Dream

I had a dream I was floating,
Over the hills and the flowers,
In my dream I was waiting,
For something in the early May showers.

I had a dream I was falling,
Through the earth and rain and snow,
In my dream I was calling,
For something I didn't yet know.

I had a dream it was shadows,
Where my heart should have been,
There were monsters and demons and bad things,
Taking over my body with sin.

I had a dream 'bout forever,
An enternity waiting for me,
In my dream I was trapped in forever,
The end I just couldn't see.

Then I had a dream about you,
About rich summer filled days,
About playing pirates with you in the lake,
Under hot mid summer day rays.

I had a dream I was laughing,
And you were by my side,
In my dream I was happy,
Cause I had nothing left to hide.

Colours

Have you ever touched the gold of the sun,
Or the blue of the moon?
Have you ever caught the grasses' green,
Or grasped the spots of the loon?
Can you sing to the red of the flowers,
Or smile to the white of the dove?
Have you ever laughed with the mountain tops,
Or watched a wolf fall in love?
How long has it been since you painted the sunset,
How long since you coloured the snow?
How long has it been since you stood still,
And let yourself fall into the rainbow?

I Could Have

I could have been outside today,
I could have played a game,
I could have eaten something new,
I could have found a lion to tame.

I could have bought a brand new book,
In fact I could have wrote it,
I could have built myself a boat,
And then learned how to float it.

I could have taken Spanish classes,
In that new school down the road,
I could have gone to the swamp,
And caught myself a toad.

I could have made a brand new friend,
I bet her name would have been Jane,
We could have bought new wellingtons,
And splashed out in the rain.

I could have learned how to ride,
A mighty black fast steed,
We could have had an adventure,
Running at a frightening speed.

I might have done my homework,
And maybe proof read it too,
My teacher wouldn't be mad at me,
If I'd had it done when it was due.

But, no I didn't do those things,
When I really should have done.
I sat in front of the telly today,
I watched the things I could have done.

Breakfast

A cup of tea that's way too milky,
An egg that broke in the pot,
A piece of toast that's gone all soggy,
A sausage that's really lost the plot.

A bagel with a mouldy spot,
A orange that is mushy inside,
Cereal that's broke to bits,
Bacon with grizzle I can't hide.

Just another day i guess,
In a world that's just a mess.

Red Wine

In his burgundy hues do I sit,

And quietly contemplate,

The deepest thoughts in my shadowy mind,

Hidden in a dark unlabeled crate.

Under his swirling blood red,

I isolate my fears,

And they grow in the darkness of my mind,

Where there listen no other ears.

In his clutches I'll lose my head,

In his grip I'm naked, I'm not disguised,

He can see who I am, all my flaws,

A dangerous monster despised.

And no one will know what's happened,

'Cause I sit alone in my room,

Where the shadows await me in corners,

In the closets the elephants loom.

Only he can see me now,

Delicate, elegant, refined,

Only the blood red glass knows the secrets,

In which my ugliness is defined.

My Spring Poem

The time has come once again,

To forget the cold winter's bite,

The trees awaken from their silence,

To raise green buds to new sun's light.

Time to raise your song, you birds,

Till the seeds open bleary eyes,

And hear the sounds of babbling brooks,

Under pale blues in youthful skies.

The flowers stretch their stalks,

And the grass pokes through the earth,

The sparrow perches on a green spotted branch,

And the trees rejoice in their rebirth.

A lady bird flits through clean cool air,

And a doe pricks up her ears,

A mountain sighs in the sun new rays,

As the lake's fresh water clears.

Nothing compares to the first spring day,

When the sun shakes off its cold suit,

And the blankets have melted away from the earth,

Giving way to the first tulip shoot.

What's wrong with loving Disney?

So it's been a while. I admit I may have forgotten about my blog for several...months. With the Junior Cert coming up and all the studying I feel I have to do to achieve an acceptable grade, there doesn't seem to be a lot of time in between to just sit down and write. So forgive my absence, but I do have exams. I've also rediscovered a great passion for drawing overly the last couple months. It seems to come in waves. First I'm totally obsessed about writing, can't take fingers off the keyboard, then suddenly I've got pencil to paper creating some character from the depths of my teenage muddled brain. The newest addition to my artistic endeavours include a kick ass crime fighting team. At first they were pretty bland characters with no really personalities. Then I brought them into school. I might mention my friends are creative geniuses. All I have to do is draw a blob on a scrap of paper and they'll turn that blob into a Einstein-esc professor with three children and a pony. Anyway, I brought my three characters into school and it was as if I was taking them to God for them to be turned into really people. "I'm a real boy!" as Pinocchio would say. As soon as I pulled them out of my folder, they had personalities as big as the Eiffel Tower and pasts as complicated as physics. This guy was full of himself, she was a mysterious character, he's "feckin gorgeous"! It's so wonderful, I think, to see teenagers at our age still creating, still imagining. Often it seems, people of our age lose interest in the creative side, lose the passion younger minds hold so dear. I bloody love it! This creative ability will defiantly help when I start working for Disney. How brilliant would that job be? To design the characters that everyone loves so much. To be that name at the end of a heartwarming animation. Some people say I'm too immature, I think I've just gotten over the whole being mature thing and decided it so isn't worth it. It's no fun when loving something so... beautiful is uncool. I don't know how other teenagers live with that kind of attitude. Who decided Winnie the Pooh is so uncool? Why can't I still grow up to be Cinderella? What's wrong with watching Beauty and the Beast instead of No Strings Attached or Black Swan?

Where Do You Put an Elephant?

Where do you put an elephant?
He doesn’t fit in the basement.
He won’t squeeze into the shed,
Mom wouldn’t like him in the bed.
An elephant wouldn’t stay in my bedroom,
And he’d look awful sad left in the cloakroom.
An animal like him wouldn’t find,
The confines of the sitting room awfully kind.
He’d stomp way too much to be left in the kitchen,
And crush my mom’s flowers if he’s left in the garden.
It seems I won’t get an elephant this year,
Maybe for Christmas I’ll get a reindeer.

Counting

Counting down the days is the only thing that keeps me sane anymore. As long as they don't pull into one mush of emptiness in my mind, I can pretend some form of sanity still remains. Counting the second, the minutes, the hours. Counting the time till I have to wake again, pull myself out of the warm emptiness I find sollitude in and start the day. Thirty six days, five hours and forty three minutes. That's how long it's been since he died.
Someone once told me there was a heaven and a god that gave and took life. That person was a fool, their mind corrupted by the lies of preachers who behind closed doors comit sins of pure evil. If there was a single glorified being, a one of all knowledge and all power a god of "love", then why is there death? would an all powerful all loving God not love us enough to save us from this hollow feeling the fills my mind now? Would he not think me important enough to keep those I love, rather scattering his ashes to the earth by way of mockery for my sins?
Thirty six days, five hours and fifty eight minutes. I can hear Ben playing with his toy cars in the kitchen, the scrape of the toy wheels like that of fingernails on a wall. The day of the funeral, Ben asked me when we'd be waking him up. I didn't even have the courage to silence him. I simply turned my back on the dark procession and ran. I must have lost my shoes as I ran because I remember Nanny returning them to me later that week. I ran away from the coffin, away from the black hole threatening to engulf me. I know what they say about me now, the crazed widow, not fit to care for the child, mad. My feet were bleeding when I got to my front door. But I didn't notice till I saw the bloody footprints staining the tiled floors. They found me moping the floors with a mop soaked in blood, unable to erase his footprints. His footprints? Were they his? It must have been, for I dream in nightmares of the same bloody footprints when he approaches my bedside, pale white skin drained of life. I dream of his blue lips parting to release the hiss, like wind in a tree.
Ben is calling me. He's lost me. I've lost me. Where am I? Am I a ghost, forever sentenced to float this earth alone? They took him, why not Ben and Nanny? Why not take every living soul until all that is left is my empty heart, alone, broken, unfit for the afterlife?
After fifteen days, the motions became mechanical. I didn't have all our pain lies, is it not? Is it not in memories we cry, in thoughts that we find sorrow? Is it not our minda that capture every dagger of grief, letting it grow into the monster that over throws us? After fifteen days, I didn't let myself think anymore. I stopped crying at night, I stopped breaking down. I stopped knowing. I simply started counting.
Ben sounds scared now. His whimpers have become shouts, calling me, calling me. Call me by a name I barly remember to be my own. My son is calling me, so I must answer. He knows no pain, he lives no sorrow. My son is a pure flame not yet silenced by the world.
Thirty seven days, three hours and five minutes. They find me rocking my cold white son on the kitchen floor, clotted blood darkening the soles of his feet.

Theme Thursday- Gonna Go Mad

I think it's time to let go,

Who knows where I'll float,

Is it so bad not to have to worry though?

I think I'll flip out,

Just go nuts, go mad,

Who cares what they think of me,

Who cares what they've said.

Life's too short to live in a box,

Too long to stress all the time,

Too much fun to stay in bed,

Too crazy to stay this calm.

It's time for me to let go,

Cause no one else seems to understand,

Life's too short to live it by the rules,

Too awesome to live without friends.

My Friends

I'd like to take a second,

Just a moment of your time,

To tell you how I love you,

To do it in a rhyme.



I know it isn't much,

I know that I can't spell,

But you're my best friend in the world,

A friendship I'd never sell.



You make me smile when I am sad,

You cry when I feel down,

Doesn't matter if I'm mad,

You always stick around.



You always want to be with me,

You always save my seat,

You don't care if my hairs a state,

Or if my clothes aren't that neat.



You never leave me hanging,

When I'm looking for a five,

You help me see the beauty in,

Just now being alive.


You always want to be with me,

You always wait when I'm late,

You tried so hard not to laugh,

When I ripped my skirt on the gate.



Remember when you wrote that note,

We should have been doing french,

About the time we couldn't find,

A seat on a bench.


You sang that stupid song I wrote,

About the lunch box food,

You sang it pretty out of tune,

But really caught the mood.


Remember when I cried,

The day my heart was torn,

You said, "I'll beat that bastard,

Till he rues the day he was born."


Remember the face masks,

That turned our faces pink,

When we washed them off,

The multi-coloured sink.


I guess I'm trying to say,

What I mean in the end,

No matter where life takes us,

You'll always be my friend.

Ink

Scrolled on a page in the darkest of blood,


Is the sweat of an artist, a staining ink flood,


Bent over a page, the quill tightly gripped,


Into his heart, the pointy end's dipped.







To an idiot passer, to an untrained mind,


Upon his page, only notes will they find,


But in that dusty room, upon that smugged page,


Is a cascade of happiness, sorrow and rage.







Beneath each sharp, behind every half note,


Lies the pain and the love which the artist wrote,


Though his eyes grow weary, he picks up his flute,


To the fading sun, gives the final salute.







And, oh, to hear the scribbles come alive,


What kind of sorrow this artist did contrive,


What joy filled the ink he left on the page,










No longer a broken, weary old man,


The artist flourished as the tune through him ran,


Through his flute flowed a beauty so bitterly sweet,


Through his fingers an anger filled with darkest heat.







How much farther must you look for a symbol or sign,


Than the black ink of the page, than the circle and line.

Overdose

You're my diamond in the rough,
The kind of thing I can't get enough,
I'd rob a bank for more of you,
Cause I'm addicted to what you do,
You're my drug, you're my curse,
And I think my conditions getting worse,
A million needles can't give the kick,
Over those, it's you I'd pick,
You give me heaven, then send me right back to hell,
This rush is the merchandise you sell,
Diamonds are a girl's best friend,
But your touch will be my end,
Can't run from this, can't hide my lust,
Without you, I'm only living just,
An overdose of you can kill,
But if that's the price, I'll take my fill,
Don't look at me like your surprised,
You're the only one who can be critisised,
Diamonds may be forever,
But this kind of stuff is now or never.

Theme Thursday- Sailing

"Let's sail the seven seas and then,
Ride right back around again,
Let's up the masts and spread the sails,
Let's move this mass of rust and nails,
Take this beauty out of docks,
To our grand opening people come in flocks,
Crying women, waving men,
What will they think of us then,
Us loyal sailors set out to sea,
To see what the ocean makes of me,
We'll fight the ugly dragons that be here,
We'll take on pirates and oceans clear,
We'll man the storms that smack our decks,
We'll be the ship that never wrecks,
I'll be Captian, you'll be my first,
And together we'll face the sea at her worst."

"Your adventure sounds mighty fine,
Except your ships made out of twine,
The raft you float has a leak,
And I heard your 'mast' creak,
I doubt your string and bit of wood,
Would pass inspection like it should."

"I dont care what you say,
Im going out there anyway."

"Fine by me, off with you now,
Does this plank float anyhow?"

"Um... well, that's the missing link,
The boat does tend to sink."

Under the Tree

Once upon a time,
A young boy and his bear,
Worried not of time or day,
Their minds free of care.

Under the tree,
They played their games,
Sang summer songs,
Each day the same.

Till once upon a summer breeze,
The young boy didnt come,
Left his bear under the tree,
Lost his need to run.

There his bear will sit,
Under his childhood tree,
Until the boy comes home again,
And there his bear will be.