Melt with the wind

We met at first in the Autumn
she had a cold.
her nose pinched as red as a raspberry
her distant Welsh accent
peering from behind
her nasal toned voice
and thick woolen scarf
teal,
her favourite colour,
fortunately,
as it complimented her eyes
in a way that made hem glow-
she glowed,
in a world so desaturated by tragedy,
she radiated colour
and with this gift she bought hope.

Her name at this point
is still unknown
but the urge to call her my own
is stronger than any
formation of syllables
could ever be.

For our first date
she took me somewhere
I had never been before,
the world seemed different
to me on this day,
its sky a richer shade of amber,
its air sweeter
than it had ever tasted before.
My mind more focused
on the temperature of her hands
than the world at our feet.

It is upon reflection
that I now realise,
it was not the season
that had changed
but something within me
the sepia tinted leaves
and apple scented sky
was of her creation
her hands moulded around
the earth,
contorting it to her design.

She stepped back
and watched it bloom
through my eyes
watched the seasons
come and die
and her lips began to curve
as she watched the leaves
shrivel with age
and melt with the wind
she laughed at the sound
of their crumpled corpses
as she danced upon their graves.

Within her heart,
she holds
that childish enthusiasm
for the minor details,
I often watch
as she gazes upon
a glitter of dust,
or rainbow of colour
dancing through the air.

My heart quivers
at the thought of growing old,
her skin melting like snow,
bones crumbling like sugar
her tears will fall like rose petals-
like autumn leaves
we will melt with the wind

Never before have I attempted to write a poem at such length from the point of view of a male protagonist. The idea for this piece sprang from the film Ruby Sparks: a beautiful fulm about a writer who's character comes to life and they embark on a life changing relationship. I explored the moment shared between to characters upon their first meeting and built upon the relationship from their. It was refreshing to create a characters so refreshingly simple for once and these two unnamed characters are ones that I will be working with in the near future.

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.

Floral Decay

A room full of floral decay
That bittersweet smell of mixed perfumes
Lingers, and the waft of stale summer air
Waltzes down the aisle
That awkward time stuck between
A blistering summers day
And the ice frosted night
A note to congratulate the bride
And the groom
That couple that wont even last the night
Divorces are expensive I think
As the pen hits the paper

As part of a task I was given a random: object, setting and time of day. I got: a wedding in a church, a letter and the afternoon. I really don't know how this managed to take such a depressing (yet comical) turn as I was planning on something rather romantic.

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)