No words

There are no words

that describe how much she loves him.

No adjectives

her feelings aren’t in a thesaurus.

Just no words

no songs have been written

to say it how she feels

nor films

nor books.

Just her heartbeat

her eyes

her touch

her voice

her love.

A girl with butterfly wings

a heart that sings

whp plays with stones

twigs

and the unknown.

She dreams of owning pretty things.

Free as a sparrow

but with an injured wing

from the night

she fought the king.

Tears lay in her trail

salt in her wounds.

She searches the hills and mountains to find him

to hold him close

kiss his brow

look into his soul.

As without the words

she isn’t whole.

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I have under gone alot of criticism off fellow poets

I started writing poetry/verses age 18, 37 years ago.

I always wrote just what I was feeling at the time.

I only joined the local poetry performance scene 6 yrs ago April 2012.

Since then I have under gone such criticism from the likes of Darren Thomas and John Togher and very little positive feed back.

Both these poets have tried to impress on me their style of writing and what they understand poetry should be.

Because of this I have nearly given up writing many times but it is the support of my own son and father that has kept me writing.

I met ayound poet and post grad student June 2012 and even though he said my writing was ‘ shit and cliche’ he then quickly added ‘ you are a writer as you write it from your heart’. Thankyou Matt O’ Brien and also it was Matt O’ Brien that has been and still is my biggest influence out there on the scene.

Last couple of years been lucky enough to know Monologue Joe who has massively supported my writing.

So after 6 yrs on the scene, I am not quitting writing, I am quitting the scene.

Both Matt and Joe don’t perform on the local scene as they are superior and do not need to flog their work

Room of tables

A room of tables

a fine collection indeed

dotted around the Victorian parlour

all resting in their designated place.

Most of them circular

owned by the white witch

who was once quite a dish

now a middle aged crone.

Some marked with coffee stains

of which

represent her pain

some refurbished

polished to The Queen’ guards standards

reminders of when she was Queen.

They all tell a story or fable

of a time gone before.

How someof them arrived here

is a myth and a mystery.

The laces are discoloured now

sometimes used to mop her brow.

Nicotine stained walls

when she smoked heavily this autumn’s fall.

Above the oak firepalce

hangs a pitcture of poets place Manchester

nothing in this room is of bad taste.

A room of tables this is indeed

where she whispers and casts her next spell

rocking gently in her chair.

Would you enter ?

Would you dare ?

I have found my soul family/soul group

I after many years of searching and never feeling like I either fitted in or belonged  on this planet have found my soul family/soulgroup.

I found them at Rainbows and Butterflies a spititualist development class run by husband and wife team Ellen and Joe Aschcroft.

The learning and support I have received off them and the whole group has been astounding.

I found them in September 2016 đŸ™‚

And I will NEVER let them go x

Dance Ballerina , dance.

Dance ballerina, dance.

Dance in heaven with our Lord

please the loving crowd.

Dance ballerina , dance

mummy never forgot

nor did I recover.

My beautiful princess

born from my first lover.

Dance ballerina ,dance

piroute

courtsey for the angels

wipe your brow

mummy will come home one day.

Till then dance ballerinadance

shine your light on the world

beyond the veil

mummywill be coming soon.

Dance ballerina , dance

mummy loves you x

Dance Ballerina , Dance

Dance ballerina, dance.

Dance in heaven with Our Lord,

please the loving crowd.

Dance ballerina dance

mummy never forgot

nor did I recover.

My beautiful princess

born from my first lover.

Dance ballerina dance

piroute

cortsey for the angels

wipe your brow

mummy will come home one day.

Till then , dance ballerina dance.

Shine your light on this world

beyond the veil.

Wish I had known you yet I can feel your energy close.

Mummy will be coming home soon.

Dance ballerina , dance.

Mummy loves you.

Storyteller

They see all

sat in the corner

at the bar.

Never quite mixing with the crowd.

Visiting venues

churches

cafes

parks and so on.

With their photographic memories

pad and pen.

Listens

laughs

observes

weeps but never last.

Even though a little distant

a little out cast.

Sees all.

No alcohol in mind

or twisted thoughts with illegal highs

just a brew.

Quietly slips out the side entrance

a weary tale to tell

another prayer to whisper.

Do you know them

are their words true.

No time for festivals or actors balls.

Stooped by the church clock

tick tock

tick tock.

Surrounded by vagabonds and who knows.

 

 

Nb My edited version of The Storyteller.