Days Mourning Gown

That far left side, the abandoned road, empty it lies, as passers-by pull in from time to time.  The land beside it filled with new born, a gift, as death leaves the land to mourn the harsh months of past, and blesses the soil with fragile youth not yet tainted by the months to come. A casket heart on a silver chain encloses a photograph, the travelers leave their mark on it, with tire marks and dirt. A memory to keep with the heart; worn into the road. The night begins to dress itself in days mourning gown as it contemplates the day gone by and ponders what will come of the next year.

A short story in which I was asked to include a randomly chosen object, setting, season and time of day without specifically naming them. I was given the setting: hard-shoulder of the motorway, time of day: evening, object: locket and season: spring. I hope I was able to actively conveyed these themes through this short prose without leaving my own writing style behind.

Just a crumpled piece of card

I wasn’t expecting to be used

I wasn’t expecting to be abused

To be a family portrait pinned to a cork board

Just a small yellow pin pressed against my spine

Each pixle a memory, punctured by pins

My body the remains of a crumpled piece of card

No I wasn’t expecting to be used

To be a balloon filled with helium falling from the sky

The promise of freedom, tied down by a string

Death just a needle prick away

I wasn’t expecting to be abused

To be a Barbie doll wrapped in sweet wrapper dresses

Lips painted bubble gum pink

Straw hair bleached to perfection

Being pulled by whichever child wants to take me off the shelf

I wasn’t expecting to be abused

That virgin apple, you just had to take a bite

So fresh It melts on your lips

And slides down your throat

I was asking for it they said

But I wasn’t expecting it to be you

That boy with the butterscotch lips who didn’t hear the word no

I wasn’t expecting it to be you

Spoken word poem inspired by the work of Jeanne Verlee, I am hoping to set up a youtube channel soon so that I can post audio clips of the spoken word series read aloud, as on paper they do not convey the emotion I targeted. The brief was to write a poem focusing around an issue, I chose rape. There is a poem by Neil Hilborn and Renee Schminkey entitled One Colour, which deals with the issue of rape, they describe how society preaches that there is one kind of rape, one type of girl walking down that one part of town who gets targeted, not the truth that it is far more complex than that, I really advise you take a look at the links I have posted, they are amazing poets and such inspirational poems.

My poem, in my opinion is a bit too repetitive but I wanted to try and work on something longer than my usual posts, which are often only two or three stanzas long. 

Fragile Touches

Fragile touches

Grazing over sun-kissed skin

Lips stumbling over

Hushed lullabies and simple songs

Silent whispers pass

From one mouth to another

Exchanging stories from

Days come and gone

Fragile

I feel the warmth

A fresh vulnerability

Untainted

Unspoken 

I have been so scared to post this poem, I finished it weeks ago after over a month of worrying about it. It's not my best poem by far, but it is one that I am proud of. 

Also just a note to say thank you to all of my readers, who continue to read my posts, I sincerely appreciate all of your support.

Lets trade our swords for roses and surrender into each others arms, sending lust-filled battle cries into the night.

A quick poetic thought based around the idea of lovers being on opposing teams. I've been hooked on the BBC series The White Queen recently (more specifically the relationship between Anne Neville and Richard iii). The Tudor period is one that has always fascinated me and the divide between the Lancastrian side and York side is such a strong divide that if two people on opposing sides they would have to put their feelings aside.

Blackened Frost

Sea of flowers , bursting with petals
stained  a solemn yellow tint
through years of death and decay
A demure hurricane wanders through
With blackened frost
A selcouth sight of the night
Thrusting back the whitened sky of yesterday
That threatens tomorrow nights dreams.

In this poem I took inspiration from the extraordinary poet Emily Dickinson who in many poems reinvented words, for example the adjective white was used in the quote "Dare you see a soul at the white heat?" as a colour of love and danger, in the same poem the colour red is also described as "fire's common tint". It is perhaps Dickinson's reinvention of popular word connotations that makes her work so interesting, it causes the reader to re-think what words mean to them.
I explored the meanings of the following words, not changing their meaning but the connotations that go with them.
Flowers: natures gravestone 
Yellow: A sour colour of mourning and age
Black: a friendly warm colour of hope and prosperity 
White: A colour of danger and mourning 
Hurricane: A welcome gust of wind and drizzle 
Frost: A friendly feeling of presence (similar to the feeling of being hugged)

On The Mantelshelf

The glistening ornaments shone in the misty sunlight, crystals, glasses of green and red- diamonds, the children giggled, wide eyes gazing into the empty cottage. Through fear the wind may catch the door, they creaked it open slowly and before shutting the latch behind them. Like boys in a candy store the girls marveled at the decorative creations, glazed eyed and open mouthed.Millie, being only 16 and still violently naive, stretched out a hand, leaning towards an old oak music box, before having it violently snatched away by Lou. "Do you want to wake her?" she hissed silently before resting the box back in its place.

Picking a random paragraph in a book of childrens stories I put pen to paper and chose to continue the story with just one more paragraph. Knowing nothing about the story (after having read only one paragraph) i chose to focus on the naive nature of the two girls and their child like facination with the ornaments on Miss Parsons mantelshelf.

I pray the flowers teach me how to blossom,
To open my mind with the morning dew,
Keep firm roots and let the path of the wind guide me