Category: Wordy Stuff

My Mind Is A Blank

My mind is a blank

I’m feeling the drain

There’s a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign

Outside of my brain

There isn’t a thought

Inside of my head

I should have stayed tucked up

Inside of my bed

The clever has gone

It’s willow the wisp

The funny and brilliant

Has burned to a crisp

My mind is a blank

There is nothing there

Just tumbleweeds and silence

And a cold vacant stare

The genius has gone

If ever it were

And now in its place

Is a cold vacant stare

The witty has left me

It’s taken a nap

The brain cells have frazzled

As if they’ve been zapped

My mind is a blank

There is nothing to boast

The grey matter fried up

And now it is toast.

White!

(I wrote this at age 27, when I discovered my hair was going grey, or more to the point, white).

Help! Isn’t there a pill I can take, a book I can read, a cream I can put on? No-one warned me about this, no-one told me how it would make me feel, the colour so bright, so dazzling white, like a beacon stretching for miles in the night. Why didn’t anyone tell me, that it would be resistant to dye, resistant to just about anything? This new hair colour has super strength.

It’s impervious

Impenetrable

Conspicious

I’m getting old. What do I do, keeping dying my hair, with super dye, every month, so that the little bastards can’t get through? Have to keep chasing the follicle from now on. Did I worry so much? I’ve got white hair, pigment is AWOL, lost, gone on strike. Help!

Of course, I don’t feel the same now, twenty years later. I’m matured , so it hardly matters. To be honest, I don’t really care now but I cared then. I can always dye it blue…or green or tawny brown but the main thing is, I’ve realised that grey hair and white hair look gorgeous too. I know that now. I’ve seen women who wear it extremely well, but more than that, they are confident in their own skin. It feels good/relieving to look back on things that upset me when I was younger, understand why, and realise that they don’t upset me anymore.

Snowflake

I know a snowflake, pitter patter snow

Gets easily offended, by everyone I know

Sensitive as flowers, in the blazing sun

Trampled underneath, never having fun.

I know a snowflake, will take you to the brink

Delicate like crystal, not as special as they think

Selfish, selfish, selfish, anything but wise

Feels entitled to a lot of praise, and don’t dare you criticize

Be the ‘best version’ of yourself, Is the snowflake’s cry

Never ever people please and don’t eat humble pie

Can’t see the wood for the trees, so taken up with woes

You are wrong and they are right, I think that’s how it goes

Politically correct, they’ll do it just to spite

And if you have a different view, they’ll scream and stomp and bite

Two meanings to the word, like the ‘special’ of old

Which can mean the opposite, of what we are told

If someone was called ‘special’, back in older days,

It could mean different things, it could go different ways.

We are all unique, and burn with different flames

Cut from the same cloth, but our clothes are not the same

But by labelling people, as we go,

It can sometimes help to make it so

I know a snowflake, now who could it be?

What did you just say, the snowflake’s me?

I’m offended!

Physics

Do you remember our first date

And our first kiss?

When the bus jolted

My cheek smacked your lips

Your nose stabbed my eye

And so we broke the ice

Do you remember the days

Filled with laughter?

Our hearts free and happy

Many afternoons

Of tea and crumpet

The ice melted

Do you remember the dream we had

And realised?

We had frowned forever

Now smiles of joy

Imprint our lives

Melted ice, now a pool of hot water

Do you remember we loved

In defiance?

Snarled at the world

Affronted by the rules

Bewildered by the sun

Pool of hot water sizzles to steam

And now we’re so far gone

No backward glance

Like a helium balloon

You go up

I go up

The steam rises.

Chameleon

The skin is old, Old as the hills

Older than time, Won’t let go

But no face lifts, No surgery

No peeling it off physically

Though… it’s kind of like that.

Old skin, saturated with old things

Underserved guilt

Toxic shame

Embedded in the cells

Sealing in the grey

But now it’s time to slough the leperous skin

That no-one seems to see but me.

Old skin is the old ways

Old habits, old attitudes

Brought up with the negative

Programmed to live in the shadows

Time to shed old skin

And in its place

A brand new coat of flesh

Snuggled, cosy, comfy, clean

Like after a hot bath

The chameleon slips from the jacket

Hurt skin needs to go

And needs the complexion of her baby self.

She can have the skin of a new born and start again

Feeling untainted, undamaged, pure, good

But the old skin was comfortable in a sinister kind of way.

Familiar

Sunscreen can’t stop the sun attacking this old skin

Can’t heal the network of sores

That built up over the years

What-iffing won’t make it better

There’s no bandage for this

No ointment, no cream

No miracle cure

Except to be like a chameleon

Let the skin fall away

Unbutton the pain

And start to live.

Possibility

The possibility of anything

Is never black or white

Many colours in the middle

Not just dark or light

The feasibility of something

That is the key

Mathematically, is it viable

How attainable will it be?

Some of us will go searching

In the dark, for years, we’ll grope

But what’s the probability

What’s the chance of hope?

Where’s the practicality

Of our most treasured goal

There is untold power

In the desire of our soul

You have to take part

Scientifically, that’s the case

Our odds do go up

When we take part in the race

Take the opportunity

When it comes near

Strengthen capability

Step up a gear

Fate and destiny

Will always play a part

If you’re spiritually minded

You’ll have a good head start

It’s really quite conceivable

Just between me and you

That, in eventuality

Your dreams can come true

I’ve Been Looking For Miracles In All The Wrong Places

I’ve been looking for miracles in all the wrong places

where nutrient rich soil was never there

where the ground was barren and rocky and bare

where weeds choked the stems that pushed from below

that strangled the plants that dared to grow.

I’ve been looking for miracles in all the wrong places

wherever it slips and slides, hope can’t take hold,

seeds can’t flourish

in Antartic cold.

The miracles I was seeking

only grow in the light

and can’t live where the air is foul

Where shadows fall

And demons prowl

But now…

Now, I’m looking for miracles

In all the right places

Ideal conditions

Not too far

Watered with kindness and patience and love

That’s where my miracles are.

Less Is More With You

I love you

Because you’re unexpected

Unpredictable

Just salty enough

Tangy enough

I spread you close

Lather you up

Against the butter

Against the toast

But not too much

Less is more with you

You come finely housed in curvaceous glass

Not everyone likes you

But if they like you, they love you

And if they don’t like you, they hate you

And can’t stand the smell of you

Let alone eat you

Some people are taken in by your cunning disguise

They see you all brown and sticky and gooey and think

you are a chocolate spread

And then they eat you, one big mouthful

You’re a nice surprise or a nasty shock

Depending on your outlook and tastebuds

I once was a little frightened of you

And once, I hated you.

But now, I love you, Marmite.

Hope Is Long

Hope is long

When you’re born.

It’s longer than a cold, cold night

And keeps you nice and warm

Hope is deep

When you take your first step

It goes up past your waist

Gets your ears wet

When you go to school

Hope trails right behind

Sometimes tangles up

But is always there to find

And when you are a teenager

And school is done

Hope becomes a lasso

To catch the sun

And in your twenties

There’s nothing you can’t do

Hope is like a coat

That looks really good on you

And as the years go by

And your youth, it flies away

Your hope becomes a friend

That you cling to every day

And you take life’s knocks

The bores and the thrills

The birthday cards stop coming

And you’re left with all the bills

And that door that is closing

Is getting harder to push

The dreams have all grown up

And they don’t come and visit as much

And you’re standing there one day

And you suddenly start to think

What happened to your hope?

Is it beginning to shrink?

It’s no longer dancing

Bright eyed and bushy tailed

Shorter than an ankle sock

And looking rather pale

You can’t wrap it around anywhere

It’s not flexible or strong

In fact, it’s disappearing

Where did it all wrong?

One day you look around you

And hope has surely gone

It either ran off with the milkman

Or hitchhiked further on

So now, you have no option

There’s only one thing left to do

You must create some new hope

And forget the one that flew

No time to waste – just time to sit

To mend and stitch and sew

And knit yourself a new hope

That will never ever go.