Coffee & Cake

Posted on by estlh

Writing poetry can be a funny business. Inspiration can come from all sorts of places, and often a few lines will come to me when I am in the middle of doing something entirely unconnected to writing. This is why I am never more than a few feet from a notebook, and if one cannot be reached then the voice recorder on my phone comes in useful. At night I make sure my notebook is on the bedside table open on a blank page so if inspiration strikes in the night I can jot it down without turning on the light, (and just hope I can interpret the scrawl in the morning!) When it comes to actually sitting down and writing one of my favourite places to do this is in a coffee shop. With a sweet treat and a hot drink I can sit and write to my hearts content. And when the words are not flowing I can people watch and let my imagination tell me the stories of those around me. At times I will write something from scratch, but often I will use one of my notebooks or voice notes as a starting point. But just because I originally wrote a few lines or phrases inspired by X or Y, that does not mean the poem I actually write has anything to do with X or Y. It is not at all uncommon for the poem I end up with to have very little to do with what I was inspired by in the first place, and for the poem I write to comes as a bit of a surprise. Often something innocuous and unextraordinary can lead to a deeply personal poem. Poetry can sometimes feel a bit like opening myself up and letting my bare soul fall on the page, which is why not everything I write gets shared!

Coffee and cake, paper and pen

Thoughts pouring out of my head once again

Into the light of the stark black and white

No longer hidden from my own sight.

Forced to acknowledge what I would ignore

I knew this would happen – it’s happened before

I try to write fiction, to make myself smile

But unpleasant truths escape all the while

Sat in my seat watching people unwind

While I pour out the disquiet of my mind

And yet though this poem was not my intent

The words express all that inside me is pent

Releasing the tension, unwinding the coil

Freeing the ire that within my head boils

And so by the time I at last drain my cup

Unburdened, I pack up my pen and stand up.

True Friend

Posted on by estlh

Everyone needs at least one true friend who can always speak the truth to them, good or bad. Who can tell them they’re making a mistake, either by doing something they shouldn’t or not doing something they really should. Of course it is entirely up to us whether we actually listen to our true friends! The “them” in this poem are definitely not friends!

They told me once to try again, I asked Them why I should
I liked what I had done this time, They said it was not good
I asked Them what was wrong with it I loved it done my way
But this was met with tutting and yet They wouldn’t say

So I refused to try again, proud of my first attempt
It came from a true, honest place - I questioned Their intent
But They would not accept my choice, They would not let it lie
They wailed and cried and pestered me to have another try.

Yet I feared if I gave in, that if I let Them win
A lifetime of enslavement and servitude would begin
For once they had the best of me would They then let it go?
Or tighten hence their grip on me? I really didn’t know

But something told me to beware, to not let Them dictate
Even the least of my designs I should myself create.
So I stood firm, dug in my heels, They turned away from me
No more acknowledging my work, pretending not to see.

And I, no more so self assured began to wonder now
Was the beauty in mine eye real or feigned somehow
As I began to doubt myself a true friend came along
And questioned why my tongue was stilled, he no more heard my song.

I am no good I told him, my confidence curtailed.
But he would speak the truth to me - my ego did avail
And so I paid Them no more heed, I ceased to play along
I showed the world what I had done, once more sang my own song

Now free once more to be myself, to plan and to create
I rose above Their tired attacks their nebulous dictates
And stronger now I found the wings I’d never known before
And from that true friends confidence up to the stars I soar

 

The Quiet Place

Posted on by estlh

Is it just me or does life seem to have gotten SO busy. There seems to be an endless flow of distractions and intrusions that hinder me. Recently I have been reading a book called The ruthless elimination of hurry. (Ok, I confess; listening to – I’m far too busy to sit down with a book!) The book itself is an easy read, but it asks some challenging questions about our modern lifestyle. Written by John Mark Comer, an American pastor, it is written very much from a Christian perspective but there is lots in it to speak to anyone living their life in our crazy, busy, noisy, nonstop, often overwhelming world. The chapter I read (listened to) this week is all about silence and solitude, something that few of us get enough of! After discussing it in our small group I was inspired to write this poem.

In the silence
In the stillness
Of the quiet place
I will seek you
Come towards you
Turn to me your face

I am ready
To hear from you
Speak your truth to me
I will listen
To hear from you
Words so Fatherly

In the silence
In the stillness
Of the quiet place
I will meet you
Be at peace there
Rest in your embrace

Secrets

Posted on by estlh

I generally don’t like keeping secrets. Thankfully most of the secrets I keep revolve around birthday presents, surprise parties and the like, so are short lived. They are also the good kind of secret, the kind that you want to tell because you know the reaction will be positive.

But sometimes the knowledge we keep hidden is heavy to bear and we want to lighten the load by sharing it. Much has been written about how keeping secrets can be bad for our health. Occasionally however, the secrets that we keep are not ours to share.

I wish you had not told me that
I did not want to know
But now that I possess the truth
I cannot let it go
My heart cried out ‘this cannot be,
It can’t, it must be lies
But from your face I knew at once –
I read it in your eyes

That scene now stuck in my mind’s eye
never to be erased,
Delivered to me such a shock
It left me feeling dazed
The Nightmare that now plagues my sleep
And interrupts my rest
Have been my night-time company
Since to me you confessed

And all the while the shame of it
That should be yours not mine
Now Haunts my every waking hour
As if by your design
You have made me your companion
In knowledge of this deed
And I can never now forget
I never will be freed

I would I could just run away
The dread of it to flee
But no matter where I go
The truth will follow me.
For all around is tainted now
My illusions undone
The world is a less pleasant place
Your cloud obscures my sun.

I would you had not shared with me
The burden that you bore
For now I find this secret binds
Us two, for evermore

Corner

Posted on by estlh

I am a dreamer. I dream often and regularly remember bits, if not all, of the fantastical tales and crazy adventures I have during slumber. The weird and wonderful worlds I inhabit whilst sleeping can be a rich source of inspiration for my writing whilst awake, and I keep a note book beside my bed to jot down anything I want to hold on to. Sometimes when I look back at them my night-time scribblings make no sense at all, but once in a while when I check my notebook I am amazed at the insight or poeticism I find there.

A few days ago I had an unusual dream, even for me. Instead of being in the dream, playing ny part, I was an observer. And as the scene played out before me it wasn’t live action it was a black and white cartoon, all rough drawn and jiggling. I can only remember a very small part of it but it was such a striking visual images that it inspired a poem.

I can see myself in the corner
In a small stark patch of light
All couched and folded inwards
In a world of black and white

The darkness that surrounds me
Is slowly pressing in
The fear of it constricts my chest
I feel it chill my skin

But flickering, and glorious
A white light comes to shine
And rages ‘gainst the darkness
In this corner small of mine

So sensing something easing
I dare to lift my head
And see the light expanding
And catch a glimpse of red

I can see me in the corner
In a growing patch of light
All couched, but less uncertain
In a world of colours bright.

Betrayal

Posted on by estlh

Sometimes I am quite deliberate in my poetry writing. Sometimes when I start to write a poem I start with just a phrase or couple of lines and have no idea where it is going to go. This was one of those poems, it wasn’t really until I reached the last verse that the pieces fell into place.

I took my lover to the sea
Where I made him beg to marry me
I grasped the heart he proffered me
And flung it hence into the sea.

I took my lover near the sky
And made him look into my eye
And swear to love me til he die
Then I did poke him in the eye

I took my lover atop the hill
And begged to know if he did still
Love me for sufficient thrill,
I threw my lover down the hill

I knew my lover was not true
And felt the sting of trust eschewed
I did what I had to do
To heal the heart he’d rent in two.

The Injustice in the Corner

Posted on by estlh

Inspired by a ‘ thought for the day’ that was shared at The Arches project last week, this just kind of flowed out in response.

The injustice in the corner
Is ever so small
I turn my back, don’t see it
Ignoring your call

The injustice in the corner
I do not wish to see
Though slowly growing larger
Does not yet bother me

The injustice in the corner
Is no longer small and faint
I have to now acknowledge it
To hear your complaint

The injustice in the room now
So clearly in my view
Can still be ignored if I
Close my eyes and ears to you

The injustice I must see now
I’ll stand and rail against
But words are feeble weapons
And my strikes make no offence

The injustice right before me
I try to reason away
But all that I’m achieving
Is a break, a slight delay

The injustice in my face now
Continues hour by hour
So I must wrestle with it
And try to staunch it’s power

It may seem overwhelming
But yet I’m not alone
The seeds of revolution
Have already been sown

And so we come together
Injustice to oppose
Our common purpose strengthens us
And hope for justice grows

If

Posted on by estlh

After a good start to this year I got a bit distracted and didn’t write anything for a while. This week I suddenly seem to have found my mojo again. I have been writing lots. From odd lines that will eventually develop into full poems, to snippets and phrases I have just jotted down to insert in a future poem, to a rather random short story. They are mostly first drafts still and will need a bit of tweaking before I share them, except for the one I am sharing now. I was playing around with different poem structures and with increasing and decreasing syllables and this was the result.

If

If
Only
It were true
That which you say
Statements of great love
Pretence of devotion
The words by which you deceive
The lies that you exhale
Carry me away
On clouds of hope
But like rain
They soon
Fall

The Chimneys of Portpatrick

Posted on by estlh

It’s always easier to write when on holiday. The combination of more time and being generally more relaxed, with visiting new and interesting places helps the creative flow. We have visited Portpatrick a few times now, finding out about ships wrecked on the rocky shore line, and how it served as a version of Gretna green for couples who caught the boat across from Belfast.  The ferries no longer come into Portpatrick, the little bay and harbour could not cope with the large ships required these days, which now dock at Cairnryan a little further north. Instead Portpatrick remains a picturesque little coastal village – a beautiful unspoilt spot away from the hubbub of much of modern life; a great spot for a relaxing break. It was only yesterday as I walked down to the sea, that I noticed the extraordinary number of chimney pots on the buildings around the bay. I found myself a comfy large rock to sit on, gazing out at the sea, and wrote this poem.

The chimneys of Portpatrick
That stand above the bay
Stretch up heavenward to the sun
That shines on us today
How long they’ve stood there watching
I really do not know
They have seen the waters rise
They’ve seen the tide ebb low.
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Have stood there oh so long
They’ve heard the ocean raging
Witnessed her waves so strong.
And in the still calm moments
That come both day and night
Know the peace just hides from view
The ocean’s fearsome might
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stood solemn as the waves
Threw boat, then boat against the rocks
And not all souls were saved
The lighthouse stood as warning
It’s light shone through the night
The brave and daring lifeboat crew
Risked all for stranger’s plight
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
That witnessed so much woe
Also saw such joyful days
Saw lovers come and go
Across the sea from Ireland
Where family disapproved
Wedding vows they came to say
Their lasting love to prove
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stand cold and smoke no more
Yet still we come to visit
This bonny stretch of shore
And while we swim the waters
We drink, we eat, we play
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stand proud above the bay
 
 

Word of the day

Posted on by estlh

Sometimes I write poetry because I am inspired by something. It may be an event, an emotion, something I have seen or somewhere I have been. Sometimes I play around with words and phrases, just enjoying the musicality of the english language. There are plenty of poetry prompts to be found on line and sometimes I like to use these as they can be a bit more of a challenge as they may involve writing about something that I really don’t feel inspired by, but it is these kinds of things that I think help exerecise the poetry part of my brain and, I hope, develop my skill. Today’s inspiration comes from the “Word of the day” on one of the writing sites I visit. The word is burglarious.

 
Creeping through the darkness with burglarious intent
 The band of cunning rogues on their wicked way they went.
 Slinking through the village under cover of the night
 Anyone who saw them there would surely get a fright
  
 This motley crew had just one aim, they would not be deterred
 Tales of wealth and riches to this hamlet them had lured
 And finding that the stories they had heard might just be right 
 Decided that it would be worth their while to try one night
  
 Plans had all been made with care, the details checked so well
 Each knew what they had to do, they knew to never tell.
 Whispers of encouragement between them were exchanged
 If they could pull this off their lives forever would be changed
  
 So upon the place they crept, each one would play their part
 They clambered o’er the wall unseen – made a promising start. 
 But that was when it all went wrong for suddenly the light
 Detecting hidden motion hence shone piercing through the night
 
 “Who goes there?” Called a gruff voice from a window way up high
 “Tell me what you’re doing here, also tell me why?”
 Blinded by the sudden light erratically they ran
 They’d thought the place was empty, whoever was this man?
  
 The bunch were not the smartest, all sense now flew from their heads
 They scattered panicked ‘cross the lawn, trampled the flower beds.
 And then the scrape of metal bolts, the squeak of door flung wide
 The snarling, barking dogs flew out, their quarry they espied
  
 But as they fled, little they knew that worse was yet to come, 
 The man stood fuming at the door and cocked his old shot gun
 Terrified the gang all fled back o’er the wall they went
 Back home to rue the day they had burglarious intent.