I’ve spoken on my blog a couple of times about how intimidating I find writing poetry, which is now a weekly task on my creative writing module. After receiving feedback on the first week’s poem, and not being kicked off the course, I have finally plucked up the courage to post one of my poems. I’d love to hear your feedback, so please do drop me a comment!
There is great beauty in things that once served us,
But can no longer do us the honour,
When the roller has become dislodged
Ink expired, what of the reams that those
weapons scribbled upon, cramping wrists?
Alone with your thoughts, do you ever think
of your leftover plastic, once your ticket
to anything you desire, now shredded
along the bumps, card numbers obscured to
Fortune cookies, cardboard orange, snapped and
Useless, vessel for that message you want
To hear, crumbled dreams, no longer dessert
A lipstick nub, a memory of the smile
you once painted on, an outline of a
brave face against the storms, at full extension
but no pigment to be seen.
A face washed clean.
The frail once waltzed, walked along promenades,
but now crumbling bones and decay mean
reclining chairs provide more comfort.
But humans should be celebrated when
they can no longer do some of the things
that make them human, a scrapbook of liveliness,
livelihood and likeliness of getting things done.
A walk through the passages of time, with
relics to pass on and wisdom to give,
but only if someone will listen.