Childhood morning

Morning has started

I listen from my bed

Birds chirping loudly

The electricity wakes

The shipping forecast

Talks from the bathroom

The kettle whistles

The shower hums

Familiar voices drift upwards

The clock strikes,

with 7 cuckoo chirps

the washing machine whirs

its on a top speed

and in just a moment

A voice will shout

Are you up yet?

As if you could sleep

through the electricity din

Of the house waking up

Once again.

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Something New – Poetry Journal

When Rio suggested a poetry journal excitement ran through me with such force, I realised that I had to give it a go.I know I like to write a poem on a daily basis and it is often very random. Here was an opportunity to write a poem which might reflect my mood, where I am at, what my thoughts are on a given day and what made me write a poem.

So here goes, Something New to get my teeth into. So today’s poem came from the inspiration of a surfer who I chatted to on twitter. Mad I know. I don’t surf and never have done, however he made me feel that I wanted more to life. I wanted perfection each day, what ever that may be.

Blue Skies as far as the eye can see

Surf rolling, high crests rising

Sun sparkling on the waters edge

Surfers riding the waves

Hope paddling out,

shock as the wave is caught,

Amazed as each wave is ridden,

Ecstasy as they glide with the water,

Disbelief of the power of the wave,

freedom, speed with the breaking surf,

Spiritual feeling, at one with nature,

One foot in the sand

one in the water

waiting for the perfect wave.

My Random Musings

I Guess

So today for one month I am joining NaPoWrimo’s one poem a day.

Each day there is a prompt.  So where is todays poem.

Warm up was from this:-  http://venusofnatalie.tumblr.com/post/111465348701/essay-by-bernadette-mayer

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I guess it’s too late to live on a narrow boat

I guess it’s too late to buy a boat

I guess it’s too late to be boats woman

I guess it’s too late for me to own a boat

I guess I’m too old to work the locks

I guess the dog wouldn’t like the boat

I guess he wouldn’t want to swim in the canal

I guess I could sit on top of the boat and write poems

Will all the inspiration from the water

The ducks, geese and water birds

I guess there are boating poets

I look and find

Jo Bell, she was the Canal laureate,

Living her dream

I could do that, I could be a boating poet

I could write just that moment in time

If I wanted to live on a boat

I would have to give up the house

Change the way I live

Use up all my money

I am not too old to live on the water

The dog would adore the freedom

It’s made me think, long and hard

I might be a narrow boating poet

I’ve heard it all before

When we fall for another person, what we see is skin deep, as we get to know them we realise that people are complex.

People tell lies, little white ones to protect themselves and others. then they tell the whacking corkers that sting and hurt.

I often wonder do they always realise they are telling lies or have they got so used to telling them that they become the lie?

I wrote this some time ago,  I still don’t have an answer to the question.

                                                              

                                             I’ve heard it all before.

.

The lie that you told me was it the first or the last

Did you realise it would hurt and cause me terrible pain?

Did you know you that it flowed out of your mouth with such ease?

Were you wrapped up in it so completely it felt like the truth?

.

You’ve tangled yourself up in a web of deceit

A white lie, a grey one and now it’s turned black

I think you believe you’re genuine with your words

I am amazed your actually two different people

.

The one man that lies hurts beyond belief

It ties my stomach in knots its makes me feel sick

The anxiety panics me you betray so much

I wish you would stop causing me so much pain

.

The second man is truthful and good

His words lift me and light up my life

They make me feel happy, a warm glow wraps around me

You make me feel special and wanted

.

I have two choices to so what shall I choose?

I can stay with a liar and lead a life of pain

I could choose to cut you dead and leave you out of my life

The second would cause me such sadness

.

The part of you that is truthful is loving and kind

He treats me with the most amazing respect

Please put the liar back in the box and turn over a new leaf

Make the truthful one strong, be mine.

The power of words

From elegance of a poem, coming out of my comfort zone for a short story or to the greatness of a novel. I share my love of writing on this blog.

I am mine

You are mine, the wind whispered through the trees,

The sun danced on the grave stones focusing my eyes,

It darted from side to side; I felt a shiver down my spine, despite the day’s warmth.

 

You are mine; the seagulls screeched their song from the sky,

As I stood there wandering what to do now,

You are mine, the church bells chimed and sang their song, it echoed in my ears.

 

I wanted to run, to be free to be alone, not joined to anyone.

I moved hesitantly towards the new grave, you are mine the flowers whispered to me.

I knelt down and held my head in my hands and stared.

 

NO I shouted, I’m not yours, I shook as my voice was found.

You are gone and in the ground, for you can’t control, we are none for I am mine

 I am mine alone you see, my dear sweet twin, finally I belong to me.