one for the scots

What’s it like out?

 

It’s been a nice autumn

good for the tree’s

not too chilly

with the occasional breeze

and plenty of liquid sunshine.

 

It’s been a mild winter

surprisingly so

not a lot of ice

and hardly much snow

but masses of liquid sunshine.

 

It’s been a typical spring

all lions and lambs

sometimes it’s been stormy

at other times calm

all washed in liquid sunshine.

 

it’s been a scottish summer

a dense muggy heat

with pasty white bodies

out on the street,

soaked through by liquid sunshine.

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what makes a poem.

does it need to rhyme?

should it  make sense, some

or all of the time?

must it be dense

and packed full of meaning?

can it be fluffy,

insted of deep feeling?

shall it have rythym

 and metre and pace.

and a theme thats as woven

as tapestry lace.

or is it enough

that i choose to say

that this is my poem

and that is okay.

on hold.

if you are anything like me you probably hate having to phone up businesses or government departments. this is my idea of what their messages really mean, 😀

 

Customer service.

 

Thank you for phoning our hotline,

your call is important to us.

Please pick a number from our menu

so we can direct you thus.

Press one if you wish to praise us

and tell us we’ve done good.

Or two if you’re in a quarrelsome

complaining kind of mood.

 

If you would like to speak to a human

I’m afraid you’re out of luck.

Because there is nobody here

who really gives a …duck.

See in our complaints department

several cuts were due

so nobody has worked in there

since 1992.

my TMA story.

One Drop In An Endless Ocean.

My  feet
are numb. I have always hated wearing high heels. So I took them off
,somewhere ,back along the path and just left them there. I prefer to
be barefooted. Beside what does it matter if I lose all the feeling
in my feet, it just makes them a match for the rest of me. I’ve been
feeling numb for days. At times I don’t even feel like gravity has me
tethered any more. I’ve disconnected. In my mind,  I had convinced
myself that coming back here to this place would make me feel better.
That I would smell the salt and feel the sand and the world would be
put back together again. That I would find a part of him still here.
Waiting for me on our beach.

   This
beach is where Jimmy had brought me on our first date. The only sandy
spot on a coastline made of rocks. We went skinny dipping under a
full moon, revelling in the freedom. The water made us connect in a
way dinner and a movie never could have. Jimmy called me his Ondine
and promised to love me always. A promise he couldn’t keep.

  This is
the place where he proposed, at dawn, with a picnic breakfast made up
of vanilla crowns and apple juice from the 24hour supermarket. And it
was here on this beach that we made love for the first time. For
about a month afterwards we were still finding sand in our clothing,
each grain giving us an excuse for a re-enactment. It always makes me
smile, remembering . I guess its the first time I’ve smiled since
they told me the news

    All
through Jimmy’s wake people had flocked around me. They all wanted to
be the first to tell me how proud I must be. How comforted I should
feel knowing he had died a hero. A committee of vultures looking to
scavenge some second hand glory for themselves. To claim a share of
his heroism by association. All I wanted to do was scream at them,  I
don’t care,
I wish the boy had drowned, I would rather have my
Jimmy here, as a living coward than  dead as a hero!
But
instead I nodded my head , shook the hands they offered and bit my
tongue. As soon as I could I  had slipped away from
the feeding frenzy and made my way here.

   I
thought I knew this place so well but standing here tonight
everything looks alien. The moonlight makes the shadows deeper, the
rocks more treacherous. Nothing has changed and yet the whole place
is different. This isn’t our place any more. The sea has taken that
from me as well.

   And
now I’m standing here holding a handful of stones that I don’t even
remember picking up. Hurling them into the water. Hoping to make it
scream. Its what I need, its what I came here for. Vengeance.
Payback. I need to be able to hurt someone. Something to blame. To
make suffer the pain that I hadn’t realised I was feeling till now.

   Jimmy
loved the sea. We both did. It was why we learned to surf. Why we
spent our holidays fixing up and sailing an old boat instead of going
somewhere sunny. It was why my Jimmy had devoted his life to rescuing
other people.  All my life I  heard people describe the sea as cold
and cruel but I always thought of it as a sanctuary. I never thought
it would turn on us, not on us.

    If
there is nothing of Jimmy left in this world , then there is no
reason for me to be part of it either. I can’t keep it inside
anymore. I’m screaming and I don’t know how to stop. My body is
moving on autopilot, running to the water’s edge.  My first few steps
into the water are a struggle, it is like there is something in the
water trying to push me back, but I won’t let it. This is my choice.

   The
water is up to my waist now, but it feels different. It is no longer
cold. There is no more struggle. Its an embrace. The night has become
silent. I can’t scream anymore, I don’t need to scream anymore. I’m
crying but its cathartic. Each tear that hits the swirling sea is
reconnecting me to the world.  And as I’m standing here, under the
moonlight, in these waves, beside this special place, I’m okay. Jimmy
is still here and the child I felt come to life inside me will help
me survive.

i’m a writer.

been a while since i have posted, part of this has been due to uni, part due to work and the rest perhaps this poem will help explain.

 

My Problems
with Writing.

 

My speling somtimes suxs

and spell check only helps wear your using the write word.

My punctuation ! Is rotten:

and it’ sometimes seems absurd;

My attention tends to wande…

It really is a lovely night.

In the middle of a sentence I forget…

Huh! What was I going to write.

My overwhelming problem though

is that I am a procrastinator

you know what,

now  I’ve thought of it,

I think I’ll finish this later.

Fantasy and Fae

this is a poem in part inspired by some haiku written by a fellow scottish A215er and lets be honest it would be me if it didn’t take a sinister turn, 😛

FAE

We’ve all played in the fairy realm.

Underneath the golden skies

on Emerald fields that stretch for
miles

with unicorns and dryads too

and revelled in the games so new

Do you want to come and play?

 

We’ve all danced in the Fairy realm.

To flowers that sing us lullabies

and whispering leaves gathered in piles

in the arms of princes true

and felt among the lucky few.

Do you want to come and play?

 

We’ve all ran in the fairy realm.

And hidden from a thousand eyes

and mouths that are filled with dagger
smiles

from the things that look inside of you

and can make your dreams come true.

Do you want to come and play?

 

We still return to the fairy realm

to find the truth amongst its lies

for even the darker side beguiles

and conspires to draw us through.

For both the sides hold charms for you

 

Do you want to come and play?