Sunday, January 11, 2009

hows this for a poem???

one day i a made a description,
about a man who cheated me.
its not about his word to me,
its about the consumer credit act u see!

the description in law is actually accurate and precise,
and jealously that i know what im on about is your only vice!
an 'opinion' is nothing compared to 'fact'
and thats the sex discrimination act!

freedoms of speech is another law,
and so is bullying and harrassment.
the dictionary is also useful
for leanring about confidentiality

one should eat ones words
and look up 'professionality'

yes thats right, no ones gonna mess with me
and u just set the challenege u see

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

If I Could Ask...

If I Could Ask…

I want to know,
what intrigued you about me?
Was it my carefree display of smiles
or my long, dark, curling hair?
Was it my hazel eyes bearing sadness in glints?
Was my beauty so evil that you
had to exorcise it?
Or did I show you an essence of something lost,
something so deep you forgot it existed?
Did I endanger a terrible desire
from creeping out?
Or was there an air about me,
that you felt too much,
a display of too much sovereignty?
Why did you creep in so,
rain nightmares on a sleeping,
innocent, peaceful child?
destroy my temple?
Why did you silently
shatter my heart and
pierce my very soul?
To silently take away
what was me and
leave me with an empty, dirty shell?
I am intrigued as to know
how I regain my beauty,
my soul, my self,
my life?

Monday, April 25, 2005

My Shadow

My Shadow

I fondle the staircase to the outside.
It is a cool, crisp night tonight.
The ‘clink’ of the gate is all that I hear
as I ballet dance the footpath.

Lucy sits outside, a stranger. A Samaritan.
Ushered inside to Angels, monotone words speak of ‘it’.
Then comes my chariot, driven by dark blue horses.

Amongst beauty and blackness stands the place.
It used to be the village old police house.
Now it is a trawler’s net, silently reeling in man’s victims.
My feet soak up shadows.

Voices bombard my ears, as I take note of
the dusty pink sofa, the dusty pink curtains
and the pile of children’s toys in the corner.

They peal my layers, drain my heart.
Violate me again.

My body numb against intricate procedures,
I bathe.
…Not clean enough, I embrace my shell in
a white, downy robe, and tea is my comforter.

Perfect, untouched, crystal beads,
balance perfectly upon jade-green blades,
perfect bodies crushed beneath in-held breath

then silently I glide through empty streets,
my head, a screaming siren of tangled thoughts.
The foggy orange glow of the street lights,
are the only sharers in my loneliness.

A shield amid reality and deadness,
the world awakens to sunlight but
I sink into depths of sleepless thoughts,
this shadow follows me.

Sunday, April 17, 2005


Innocence taken...
Torture of denial...
Silence eats...
Reality pains...
Vulnerable now...
Feeling small...
Twisting fear...
Grief-filled heart...
Chancing life...
Fighting death...
Endless hope...
Published in Dream Catcher, magazine, 2001.
This was written to describe a childhood experience but somehow it described a lot of inheld feelings about my childhood.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Waiting for India

Pacing the hours. Wearing thin
the carpet of the lounge. The world
stops turning. My time is channelled.
Pacing. Clock watching, tick, tock, tick.

Every second drifting slowly.
My time is still. Yet I am thrown
by present moments into time
travel. Back. Surrounded by all

familiar. Young memories
haunt. A misty air descends. Beats
of colour, slicing through a thick,
smoky atmosphere. Ears buzz,

thumping tunes. My heart on a high.
Hot bodies, breathing. A flash of
cool air, relaxing, giving way
to a desire. Body, heart, soul, falls

free into a rhythm to the
beat. And as I reminiss, I
am woken by a distant ring,
faint, but louder and louder

interrupting the beats of my
dream. The telephone. My heart stops.
Our free teenage years sprint past
in front of my eyes. The present,

frozen. And suddenly we are
thrown into a world of real time.
IT'S A GIRL! And my best friend is
cradling a new child, so peaceful

and innocent in her arms. WOW!
it is surreal and like an
unimaginable dream. And
India changes our lives forever.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Fighting, SAD

In winter when the ground is cold,
when the weather is fierce with a biting wind.
A flower cannot grow.

But when spring breaks through and the ground is thawed,
the shoots of the flower begin to fight their way
through the earth.
When they see the light, inch by inch they start
to grow.

And when
summer comes
when the
weather is
warm and
the wind is
calm, the
flower can
feel safe.

Although, here
and there, as
it grows, it
may lose a
petal or two.

But new ones grow, and the flower gets stronger,
ready to battle through the next winter.

Published in 'A Year Goes By' by Poetry Now, 2000

A wonderful contrast of colours, this is actually where my partners mum used to live! Enviable! Posted by Hello

I adore this picture. Fountains Abbey just has this feeling about it. Posted by Hello

I just love this! Posted by Hello

The cutest duck! Posted by Hello

Quite a groovey B&B pic of me n sprog in Ireland. Posted by Hello