tenders, to

Wipe away my sorrow,

I must conceal the agony,

That it is for her I weep.

Little eight year old bones,

Your heart would stretch them to infinity,

Your courage and compassion

Will always make me proud.

But we failed you. I know

Such cruel feelings will not leave me.

No blame, fault or explanation

Can un-sing September’s song.

If I could bury a seed

Far away from germination,

Hide it blindly from your heart,

That no roots would there entwine.

I do not want your childhood to

Rue this misadventure.

Though your future may be stolen,

MY task it is, to steal it back.

It must not be yours.

Nor to your generation,

Can we leave this un-won legacy

Dearest innocent and friend.

Cocoon yourself my comforter,

Feed on your mother’s hope not tears,

When we have swallowed up our sorrow,

Our wings again will conquer fear.