Aylan

From war and famine you fled

To be washed by waves of derision

Hatred and prejudice by a minority spread

Fuelled by selfishness and capitalist greed

They have no compassion for different colour or creed

Cold and lifeless amongst the jetsam of western life

Lies you a small precious jewel

Another victim of separatist strife

Sacrificed by Westminster suits

And a virus of hatred spread by tabloid type

I weep for you and the other lives lost

Whilst the bigots strut and squawk over migrant costs

Armour plated they feel no shame

For the death of a child, for the suffering, the pain

No EU policy is really to blame

But I'll not forget

I will remember your name

It was you who ignited Europe's compassionate flame

Secret Lives

Connected in space and time
You on your keyboard, me on mine
Through silence our words are spread
Communicated by fibre optic thread

In separate rooms we always meet
Perching like birds to chat and tweet
A heart to heart in the early hours
Allows our relationship to flower

You tell me all about your life

Omitting one small detail - your wife!
And I recall last week's amazing trip
Unbeknown to you delivered by needle tip

Off Course

I think we all have those moments in life when we feel like we have lost our way. We feel like we are drifting at the mercy of the sea that is life. We list, we yaw, and yes sometimes we sink to rest amongst the detritus for a while. However withdrawing to the depths is not about giving in. No, it is about giving ourselves a much needed rest. We are creating an opportunity for things to settle and once settled the water clears and we are able to chart a new course.

Off Course

Lost, aimlessly drifting
No place in mind
Pulled, pushed
To then fro
Like the shifting sand
No destination planned

Sail torn, untethered
Beaten by the storm
Shredded
Hanging heavy
With no energy to give
Destined to remain adrift

Does Your Poem Suck?

A helpful article if you're trying to figure out whether that poem you just wrote truly sucks!

WORD UP: For Beginner Poets: How to Know If Your Poetry Suc...: Written  by   Ami Mattison   Poets at all levels of experience worry about whether or not our poetry sucks.  Often, as we contemp...

Midwife of Words

People sometimes ask me why I write poetry. A fair question especially when I contemplate the time I spend mulling over my thoughts. Yes I must spend, minutes, hours, days even, swirling thoughts around in my psyche, feeling their energy flow this way and that. Sometimes its good energy and it resonates with a lulling harmonious rhythm that sings to my soul. At other times it is not so good energy. It thrashes around my inner house leaving emotional devastation in its wake.  The mind monkeys enjoy the feast. They love a good story another drama that will perpetuate the cycles of unhealthy behaviour.

I guess the act of writing allows the energy to flow, to move from that void within where it has been spiralling round. It enables it to flow outward. To take form. No longer lost within those dark depths the words can now dance across the page. Black on white, darkness finally meeting light as a poem is born. Birthed by the poet; the midwife of words. 

Giver, Taker, Matcher, Faker

Are you a giver, a taker, a matcher or a faker? I guess the truth is we have all at some point in our lives been all four.

Adam Grant on Givers, Takers, Matchers and Fakers. An interesting podcast that discusses why we should all strive to be givers.

Who Are You?

In life
There are Givers
There are Takers
There are Matchers
There are Fakers
Which one are you?
Me?
I've been all four
And the doormat
At the door!

Almost a Quintilla

Out walking this morning I felt the first breaths of autumn upon my face and as I contemplated it's arrival it whispered a poem in my ear. Four syllables less a line and it would have been a quintilla.

The Hawthorn Tree

I feel the chill of autumn faintly here and there,
Whispering lullabies within the morning air,
Go find your golden robe and stunning crimson dress,
And as a final touch, certain to impress,
Sow rubies in your fading emerald hair.