Black and Red - poem

A new poem for you all. 

Inspired by: doodling red and black hearts in my notebook (as if I am twelve...)When: 27/11/2013 in lecture

Black and Red

Black hearts against the red.

Can you see them?

They are the brightest hearts

(sometimes.)

Those lovers:

their eyes shine.

They are clever and bold and bright

and cruel.

(Like we were.)

We were shining, weren't we?

We were, and still are, 

young

with red-blood pumping.

Through time, we've changed. 

Your heart is matte now,

mine shines in the dark.

You can have the Sun my love, 

and I shall watch the stars

(Our stars.) 

You will learn to love again.

I shall finally learn to live.

My black, black heart

oh, how you made it beat.

You still do, you know

(but do you know your effect on me?)

I think you will love her

she isn't the one, but she is Alive. 

Enough for you, anyway.

(She isn't me, is that good?)

I wasn't enough. (Could I have been?)

OR: I was too much, perhaps?

We have danced together

beneath the stars.

Will I feel the light of the Sun

on my skin again?

There is no heat on my skin.

Not anymore.

You are alive, my darling.

And I shall be forever jealous;

guarding my stars in the black night

that is my heart. 

The end of a relationship, and the effects of a bad one: Recovery (rant)

The end of the relationship is always difficult: for both parties. I don't care if he tells you it doesn't really bother him - it does. He will cherish those memories as much as will you. He will remember those happy days and smile when he does. Women aren't the only ones that look back on the days when you smiled...

However, you must remember, that everything happens for a reason, and relationships run their course. He may have felt like the one - whatever that is - but he obviously wasn't. He may have treated you like a princess, but that cannot be good for our egos all of the time. 

Women need honestly, not little white lies that sweet talk you in to bed. Yes, you wanted it too - but was it his idea or yours? Did you become a pushover just like your best friends said you had? Did you lose too much just to keep him in your life? I'm not talking about sexual abuse, I mean the every-day things, that slowly crush a person's soul: the little things that you lose. And the big things, such as life-long friendships and those girly nights you missed because he whisked you out for the night on short notice. 

Just to clarify: giving up your friends for a relationship is the worst thing you can do! Your friends will be there for you when you need them, unless you push them away and cuddle up to a boy that will only hurt you in the end. 
Boys leave, and they hurt us - but men are no better! There are good ones out there, believe me, and they will treat you right, and love you to the very end, but they can get hurt too. Don't make the mistake of leading a boy on because he's lovely and you really wished you really loved him. If you don't love him - get out. There's no point causing heartbreak: or being heartbroken. it's bad for you both if you stay in a relationship that's one-sided. 

I'm not a pessimist: love is out there for everyone - just don't give it all up for a boy thats not worth your heart. Just remember:

- Don't hold on to the whispers of hope that he throws your way: they aren't real, and he only one thing. 
- Don't break too many hearts - at least, not on purpose.
- Don't be cruel, and don't accept cruelty just because you can't bare being alone. 
- Don't let go of your friends and your dreams. 
- Pursue your life, and don't EVER relinquish your freedom. 

Unrequited love (poem)

You know his favourite song
You know the names of his pets.
You even know his birthday
but yours, he always forgets.

You know his family history
you speak everyday.
You've known his embrace,
but he will always walk away.

You know the smell of his skin
You know where he drives.
You know his ambitions,
But you alone must strive.

He won't forget you.
He knows you to the core.
But he's is unaware of,
the love that you once bore.

This genuinely brought a tear to my eye when I read it...

This genuinely brought a tear to my eye when I read it - it's a quote from "The Perks of being a Wallflower", one of the most influential books I have ever read.

"We accept the love we think we deserve".

I think anyone who has read those eight heartbreaking words, has been haunted by them ever since. I know I have. 

When a Siren calls...

She may look sweet -
she might even be kind.
But her life's aim,
is to break your mind.

When a Siren Calls:
it's the sweetest thing.
It's what sailors lust for,
the wenches that sing.

Her lullaby calls,
and it's his undoing.
"Her love I know!"
He cries as she will sing.

Bewitched at sea,
his grave will say,
death after lusting,
When the Siren called that day.

Circle of life and the pain of love.

(written whilst listening to:
Carrie Underwood – Before He Cheats)


Circle of life and the pain of love.

 Never taken seriously
not in the eyes of love.
Loved by those around you,
but not by the heavens above.

Angel isn't my style -
I'm too hellish for heaven.
But the want of another,
takes you to sins of seven.

Greedy for their love
lusting for the touch.
The taste of a beautiful stranger
will never be enough.

Humanity yearns
for its own kind.
Grabbing at the hurt,
to which we choose to be blind.

Love is a terrible thing, but we need it, so:
Love is the worst of us,
but guides our hearts to know. 

The year they stopped making music.

The year they stopped making music.

In 2015, the year I graduated from university, musicians realised, with their fans alike - that the good music had been written; the bad ignored and erased from our memory; and the greats had been idolised.

By 2012, auto tune had taken over the music industry, and originality had gone out of the window.  The "artists" had nearly given up: not even the music and lyrics - signing off to the unknown labour of the music industry, and taking all the credit.

The lyrics had all been used; the tunes had all been taken. Nothing was left to produce.

Music fans relayed to the days when everything was recorded life, harmony was done by real people, and the drums were on set - not a series of faders and tracks. The soundtracks from classic eighties movies like Footloose became bestsellers: beating the record sales from their hay days. Nobody was interested in the fake notes of drum and bass, or R&B. Fans wanted the soul: the courage and fear that came through when the Greats belted it out standing next to the microphone. The music was going to save their lives, not make them a star with a perfume range and a high heel collection for Debenhams.

When I graduated, Vinyl was the way to go. Music was backtracking and returning to the well-known and well-loved tracks of the eighties. Downloads were still as big as ever, but the original vinyl's had become classics: objects to be treasured - not kept in dusty attics. 

dying flowers

My opinion on young love

Young love isn't the best thing in the world; it’s the freshness that accompanies it that so many of us cling to. Those first experiences that you can never get back. The first love. The first heartbreak. No matter whom they are or how you feel about them, they are always in the back of your mind, and they will stay there until you find the real thing. You aren't clinging to the past, it's just following you on with your journey until you are ready to let go and finally grow up and live your life.

So don't forget, or regret young love: remember it until Time has played its hand, and you have moved on to find that one person who understands your dreams, your lies, your faults, and your secrets. 

When you do that, you will want for nothing.

Youth As We Truly Are - Poem Feb 2013

Youth As We Truly Are:



we may be young
we may be blind
but as life goes on
we become unkind.

we carry on
as people do.
forever looking
for what is true.

we never learn,
few seldom do.
but there is a difference,
between me and you.

You will change.
it happens oh so slow.
and after you have,
You will know where to go.

Silly Girls and Boys

Silly Girls and Boys

What happened to the times,

When girls chased boys

And guns and knives,

Were plastic toys?

What happened to the times,

When being innocent,

Was the only way

To really feel alive?

What happened to all these children?

Generations change.

They use to lark and play,

But now they wish their youth away.

What happened to the times,

When you didn’t want to grow up,

Because you wanted to carry on

Being a child, never growing up.

Now to the times,

When men chase lone women,

And guns and knives,

Dominate all their lives.

Now to the times,

When innocent isn’t any fun,

And by your teens,

You’re alone and have a son.

Now to the times,

When they walk their kids to school,

And [they] hope

They don’t break the same rules.

Now,

Time to realise,

That they were the girls and boys

That they once despised.

Carter Free

Carter Free

I remember the day that I met Carter Free.

He was enigmatic and boyish.

I remember the day I fell for Carter Free.

He was sweet and my carnage.

I remember the day I loved Carter Free.

He returned the favour.

I remember the day I married Carter Free.

I said yes and so did he, with vigour.

I remember the day the doctor told me.

I remember the day I lost Carter Free.

He lost his life, and so did we.

I remember the day I buried Carter Free.

He wore his wedding dress.

I remember the day I forgave Carter Free.

He left me with a heart to suppress.

I remember the day I remembered Carter Free.

Our time together.

I remember the day that I met Carter Free.

And I will never regret it.

Dot

Dot I

Ever experienced,

That strange feeling?

One you have sensed,

To feel it’s being?

Ever experienced,

The peculiar notion,

Of endless unknown fish,

In a forbidden ocean?

Ever experienced,

That daunting thought,

When you have lost something,

That was barely a Dot?

Ever experienced,

The sheer dread?

When the world comes crashing,

And the one you love,

Is utterly, undoingly,

Dying.

Dot II

The memory of a person,

Is far more than ever known,

Not just a photo,

But the presence of an empty throne.

The red roses bare

The truth of our lives.

You were the boys,

We had to sacrifice.

I never met you,

And neither did he.

But I shall always regret,

The decision to not let you Be.

The choices were made

Rash and clinical.

I thought I was OK,

But now – I am cynical. 

Girl on Your Arm

Girl on Your Arm

I see you some days,

A girl on your arm.

You make me regret,

Coming back to this town.

That awkward glance,

That lost lovers share.

The one that occurs,

With the ghost of love there.

Those cobbled streets,

Will never be the same –

Where you ruined my heart,

And she played the game.

A sweet thing wasn’t she?

Could be no more than twenty?

I saw her the other day –

She’s still a gamer by the way.

Generational Blindness

Generational Blindness

I know not of the war;

Of bloodshed and of death.

I know not of the white feather girls,

And boys of hope and faith.

I know not of sanctuary,

Of rations and hidden life.

I know not of black-out curtains,

And Gods to be forgiven.

I know not of treason or hate,

Of starvation or fake joys.

I know not of scary skies,

And rooms abandoned with broken toys.

I know not of patriotic duty,

Of fighting until the very end.

But, I know of love and loss,

And the death of a loved friend.

Fiction History Hurts

Fiction History Hurts

The history we wish for,

Is never the one to approach

(in novels).

Her pages mislead us;

Build up our hopes,

And have us praying for happier notes.

Then we reach the middle,

Our hearts full,

Our brains busy,

And we hope to untangle the riddle,

Of history.

Its mystery beguiles us,

The ignorant.

But by the end,

We are hopeless and lost.

We have the facts,

And we have shed the tears.

We can no longer go back,

And forget our greatest fears.

Street Girl

Street girl

Bent down on her knees

Forgive me please.

The agony she goes through.

The tears she never shows you.

As long as she shuts her mouth

He’ll keep her down south.

She’s friendly on the outside but

The babe is full of pride.

Her life will never be the same

Because its time she played the game

Of her life

The strife

The knife

She fights.

Her life will never be the same.

She will never play the game.

Again.

Honeymoon Horror

Honeymoon Horror

Gazing around the room,

She sees the things he touched –

Her forever gone groom.

The bed in which they lay

The desk at which they leant

The lights that were never used

Kisses that her lips earned.

The blankets of love,

Stay crumpled on the floor.

The place they had laid blissful,

Oh, only the night before.

His jacket over the door,

His shoes, neat on the carpet.

He bought them just the day before,

He’s lost his wallet.

His scent is gone, his body too.

Too quick and all too soon.

She was about to love

Her forever gone groom.