The letter

The Letter

Tears fall on the page, smudging past mistakes and spelt out feelings. The colloquial memories and paper flashbacks once merged by a pen, instead merged by my tears.
On this page I rest my hopes and now my fears. Which have appeared, bolder than before, bolder than the pen strokes they once were. Growing at great speed into an imposing inky creature, that slips through tear ducts and takes residence in doubting thoughts.
It is these thoughts that take hold, and as the creature expands and leaves it’s sooty footprints along my conscious, the thoughts spawn and I am left to struggle on.

Senility

This poem is loosely based on my visit to my great-gran when she was a hundred years old. She died shortly after, just before her next birthday.

Senility

There is a house I know, an old withered face.
I once went inside, it was full of memory, paintings and picture adorned walls and light filtered through open windows. But now it is only dark, memories smeared by damp and rot, windows blacked out by dust.
Upstairs the once bustling bedrooms are silent, pieces of plaster peeling off walls. Further up still lies the attic, exposed by a sunken roof. Empty, apart from shattered roof-tiles and rotten beams. When it rains fast tears fall from broken gutters, and saliva drips.
It is gone now, I miss it.

The Soppy Cynic

This was another poem I wrote for my Performance poetry class, it is meant to be read aloud and it is based on how soppy people become in relationships!

The Soppy Cynic

I was proud to be a cynic,
with that negative kind of logic,
the pinnacle of which,
was the selfish, indulgent buzz I'd get,
when I'd sneer and snide,
at all the ways,
with their public displays,
that the soppy handholders
and adolescent facerapers
would come to a messy end.

I would relish in a couple's blatent flaws,
how that 15 year old,
with her fake gold hoops and body of velour,
is so bloody premature,
and seems so sure of her and 'STEEVE'.
Who for the record,
I'm sure this week has already gone out with
Rochelle,
Michelle,
Chantelle,
Shaniqua,
Laquisha
and Teniqua.

It hardly restores the little faith a cynic has left.
But then again I'd never have thought a year ago,
that I would be one of those,
that whispered to my boyfriend down the phone.
Its safe to say my sanity began to be sorely missed,
when we would kiss down the reciever. (look sheepish)

I wonder how it its that way back then,
my mind could find so many faults and make so many quips,
at the grappling couples expense.
But that in time, these faults, these crimes,
have now become mine!

And so today I am still that cynic,
who is somewhat a hypocrite.
As I sit in a pub in a close knit crowd,
and loudly mouth,
to the person next to me.
'I LOVE YOU'
for all to see.

I may have become repulsively compulsive,
but I have started to embrace it.
After all no one wants to be the lonely moaner,
and so after I've weighed it all up,
I can proudly hold that phone and say,
'You hang up....No, you hang up'

Student Life

As I sit in my garden and think about life,
I listen to sirens, content, with no strife.
No birds in my birdbath, no water there either.
The cupboards are empty, no food on my platter.
My belly it rumbles and aches and it quakes.
Not much I can do,
As no money I make.
But my book is alight,
It’s the life of a student,
I sit here and write,
because that seems more prudent.