Yellow is the sign of spring
an uplifting, heart-loving thing.
Yellow is the colour of hope
a reminder of life’s incredible scope.
a poem for yellow
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Tag Archives: writing
NaPoWriMo 2018 day 14: dreaming of ballet
The ballet of my little girl dreams
was pink and soft and elastic.
The ballet of my little girl dreams
was idyllic, real and lasting.
The ballet of my grown-up dreams
is harsh and cruel and tight.
The ballet of my grown-up dreams
is what will never become might.
NaPoWriMo 2018 day 13: never ever
nothing that’s dull is silver
the sunshine has a leaden lining
that meant no one lived
unhappily never.
a poem for family
It’s funny how a family grows
in newly cutely ways.
my one of origin hurt me raw
tipping through the centuries.
the new family I’m creating now
is startling me anew
i have so much love around
a fresh purpose to pursue.
NaPoWriMo 2018 day 11: my future state of heart
I have two choices in life, as I peruse
the menu of the near middle-aged:
to close my heart, keep it starved,
or remain open to all manner of plates.
A closed heart is cruel, deluded,
refusing the delicacies of life,
complains about service, never leaves a tip,
self-righteously deprived of that extra slice.
An open heart can skip to the table
that’s rich with the finest cuisine,
selects the plump, the juice, the core,
and dines with the grace of a queen.
Hard-of-heart leaves me safe but cold.
An open heart is at risk of hurt.
Hard-of-heart picks at the bones of life.
Open heart eats starter, mains, dessert.
Waiter!
I’m putting my order in now…
a poem for cute wise monkeys
Not only do they see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil,
but they’re cutest best buddies, times by treble.
The perfect antidote to a long-old day,
these bunches of fluff have made my soiree´.
a poem for my flames of fear
On a good day I see in the flames
a dancing horse, swishing tail
head upright, ears aloft,
prancing to the heat of the fire,
soul alight with joy.
On a bad day I see in the flames
a devilish anger that burns down
all my hard work, a ghoulish glee
that turns my dreams to ash,
hope depleted, plans destroyed.
NaPoWriMo 2018 day 8: the whispers of a tomb
Stand tall, stand true.
Find balance in what you do.
My four diamond holes
to help find what you extol.
My three central blocks
to stay firm against life’s knocks.
The column at my core
to align with what you adore.
The security at my base,
to remind you to live with grace.
Tides come, tides go,
time shoots its arrows.
Stand true, stand tall.
One day you won’t be here at all.
NaPoWriMo 2018 day 7: critic & creator
We’re broken and bruised,
battered from birth,
we were built so fundamentally wrong.
The world makes life so bloody hard.
Just give up trying to
create or belong.
You break my heart
with your wounded ways.
We’re not defined by our past.
Yet you’ve kept me stuck for five decades
with your sneers, your pokes,
my sad little un-started drafts.
Too right there: I get my kicks
when I sit on your shoulder,
sabotaging all that you ‘write’.
You’re far too old for all that hope
now in life you’ve reached
your twilight.
That’s enough! I’ve had an idea
about wounds and abuse and stuff.
If I begin to transform all of our pain
into fables strong and true,
you’ll lose your hold over my head
and my heart will take the reins.
pic credit:
NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 6: my anxious life
That sense of dread, that
pull in the depths of
my stomach that
absorbs my days and steals my nights, that
smothers my thoughts with a heavy
blanket of angst. That
happy life that eludes me, that
love that never truly feels
real, only that dread that idles and
festers is solid and true.
inktuition 