Friday, 27 September 2013

Speak Out - Stop Cyberbullying Now

 For some time last year, I was a victim of cyber-bullying - most of which, took place via  Facbook  

What happened to me was nowhere near as severe, nasty, or long lasting as what some people go through, and I'm so glad that (for now at least), it appears to be over.

In reality, it doesn't matter about the so called 'severity' of it or how long it lasts. It can be six weeks, six months, or six years - the impact is the same.

I won't go into specifics here, but I was bullied because I had the guts to stick with something I believe in wholeheartedly.

Sometimes you find yourself in a situation you would have never thought you would be in. You either do what the bullies tell you and walk away, or you stay and keep fighting.

I chose to stay, even though the bullies hated me for it. Why should I give up something I believe in, just because certain people did not (and probably still do not) approve of my choices?

I was told repeatedly that I was not the person that they thought I was, and by some I was called names. I was made to feel awful about myself on a daily basis, and it's not just the things they said to me, it's the things that were said and done behind my back.

Lies, assumptions, and judgements are made about you - and you have no control over what is done with them. For me, the worst one (although not to my face, as it were) was that I was 'faking' and 'exaggerating' my disability, I was 'a keyboard warrior!' 

For the record, when I started campaigning, there was no internet, and we didn't own a computer. It was writing letters, making phone - calls, and getting out there to talk to people. I still do that, too, but as you'll realise, it was a different world then, and it was an entirely different, FIGHT!

I  actually felt  quite indignant about the 'keyboard warrior' comment.  

In a lot of cases 'keyboard warrior-ship' or 'armchair activism' is the only option disabled and ill people have! 

I personally, would struggle to travel to protests and I think comments like that diminish and undermine, all the hard work we do in raising awareness of the hardship being caused.

We share information, provide emotional support, and we talk to people. A lot of us have dedicated our lives to this, and I really feel that everyone has a part to play, and making distinctions between so called 'direct action' and 'armchair activism' is divisive. It's the sort of thing the Tories would do!     

We don't need other campaigners to be doing that, too, because it does far more harm than good.

I am aware that by writing about this, I run the risk of it starting the bullying all over again - but I had to do it. Like I said, what happened to me was mild compared to the situations of others, but I still felt scared to turn on the computer in case there was another message waiting for me, and I found I didn't know who to trust.

Was the person I was talking to online really on my side, or were they one of the bullies, just pretending to be my friend? Would they turn on me, and use what I said against me later? Were they going to spread more lies? Sometimes they did, and I had trusted the wrong person. That just made it worse.

For the brief period that it went on, I doubted myself even more than usual. I was withdrawn, I was angry and I couldn't fight back.

I was battling the limitations and pain placed on me by being born with Cerebral Palsy. I can't walk or stand unaided, and I know I can never be a mother. I live with pain, in some form or other, every day of my life. It's hard and it's heartbreaking. There are days when I just curl up and cry, but I know I am luckier than so many, and all those years ago, I made a 'little decision' to try and do what I could, to try and change the way disabled people were perceived.

Having to fight (against our own government), for our very lives, is something I could never have predicted. 

Disabled and ill people are being systematically stripped of of our rights, dignity, and self respect by a vile, compassion-less government, and a media that seems (at least a lot of the time), intent on helping them vilify us, by spreading lies about benefit fraud figures, telling us we should all be like the seemingly 'superhuman' Paralympic athletes, and anyone isn't able to be (through no fault of their own), is labelled a 'scrounger.' 

We have been made to feel worthless, and that we don't deserve our place in society.

Like I said, I wanted to keep campaigning, the way I always have, especially against our ever worsening situation, but the bullies made me feel like I couldn't, and even more disturbing to me, was the fact that I was beginning to feel like I didn't want to fight any more. What was the point when I was even scared to turn on the computer?  

I knew who 'my' bullies were, and I knew why they did it - or at least, I think I know why they did it. For many people cyber-bullying is faceless. It is almost entirely anonymous, and that just adds to the fear and intimidation.

According to the NSPCC website 38% of young people have been affected by cyber-bullying. Their information comes from government research and data as of March 2013.


With the tragic suicides of teenagers like Hannah Smith bringing cyberbullying back into the spotlight last year, it is important that no one feels they have to suffer in silence, whether you are a teenager or a full grown adult.

I made the decision to stand my ground. Making so many friends in the campaigning community, has made all the nasty words, and feelings, worth it - and I'll be a disability rights campaigner, until my very last breath, no matter how I'm treated. 

It's part of me. It always has been, and it always will be, but in a world where more and more time is being spent online, we need to be aware that it can happen to anyone, and thankfully, when I was bullied, my campaigner friends were there for me. 
 Of course there are tensions in any group of people, and you always take a risk when you go online but for me, the positives far outweigh the negatives. I think we are gradually chipping away at the the myths, lies and misrepresentation of disabled people To me, that proves, there really is, strength in numbers!

If you have been a victim of cyber bullying you can find more information and help at the following links:

Government Site:




Image: Google

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

The Audition

Alice Rose, 
She chewed her nails, 
Thought nervously, 
‘What if she failed?' 
Inside her chest, 
Her heart beat faster, 
‘What would she do, 
If they didn't cast her?' 
In the mirror, 
A face stared back, 
So tired and ugly, 
The mirror should crack. 
Minutes later, 
Make-up on, 
One false move, 
Her dream was gone. 

Sometime later, 
And on the bus, 
She peered out, 
At the daytime rush, 
Rain drenched roads, 
And clouds of grey, 
One way or other, 
‘This was her day', 

Around the corner 
Up stone steps, 
‘This was it', 
‘No regrets'. 
Patiently she waited, 
Then her moment came, 
An auburn haired lady 
Called her name. 
A second of panic, 
‘What if she froze?' 
A shiver ran 
Head to toes. 
Seconds later, 
Through heavy doors, 
A painted white room 
With wooden floors, 
Looking over, 
She could have cried, 
As they stared back, 
Through empty eyes. 
She remembered the lines 
And spoke with feeling, 
Shaking hands, 
Her nerves revealing. 
The moment over, 
The audition done, 
Her throat was dry, 
‘Was she the one?' 
She felt as if, 
She had run a mile, 
But still somehow, 
She managed a smile. 
Passing back 
Through those heavy doors, 
Her heels clicked, 
Upon the floor. 
Down stone steps 
Onto the street, 
She sat a while, 
On dampened seat. 
The traffic past, 
Their headlights glowed, 
Reflecting on 
The rain drenched road. 

Sometime later, 
And on the bus, 
Her blue eyes twinkled, 
Her face was flushed. 
Certain that she'd done her best, 
A second's thought 
For all the rest, 
Desperate now, 
For a cup of tea, 
‘Hope they feel as happy as me'. 
Minutes later, 
Back at her flat, 
To a pile of bills 
And a sleeping cat. 

Five days past, 
Feeling down, 
Still in slippers 
And her dressing gown, 
The moggy lay 
Across her lap, 
An envelope fell 
Through the letter flap. 
Quickly she tore 
The paper apart, 
Trying to calm 
Her pounding heart, 
Her throat was dry, 
Her eyes still tired, 
It said, ‘Miss Rose, you're hired!'

Sunday, 22 September 2013

Beautiful Music (Poem) 2009

Notes pierce the darkness 
Someone plays, 
In beautiful music, 
A memory stays. 

In eerie gloom 
I stand and wait, 
Minutes are agony, 
You are always late 

In stifling darkness 
I sit alone, 
And stare into flames, 
You will never 
Come home. 

Valentine's roses, 
A heart of red, 
Wasted and withering, 
Are dead. 

As daylight breaks 
Shards of light, 
Dance through the window, 
And end the night. 

Crumpled dress 
Lies on the floor, 
Tear stained eyes, 
Still stare at the door. 

Beside the window, 
Your piano stands, 
I will always remember 
Your talented hands. 

Notes pierce my darkness, 
Forever you'll play, 
Through beautiful music, 
Our love, 
Will stay 

                                               (Image Google)

Sunday, 15 September 2013

I'm a Beanbag, get Me Out of Here! ('Write from the Point of View of an Inanimate Object' - Prompt)

The family had the news on the other night. They mentioned an ‘Obesity Epidemic’- ‘Ha, like this is news’ I thought, ‘not to me it’s not!’ From my position in the corner of the living room, I watch them.

Bob, the father of the family is currently licking every last inch of choc ice from the wrapper, occasionally pausing to do up the buttons on his jeans again. He reminds me a bit of that man off the telly – you know that documentary, ‘The Royle Family’ I think it’s called. Although to be fair to Bob, he’s not quite as lazy as Jim. He actually goes to the fridge to get his own beer!

Diane is my favourite. She’s married to Bob – although she frequently tells him she isn’t sure how legal that ceremony in Vegas actually was, and anyway, "In this bloody house you’d never find the paperwork to prove it!" Diane is a big fan of pizza, and the ‘Jane Fonda Workout’ which she still watches on VHS about once a month! I can recite it in my sleep now and so can Diane I presume, because reciting it is about as far as she ever gets!

I love her though. She is so kind, plumping me up when I get flat. Plumping me up and moving piles of stuff from one side of the room to the other, is her idea of housework! Well, apart from one week every month when she goes crazy and blitzes the place until everything shines. That’s when Bob says she ‘has the painters in’. I don’t know what he’s talking about, I haven’t seen any painters and the wallpaper in this room has been hanging off since I got here! Do wish they’d sort it. I have to look at it all day...!

Sometimes I let myself wonder what the rest of the house is like. I briefly saw the kitchen when Bob brought me here. Diane must have had her crazy week then because it was immaculate – apart from the cupboard doors falling off their hinges and that massive stain on the lino. I wonder if Bob’s fixed those doors yet? Doubtful!

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the family. Maxine in sixteen and I don’t think she likes her Dad much.The fact he always calls her ‘Maxi Pad’ might have something to do with that! Technically I'm Max's – I was a birthday present you see, brought her long before she started wearing black and grumping around the place. Bob told Diane I was from Argos...the local library is more like it! I had a nice spot in the children’s corner where I could look at books all day. Bob and that dodgy mate of his were painting some walls there...Shame he can’t do some decorating in his own house isn't it?!

Anyway, the next thing I knew I was in the back of a pick-up truck! Imagine that, ME...with my beautiful orange velvet like skin, suddenly slung in the back of a dirty pick up - I was mortified!

When I got here, Max would sit on me and play with a doll called ‘Rainbow Bright’. Other days she would spend ages trying to make me flat so that she could lie down. I was appalled - I presumed she had a bed upstairs! At least Diane understands what I'm meant to be –plumped up and bouncy. Maxine ignores me now or throws her coat at me. Oh, and there was that time a few months ago when she came in from a night out with her friends and nearly vomited ‘Sambuca shots’ all over me! Luckily she made it to the kitchen sink in time, or I might never have recovered!

So you see, most things I can handle, most things that is... except Basil. Oh, don’t! The very thought of him makes my velvet crawl. Basil is a boxer apparently. I was confused at first, thinking that boxers were usually a ring with gloves on. Bob watches them sometimes and Diane will leave the room saying if she wanted to see grown men belt each other, she could just "go down the Lion on a Saturday night!"
No, boxers have four legs and fur too.

My life was fun before HE came! There was always something going on, people in and out, and the family are great at making me laugh. You might have guessed that I can deal with most things....even the day I saw Diane starkers after she left her bath towel down here by mistake. THAT took me a bit of getting over, but get over it I did.

Now however, I am Basil’s BED!

Morning usually finds my once beautiful velvet covered in large patches of doggy drool, or I wake gassed by one of his...smells! To be honest, I'm not sure the dog is responsible for all the smells...I have my suspicions that Bob might have ‘created’ some of them himself. At least he doesn't say "pull my finger" any more before he lets one go! He hasn't done that since Maxine threatened to leave home if he did it in front of her friends again.

Where that creature is concerned, I think I've been rather saintly. I've even learnt to politely look the other when Basil puts his leg in the air and begins cleaning himself! In the last few months though, I have reached the end of my tether, and I actually fear for my life. As his dreams get more vivid, the dog has become dangerous. It is not unusual lately for me to find myself almost torn by his claws. More and more holes are appearing in my velvet and the tiny white ‘beans’ that comprise my insides are slowly spilling on to the carpet! I'm quite sure that once or twice some of my innards have become part of that animal’s breakfast! Well, I hope he chokes on them!

The thing is I'm not sure how long I can go on for. Diane can’t operate on me forever... picking pieces of me up off the floor-a stitch here and a stitch there. I'm a beanbag...Get me out of here...now!

Image: Google


Friday, 13 September 2013

To Whom It May Concern (Poem 2013)

You make me want to scream sometimes, 
You make me feel like I shouldn't have air, 
And now I think I'm cross 
Because I shouldn't even care. 

You make me want to yell sometimes, 
You make me feel like I'm not worth trying, 
And now you know what annoys me most, 
Is that I'm the one who's crying! 

You make me want to shout sometimes, 
You make me feel like I don't have air 
And now you know what hurts me most, 
Is that you don't even care... 

Tuesday, 10 September 2013

Tell Me a Story... (2011)

The bright shine of the landing light filled my room as the door was pushed open. I knew who it was. "Can I sleep in your bed?" 
The little figure asked, peering around the door. 
I sat up and tried to make out the time on the tummy of my dancing hippo wall clock. 11.30. 
"Is yours wet?" I asked gently, my eight year old mind already knew what the answer would be. The figure nodded and came into the room, closing the door softly behind her. I shifted my pillow across and she climbed in beneath the purple duvet, wriggling down. "Arguing 'gain", she said sleepily, and reached for my hand. 
"I know.." I replied, once again hearing the raised voices of our parents, that I had tried for the last hour to block out, ..."Don't worry, it will be over soon." 

We lay there a while in silence, listening to the angry sounds from below. I was grateful for the comforting darkness as it wrapped itself around me. Then, as expected, the voice beside me spoke again, "He'en, tell me a story...." 

I woke up in a familiar position, my nose, as always, pressed against the pink flowery wallpaper, and my body along the very edge of the bed. I didn't mind. The wall at my back was solid, reassuring, and cool. The space where the restless five year old had eventually slept was long since empty. The sanctuary of the bedroom was once again mine. 

Beams of sunshine flooded in through the big window and bounced off the wall. I smiled. My room always seemed to be a sunny place, unlike the rest of the house. 

Saturday morning passed like any other. Once dressed, I absent- mindedly flicked up the 'ON' switch of the stereo. Karen's voice filled the room and I felt even more relaxed. I  am a' Carpenters'fan, and I often found my escape in their music. At least if there were arguments any time soon, I would be too busy singing to hear them! 

'When I was young 
I listened to the radio 
Waitin' for my favourite songs, 
When they played I'd sing along, 
It made me smile' 

I was blissfully happy for a while, right there and then, sitting perched on the edge of my bed singing along, and pretending to play the drums with the music. I was lost in my own little world, overtaken by the adrenaline rush that came with singing. The bedroom door was shut tight, during that time. The reality of my parents loud and bitter arguments did not intrude. 

As the afternoon turned into evening the sunbeams faded and shadows spread across the painted black fireplace. Dad was home and it wouldn't be long before the rows would begin again. 

The lamplight found my sister sitting cross legged in the middle of the pale brown carpet, scribbling with a wax crayon on a colouring book. 

I had my back against the headboard of my bed, a pen in hand and notebook resting unevenly on my knee. 
She looked up at me, her wispy blonde hair momentarily caught the light and she smiled, well actually, it was more like a grin. 
" I like it in here" she said quietly, as if saying it too loudly would spoil the moment. 
"Me too" I replied, picking up the mug of steaming tea my mum had brought me and gripping it tightly to feel its comforting warmth. 
Down in the lounge the voices of our parents were once again becoming raised in anger. I took a few sips of tea and got up to click the door shut. 

Standing in the corner for a few seconds, I looked at my sister and wondered how much of this she would remember. Then I looked around my bedroom and took in every detail. It wasn't the wall paper, pictures or the strewn tape cases that made it special, but the fact that it was a place which held peace and safety from everything that happened beyond. 

I went back to the bed and curled my knees beneath me, pen in one hand and what was left of my tea in the other, when the little voice on the floor reached my ears, 
"He'en, tell me a story..." 

Sunday, 8 September 2013

My Best Friend (Poem 2012)

She is the girl
Everyone wanted to be,
It has always been her,
And never been me.

Blonde and blue eyed,
It's no surprise,
That all the men
Look at her twice.

Luscious long hair
Hangs round her face,
Not even an eyelash
Falls out of place.

Infectious laughter
And radiant smile,
Leave both the men
And the women beguiled.

As for boobs,
Seems she got my share,
Surprised she can walk,
With the weight of her pair!

“Hello,” ignore me,
Just the ugly friend,
Always the strong one,
On which she depends.

Males absorbed
By her model pout,
Or it could just be
That her butt's hanging out!

I know she is perfect,
I hear the applause,
Let me wait here,
And sharpen my claws.

You know I love her,
But I'm down on my knees,
She's driven me crazy,
So just slap her please!   

Please Understand (Poem for Childlessness Awareness Day 2011)

Sometimes I want to scream that you betrayed me,
You promised we would face this together
Though even then
I knew it wouldn't last forever.

Despite your words I somehow knew
That you would become a mother,
And I can think of no other friend
I would want it for more.

But it breaks my heart that your choices
Will never be mine,
I feel like I've committed a crime
Because I can’t share your joy.

Telling myself I'm glad you’re happy
And that I need more
Than changing nappies,
Is really no comfort at all.

I miss you,
I miss the way we used to be,
I miss caring and sharing,
And knowing you were there for me.

I don’t want this pain, this deep gnawing ache,
And I think to myself
‘Oh for God sake, can’t you just snap out of it?’
But I know it isn't that easy
And I hate the bitterness,
It isn't me.

I fear what I've become.
I want to be there when you’re tired
And listen when you’re stressed,
But feel resentment that I can’t express,
‘Yeah well, it’s alright for some!’

I know that this is hard for you too,
And I don’t know what to do
When I feel the gaps get wider.

As more friends become mothers,
Another and another,
My world is filled with prams and baby scans,
I'm starting to feel smothered.

And once again you know,
I want to scream,
Because you
Are living my dream.

At the same time you shouldn't feel bad,
Or guilty about the luck you've had,
Be proud and happy, and free,
The only one that can deal with this
Is me.

I love you
And I'm proud of you,
I love that you are doing it all
Just as I would do.

I wrote this down to work through my issues
Like you've always said I should,
Apologies though, if you’re needing tissues,
I always knew you would!

I guess it’s all about healing now,
I don’t know when I’ll be done,
There are good days
And then so desperately sad,
But keep thinking about the fun we've had,
And all we used to do.

I want caring, sharing
And feeling glad,
And I need a friend
Like you...

Saturday, 7 September 2013

The Man in the Moon (Poem 2009)

I watch from the warmth 
Of my bed, 
His light bathes my face, 
And I know I can never 
Touch him. 

Sometimes he seems 
Close to me, 
And lives 
In the perfect ball. 

Other times 
He turns his light away, 
Or softly changes 

He watches over me 
In slumber, 
A beautiful 
Protective glow. 

In dreams I am with him, 
We exist side by side, 
And I am his comfort, 
Just as he 
Is mine. 

As the sun rises, 
He kisses my cheek, 
Whispering gently, 

"Wake my love, 
And I'll return 

Photo: Paul Jones

Friday, 6 September 2013

The Keepsake (Short Story- 2012)

Sometimes I feel like a hamster running round and round on her wheel. There is no time for anything else! Ideally of course, I'd be the type of hamster who didn't bother with her wheel at all. I like to think of myself as a ‘free spirit' – or at least I did when I was younger. I would allow myself time to stop and enjoy the little pleasures of life. I would NEVER become bogged down by the day to day drudgery – or so I thought! Now, I have a husband, two daughters and a job. The hamster wheel is my world. 

Last Saturday, with my husband at work and our twelve year old twins squabbling over something at high pitched volume, I sought refuge in the garage. I'd been meaning to clean it out since...I don't know when, and now seemed as good a time as any! 

Lifting the garage door I was hit by the smell of old engine oil, paint and dust. When was the last time anyone came in here anyway? Feeling my way through the darkness, I reached the light switch and pulled it. The hanging bulb hesitated for a few seconds and then flickered reluctantly, as if it had been woken from a deep sleep. 

Under the eerie yellow light I could make out a mountain of boxes pushed against the back wall, a pile of rags, an old bike separated from its front wheel, some paint cans...seemingly everything we had ever planned to take to the tip, mend or give to a charity shop was in here strewn haphazardly on the concrete floor. I sighed and wished I'd never opened the door! 

In the background the girls were still arguing. Knowing that they would come to some agreement about whatever it was by themselves eventually, I decided I was better off staying out here. If I got involved it would lead to one or other of them in an all day sulk or cries of “You always take her side!” Apart from anything else, I wasn't sure how many more enraged slams the bedroom doors could take – and they weren't even teenagers yet! ‘I'll go in if there's blood' I thought, shifting the first box. 

I'd lost count of the amount of creatures that had crawled out of the family debris even within the first hour! I remember my husband's reluctance to tackle the job at all came from a particularly bad encounter with a spider that he swore was the size of his hand! “I'm not going back in there unless some sort of spider exorcist goes in first!” That was five years ago and true to his word, he hasn't! 

While tidying up, I was aware that my mind was only half on the job in hand. The other half was rushing through things I hadn't managed to finish at work. Phone calls that weren't made, people I hadn't managed to speak to on Friday – and looking at the mess strewn before me on the floor reminded me of my desk! 

There was a time when Friday afternoon, was Friday afternoon! I could close the door and happily leave everything there until Monday. My weekends were my own –before husband and children, before meetings, expectations, mortgages, football matches, and dance classes...Wait. Damn it! Dance classes! “POPPY!” I yelled, almost dumping a box on my foot as I headed for the door, “...Poppy! You've got dance class! Get in the car now! Grace...Hurry up!” 

Standing in the hallway I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hands were on my hips, my face was all red and I looked like I hadn't slept for a week. Oh God, I was... MY MOTHER! It was like somebody deflated a balloon inside me. Free spirit, Ha! That was all gone with the idealism of youth. I was bound to my hamster's wheel. 

Poppy was in front of me now waiting to go, and Grace stood behind her, pouting as usual. “Poppy, do you want to go to dance class? You don't have to go today. You don't have to go any day.” I didn't know what had come over me, but suddenly I felt guilty for taking Poppy to any sort of ‘class' at the weekends – even though it had been her choice.  Poppy rolled her eyes, “Oh Mum...can we just GO”?!  I felt better. “OK”I replied, and headed for the car. 

The hour spent waiting for the lesson to finish passed more quickly than usual. We had dropped Grace off at a friend's house on the way – even managing to get a smile out of her! Sitting in the car alone, the silence was bliss. I watched the sun dance freely on the dashboard, and thought of my father. He always said he wanted a small boat when he retired. All he wanted was to sit and drink tea on the river while watching the sun reflecting off the water. He loved the peace and was waiting patiently for the day he could do that to his hearts content.   With tears in my eyes I wished he'd made it. It was a shock when he died suddenly with only a year to go. Watching the sun again, I thought of his words to me on my twenty-first birthday, “Don't rush, time passes quickly enough. The clock is always ticking, my love, but you can stand still occasionally.” 

The girls were quiet that evening. Poppy was practising a ballet move on the hall floor with her Ipod in her ears. She was in a world of her own.  I watched as her pair of pink ballet shoes came skipping past me over and over. For a while I watched her face. She was perfectly happy and while she was dancing, it was like nothing else existed for her. 

Grace had cheered up too. She was sitting on the stairs with the phone attached to her ear and if I wasn't mistaken, my formerly sourpuss daughter was giggling! Maybe I was doing something right after all.  When she saw me coming towards her she mouthed the words ‘five more minutes Mum'. Shrugging my shoulders I smiled at her went outside to the garage.   

‘It had to be here somewhere'... I thought, rummaging through the boxes - some of which we hadn't touched since we moved in. I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt because it shouldn't be in here at all. It belonged somewhere safe. Eventually at the bottom of a cardboard box that was still partially sealed with faded packing tape, I found it. A small blue velvet case, still soft on top but slightly worn now. The lid popped open with that distinctive sound you get with small jewellery or keepsake boxes. I peered inside at the silver clock attached to a fob. The hands had stopped moving at twenty to four on a day long gone by. Carefully, I turned over the watch and read the engraving made by a skilled hand,   

‘In case you forget. Happy 21st. Dad.' 

Image: Google

Tuesday, 3 September 2013


I am waiting
For sunrise,
A nip has chilled
The air,
And darkness
Fills my soul.

I am waiting
For sunrise,
A distant dream
It seems,
In fever haunted nights.

I am aching
For sunrise,
A moment of peace,
As pain becomes
A friend.

I am aching
For sunrise,
The warmth
And healing power,
Now lives
A world away,
And I am dying
Hour by hour.

At last I feel
The sunrise,
First rays
Dance over my skin.

At last I feel
The sunrise,
White night
Day grey,
And I am ready
To live,

Now I see
My sunrise,
Tears refresh
The eyes.

Now I see
My sunrise,
A light breeze
Has filled
The air,
I live for this,
I stand
And smile,
It's time for me
To fly.

(Image: Google)

-I guess this one could be seen as a sequel to 'Sleepless', which is why I've put them together...


Monday, 2 September 2013

Sleepless (Poem - 2011)

The night curls itself around me, 
A warm blanket 
On cold Earth, 
Sleep will not be found tonight. 

Staring into darkness, 
I find myself that way, 
Laughter is thought of, 
A fleeting glimpse 
Of the sun, 
As my tears fall 
And freeze, 
The sound of bells, 
And wind in trees. 

The night wraps itself around me, 
A warm blanket 
For a crowded mind. 

Sleep has burnt 
And light is dead, 
Dreams are thought of, 
As the tears fall 
And dry, 
A perfect shape, 
Of another life.