Category Archives: Poetry

Desire

Foraging for the purpose, the point

of our desire. Quenched so quickly,

Yes, the yearning holds more fire.

Such heat! Doesn’t it defeat the purpose,

The target, the goal of consummation? Sweet soul eaten like dessert, no hesitation.

A dire, empty bowl scraped – now inert. Serene is the tongue holding that lingering flavour.

Is it the yearning or consumed desire we savour?

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Inspiration at 3am

This poem woke me up and wouldn’t leave me alone. The rhythm feels slightly off towards the last line but it insists it’s following the pattern of lilting and drifting, rhyming within to produce sound and feeling.

Let me know what you think. Continue reading

Tarzan

The house is still, no sounds to wake

The two-legged oafs

Who cried and moaned and quaked,

When sleeping is all the effort I’ll ever make. Continue reading

How to Create Haiga Poetry

Have you hear of a Haiga? Colleen explains it expertly. It’s defini something I will try with my young writers in Writers Club.

Colleen M. Chesebro

Gorgeous Colorado!

Since so many poets are inspired by photos, drawings, paintings, or other images when they compose their poetry, I wanted to add the “Haiga,” a dramatic poetic form to my weekly syllabic poetry challenge starting the first week of February 2019. So, for the new challenge posted on 2/5/19, this will be another acceptable form for our syllabic challenge.

Haiga is sometimes called observational poetry because it contains an image with either a haiku or senryu written on it or near it.  

Youtube: Traditional Japanese Art – Haiga – Japanese Paintings with Haiku poems by Doshin Kuba

This one form combines three artforms:  imagery (photographs or original art), poetry, and calligraphy.

The site, ahapoetry.com shares this about the Haiga:

“Haiga is a Japanese concept for simple pictures combined with poetry, usually meaning haiku. In Basho’s time, haiga meant a brushed ink drawing combined with…

View original post 1,069 more words

Christmas Without You

This is a poem I wrote the year my mum passed away. Even though Christmas has passed, I thought I would share it again as a special tribute to her, my little bird!


I tried to forget you yesterday
Pretended the day wasn’t about you
No celebration, no memorial or tasteful display
Just a drink and a quick prayer to chase out blues

Now the clock is ticking
Santa is drawing near
We’ve put up your Christmas decoration
Since you won’t be here

No struggling, cursing, crying
To get you through the door
And the happy sense of achievement
When your wheels touch the kitchen floor

We won’t choose the meal together
Since last year’s meal was your last
No fighting over whose house to visit
Now that you’re in the past

I’m going to try not to miss you
When I don’t see you sitting there
Children reaching to open their presents
They’ve kept back, so that moment, with you, they could share

Every minute of Christmas this year
Will breathe in for a new tradition
As you, dear Mum won’t be there
Since you’ve taken a life-long intermission.

Poem

Sewn

Threads dispersed, tendrils drifting,

Cross stitches holding my heart together

Fragile grips for forever

Like kisses on a broken organ.

Undisclosed attachments to materialistic grips

Patterned designs meant for purpose

But, oh, giving me goose bumps of joy

As I blanket stitch them together.

Expressing my toxic insides

Filtering them with padding

Slip stitch my lips so nothing escapes;

Shh! Here comes the blunt truth…

Nothing can hold back the black and white

No shade. Backstitch that bad stuff,

But the running stitch won’t erase it.

The stark truth prevails like a blind stitch.

Broken Voices

There are voices in the attic

Static sounds of confusion

Scattered murmurs of insecurity.

Voices of misshapen dreams

Lying dormant for so long

Now stirring, writhing whispers.

Attic beams once a safe space

Creaking and moaning uncontrollably

Holding back voices searching for escape.

There are voices in the attic

Bold and ready to be heard

Scratch. Click. Roar!

They are free.

More

Consume my physical receptacle

Pool your passion as you will

Favour the inevitable

As I swallow the bitter pill

Of realising your incompetence

Of being more than a physical presence

Leave me yearning for more substance

In my search for a soulmate’s essence.

From now on

From now on I’m not going to drown in your ugly words

From now on I’m not going to hug my sides because it hurts

From now on I’m not going to wish I could just disappear

From now on I’m going to wear my bruises loud and clear.

From this day forward I will climb back inside my skin

From this day forward I will be proud to be African

From this day forward my British roots won’t fail

From this day forward my Dutch forefathers will smile with pride as I prevail.

From now on I choose my destiny

From now on my skin speaks and says it’s free

From now on whomever I dare to love is okay

From now on till my last remaining day.

My Poetry Book is available from Lulu.

Whispers

Words slip so easily from loose lips

Releasing secrets meant for eternity

Their meaning resonating through the atmosphere

Causing ripples in the air around us

Washing icy cold winds through hearts once pure

Waving farewell to resigned contentment and ignorance

Welcoming the fury of considered insightfulness

The power of whispers made in jest