wind howls around my soul

Wind howls around my soul, entrapping me in a tomb of bewilderment!

The sharp hissing of the air all around me sings an eerie tune with the winds groans from the typhoon.

Holding the woolen scarf around me tightly as I try to fight against the windstorm; an ever loosing battle, the wind sweeps under my feet, I fall back slowly like time turning around.

I do not fall, but I am lifted up into the black skies of doom. Swirling up into the air, like a balloon!
Higher and higher it takes me. My screams become a part of the eerie screams I hear in the typhoon!

Wondering why the wind moans so? Are they the voices of other lost souls?

Friend

Do you not see that you are beautiful?

Can you not see your artistic repertoire floating above the foundations of man?

This makes you an instrument of creation

Yes my friend, you are a god

This was written for my friend Erin Cooper, an artist that resides in Indiana, USA.  This is how I view all artistic people, whether they’re novelists, poets, sketchers, painters or lyricists – they’re all god to their own little worlds.

unknown ache

There is something missing in my life

My soul it endlessly cries

For what is missing it doesn’t quite know

But my essence is slowly losing its glow, but why?

My heart aches for something unknown

My dreams aren’t fulfilled anymore

I need to know what my soul is yearning

But the knowledge to me has a closed door

I hope the key to its lock is turning

For my soul feels like it’s endlessly burning

Though it knows not what for

recent issues

Having second thoughts about taking up NaNoWriMo, I struggle with 250 words a day these days, let alone trying to squeeze in 50,000 in a month – reason?  Migraines, frequent for months now, also I’ve been told that I am showing mild signs of pneumonia which is a worry.  I’ve been ill for weeks now and I am getting progressively worse, been practically bed-bound though for two days, thankfully I have a new laptop so I can do things when I can semi-think.

My main concern is I am unsure how the job center will react to the fact I haven’t gone to the voluntary placement interview yet, particularly as it was supposed to be for the next day and they saw me happy and healthy, but I woke up really bad and it’s not left me for almost 3 weeks now.  I am worried; I wanted to do the voluntary work too as it focuses on a charity I never heard of before but on a subject close to my heart (mental illness and mental learning difficulties and brain injuries) – hope this won’t turn against me?

I am so used to London benefit offices that I worry about every visit.  Unfortunately my husband is unemployed since the National Wildlife Trust could no longer afford him and made him redundant, this is unfortunate because I’ve always had health problems which have made problems with me keeping a job down (auto-immune problems, operations, and rheumatoid arthritis, vertigo and anemia problems as well as panic attacks), needless to say as soon as he became unemployed we had no choice but to go on benefits and they wouldn’t allow him to go on it and support the family I have to go for the interviews too.  Unfortunately even voluntary placements get funny if you have too much time off (even if you’re known to be sick), so I don’t have much of a life as far as social commitments go.

On the positive note my husband is doing home-based voluntary work for seismologists, if at the end of a 9 month period they feel he knows what he is doing he could get employed by them – hopefully the job center will be considerate about this, meanwhile he is trying hard to find work in other places but being aged 57 he is struggling to find anyone who’ll take him seriously, despite his educational and employment history being, Naval engineer, art tutor, customer services, photographer, and having an ecological degree with engineering.

I think my health problems are one of the main contributors to why I am afraid of being published, I cannot commit to anything because of it and really will publishers sympathize with a sick/disabled writer, even if they seem extremely good at what they’re doing?  I doubt it, but I hope I am proven wrong in time.

 

 

 

 

 

story within a poem

Snatched by the nanny, yes I remember that the family servant ran off with me like a rat

I will always remember the last day I was with them and the night I knew so well

The strange visits that used to happen, she thought she had me under a spell

But those memories never ceased but grew, will you stop sending me the darn flu?

I want to know why you did it?  And why you’re intent in breaking my spirit?

Did you know me in another life, is that why you’re held bent in causing me strife?

Just to let you know, I now hold the knife

balance dance

Someday the golden queen will dance alone, even when she’s gone back home

For scarlet is no friend but foe, she has left the palace you should know

What will happen when she dances free of her opposite camaraderie?

Will the balance tip off the edge?  Will she find another to dance the pledge?

We shan’t know until gold has merged, does it matter to be dis-joined?

Shall we ever dance that dance again or is its end strongly urged?

psychotic sleuth

The trouble I’ve gone to please you

The pain you’ve made inside

The burden you’ve made me carry

Yet you took it in your stride

To make things always bad for me

You always wanted that

It was to keep me docile and near you

You even made me fat

You couldn’t stand knowing

That I was getting free

You tried to destroy my confidence

You wouldn’t let me be

Now I’ve gone away from you

You still cry your battle cries

I don’t think you will be happy

Until the day I die

Yet you always said you loved me

But that couldn’t be further from the truth

These days although I’ve left you

You are quite the psychotic sleuth

I don’t know why you haunt me

Hound me and stick around

But I hope someday you’ll find help

So I’m no longer housebound

 

 

lego hair

My son is my inspiration

He is totally mad

Holding my hair up with lego bricks is how he’ll have me clad

After doing my hairstyle, in a rocket we will go

Flying through the universe to find aliens with pink toes

This is life with Henry

My son who’s conceptual

I’m writing this whilst lego bricks are gripping at my skull

 

will you accept?

The wine from your veins is sweet

To me this is a rare old treat

For wine is usually metallic

To drink it, I like to be quick

Though no real nourishment I get

For your wound I closely vet

That your health is waning away

So I’ve more or less saved the day

I drink from you my mortal

But I offer you another realmly portal

Will you accept it or not?

Or will you choose your life to rot?

I offer you eternal life

Will you accept this other life?

mossy woodland 26/10/2013

The mossy forest is my home, the earthy smells and the earthy tones

I love the damp, the waterfalls, and the fallen trees where creatures crawl

I ponder matters of life in here

I love this forest so very dear

I trudge on past endless wooded beasts

Smelling their fragrance, in awe of their wreath

I am at home here in my wood

I would always stay here if I could

 

Poem not based on any particular woodland, I love mossy forests and woodlands, especially if they have some kind of water feature.  I suppose this woodland is of imagination, perfect in every way and if I could find such a place, I think I’d very seldom leave it.