Friday, 11 December 2009

To Write

Reread the page.
Rewrite the line.
Rethink the word.
Recount the time.
Replay the thought.
Refuel the mind.
Refine the pain.
Reveal the shine.

This is how I write. And this piece took me all of 3 minutes to complete!

Thursday, 26 November 2009


Pull the pointless hands from the clock.
Insistent is its endless tock.
Oh, that time could stand still
And yield so to our will.

Our deepest wishes could come true.
With all that time what could we do?
The countries we could see
And arrive instantly!

We could fly to the silver moon
And be back again before noon.
Lie all day on the sands,
A sunbeam in each hand.

We could dance the night away
And keep on dancing through the day.
Each perfect hour would last
With all time in our grasp.

I have decided to experiment with different forms of poetry. This is my first attempt at an Horatian Ode (rhyming couplets of 8 and 6 syllables)

Sunday, 15 November 2009

Coffee Cup (variations)


Voices in my coffee cup sing of a night
Broken by lights and rainbow ghosts.
Eternity floats beneath a milky sky of stars.
In its rich liquid swims the silver moon.


My coffee cup sings of a night, broken
As diamond stars through steaming windows bloom.
Eternity floats through a milky sky
In its rich liquid swims the silver moon.

Again just playing with words. No idea where the inspiration came from - I don't drink coffee.

'Voices' (variations)


Eternal voices cloud the Autumn stars
With memories beneath a winter moon.
The silver sky shines with cool spring light.
Does Summer's rose break the earth too soon?


Eternal voices cloud the vast Spring stars
With memories beneath a Summer moon.
The golden sky shines with Autumn light.
And Winter's rose breaks the earth too soon.

Just playing with magnetic poetry. Nothing spectacular. Perhaps I will come back to this later.



Beneath a marble sky the storm clouds sing
Of rainbow memories in a mirror.
Translucent paradise in silver stars, longing
To touch the earth with lightening fervour.
The lonesome moon is but a floating rose
Blooming with life in a winter garden.
As milky clouds stream down icy windows
Nights diamond spell is too soon broken.

This was supposed to be a Shakespearean sonnet, but I ran out of steam... perhaps I will return at a later date.

Tuesday, 10 November 2009

Church Bells

The church bells rang with silent knell,
Silver pigeons rose in a cloud.
Sunset's fingers - a golden spell,
Tongueless whispers fell as a shroud.
Through stained glass, broken, incense flowed,
It's sombre scent crept in a mist.
Memories of the dead are showed -
Only in darkness they exist.

This was a challenge set by a friend - I was given the first line and told to carry on from there.

Girl in Waves

Inspired by 'Playing Canute'
Painted by Janet Ledger

Child of the waves,
Life whirls in her wake.
From her salty footprints
Mirrored pools reflect the sky.
Out of the endless blue she sees
The horizon, drawn close by the tide.

This is not exactly a cinquain, but follows the same idea... I did not plan this structure - it occurred naturally.

Tuesday, 4 August 2009

Sun in Flowers *Revised*


The day has broken as a vase;
Its flowers strewn across the sky
As fire burns away the dark -
A blaze of colour born to die.

I have tidied up the meter so I think this version flows more smoothly.

Monday, 3 August 2009

Sun in Flowers


The day has broken as a vase;
Its flowers strewn across the sky,
Lingering as fire burns away the dark -
A blaze of colour that was born only to die.

I realise this is a mixed metaphor, but what the heck!

Tuesday, 27 January 2009

A Crack in my Writer's Block


I am but a slave to those voiceless words,
A lonely prisoner with a marble smile.

Whispers on a perfumed breeze unheard

Linger as breath, the words dance wild.

Yet to find freedom in the piercing dark

These laughing ghosts torture my soul.

They claw at my throbbing, bleeding heart,

Yet with each tear, they make me whole.

This piece needs a lot of tweaking - it doesn't flow, but at least I am writing again! For months I have looked the blank page with pencil in hand and... nothing... I can now feel creativity oozing back into my veins. All my frustration can now fuel my art. I hope.