The Big House

If I were San Quentin,
I would hold the key
to everything evil.
My heart would beat
with the tattooed fists
of men sentenced
into my keep, boys gone
crazy as their crimes.

A Childhood.

Posted by Jen

A memory from a long time ago,

Beneath the swaying branches of a willow tree.

Concealed trinkets and treasures,

Deposited in a rusted tin.

Envelopes containing secrets,

Friendships, the trusted key.

The End of Summer.

Posted by Jen

The sun began to set,

The sparkle in her eyes faded.

It was one last venture,

Before tomorrow’s departure.

Trembling fingers fidgeted,

Twisted vines hung tight.

We looked down on glistening pools,

Sparkling diamonds dancing on the surface.

Her warm arm caressed my shoulder,

I was happy but ached all in the same moment.

The Big C from A to Z…

Posted by Jen

Appointment cards overflow from her bag.

Birthdays lose their appeal.

Curiosity it seems might after all kill the cat.

Death clouds her thoughts from morning till night.

Emotions run riot, they scrape the surface of her heart.

Freedom is a lifetime ago.

Ghosts form a presence in her daily existence,

Haunting her every decision.

Imagination is all that she can summon.

A Magnificently, Extraordinary Journey Indeed.

Once upon a time I opened a book.

Beyond its pages is where I had to look.

Deep in the centre,

Was the World that I entered…

I fell down a rabbit hole,

To be greeted by my friend the mole.

As we walked people would shout ‘hello’,

The road we followed, the brightest of yellow.

She Sleeps.

The covers are binding,

Breathing is elevated.

She tosses and turns,

Her universe is in peril.

Eyelids flicker subconsciously,

Sounds are deafening,

Feelings are heightened.

The Girl with no Name.

 

Heart strings taught,

Each finger strums a gut wrenching pang.

Voids are limitless,

Screams are deafening.

Black shadows crowd deserted hall ways.

My loneliness clings to every surface.

I’m drowning in my own pool of doubt.

Our Love…

Our Love…

Our love is invisible yet I,

See it, feel it, hear it every day.

Our love can move mountains,

Can part seas and climb trees.

Our love binds us together,

And still we are both set free.

Our love protects us from dangers,

And embraces us with its passion.

Our love was once an obsession,

An all consuming heart of fixation.

Tiny Dancer.

Arms wrapped together.

They rise above her head.

Toes pointed, muscles taught,

her dress the colour of red.

She spins around effortlessly,

her routine a shattered dream.

Flaunting limbs, passionate play,

forgotten memories of a silent scream.

Her mind protects her true self.

Raw.

 

Darkness,

Is a never ending wave of despair.

A pit overflowing with damned souls.

Skeletons submerged in tar.

A knife cuts deep.

Stabs in the back are eternal.

Salty tears mix with raindrops.

Little Ted.

Little Ted was purchased the day that Sarah was born.

He had fluffy fur, buttons for eyes, and was anything but worn.

She took to him immediately, with little squidgy fingers.

He lay with her, had tea with her, once they were even famous singers.

Little Ted and Sarah were the best that friends could be.

They went to school and ate their greens,

And sometimes sailed the seven seas.

If Sarah got scared,

Well Little Ted, he was there,

Protecting her from scary monsters, telling them to beware.

Baby’s Arrival.

 

Thoughts buzz around in my head,

I’m slurred.

All around me faces look down.

I feel like I’m spinning.

They tell me to push,

And I try to listen.

My body does it regardless,

Whilst my head is away with the clouds.

The Writer.

 

I sit at the desk.

I am silent.

But the screams in my head, they will not stop.

Louder and louder they become.

They shout abuse,

I feel infected.

Inflicted,

Paralysed.

All ideas are wrapped up inside of me.

The Rebirth.

She does not party on this night when everyone else will.

Instead, she sits beside his bed, quiet and content.

The moonlight seeps through the venetians,

A twinkle in her eye.

She smiles today,

They say he will wake up.

The lifeless plant seems awoken somehow.

Colour returns to its leaves.

Her gentle caresses and watering, filling it with hope.

She strokes his hair, lingering beside his face.

All emotions within her charred.

The Life of a Park Bench…

Its 10am, clear blue skies over head.

A young child is being led by its mother.

The bench’s rustic boards are transformed.

‘Ye best walk the plank mama’.

He’s a little boy, a son, a captain of a ship.

The mother stays close, but indulges in his fantasy.

Men fall overboard,

Others survive.

A swan in the distance captures his attention.

They’re off again.

Sunlight seeps into every groove.

The bench feels pride.

As I Walked…

As I walked along a dwindling path,

The voices in my head, they began to laugh.

To them it was amusing, that indeed I was lost,

But to hell with them, all thoughts were now tossed.

Night was upon me, my vision was impaired.

Bushes rustling, hearts quickening, I was definitely scared.

Trees stood tall, each branch like a dagger.

Goodnight, God bless…

It’s the smile on a face that forever masks out the sadness.

It’s the approving look that lets you continue with your business.

She never judges,

Never makes snide remarks.

Is never cruel,

Or heartless.

Her blanket comforts you as you lay in your bed of protection.

Daddy’s Poem.

Once Was a Daddy’s Girl.

You used to carry me on your shoulders and swing me around,

You used to shout at the ground for hurting me when I fell down.

I loved holding your hand, knowing everything was alright,

You would always be there for me through cries during the night.

Well the years, they went fast, friends came and went,

But you, you stayed a while; you don’t know how much it meant.

Now, in my teenage prime, the mood swings just about tamed,

Yet, there you stand, still open armed, relatively unashamed.

Adoration Predicament.

Oh to break the routine now that time has gone stale;

And be in the presence of another lost soul.

To such a shame it remains undeservingly frail;

That my raw heart be ripped savage hole upon hole;

But hath she intended such a wicked attack?

Upon her own self it crept like a cunning fox,

Unaware was my beauty, the gen she did lack.

A Passing from A to Z.

A stiff upper lip begins to tremble.

Beside a wilting tree is where they congregate.

Crows go about their business, oblivious.

Down goes the box, all breath is held.

Everyone knows what’s expected of them.

Frost begins to appear, or has it always been there?

Ghostly shadows frolic under the wintry sun.