Poetry | Stories | Photography
Quarantined on St Patrick’s Day,
Shenanigans, for one, will have to do.
Donning green and black Brogues ironically,
he whips out cheese and crackers just in case.
With a Shillelagh for the spirit of courage,
he dances alone to Celtic forest music.
In a trance,
under the movement spell.
Limbs of fire,
elongated shimmy swishing.
Sultry moves,
burning into the warm night.
Disconnected from your shell,
rising above the place you love.
The world vibrates with different energies;
the colours and the shapes seem so vivid.
Shackled to your flesh no more,
you soar into the immortal realm.
Thank you to everyone who reads my words. I write every day, yet I do not get to post everything I write.
I stumbled upon #TastyPoems on Twitter. Darla Vaughan has provided so much inspiration for my words through the lovely art that I must share both.
The poems are from 2018 until the present; some themes may be from the past.
I hope you get inspired too.
I feel the winds of the cold sea.
They blow through me, and I feel free.
I feel the waves crash over me.
They move me down, and I can’t see.
I feel the love you have for me.
Your love changed me, so I am free.
I feel the life you lived with me.
Your love lives on just like the sea.
Where others don’t go,
she stays for the lonely ones
who need her kindness.
Whispers of a witch in the
woods create stories and legends.
Whispers are only empty
words for a warm heart to forget.
Exhaustion.
Flicking in and out of consciousness,
my lips feel numb.
Usual noises sound bombing loud,
forgetting the time.
I become a melancholy masterpiece,
a sad classical song.
only you,
no one else.
take your brush,
run the bristles through
and set it well.
rub concealer
upon your face and neck
to hide you.
run a pash stick
over your ruddy lips to
hide the peeling.
wear something
not so revealing, yet a
little unlike you.
say your goodbyes,
whisper to your Mother,
“Goodbye, Mum”.
take a small case,
only the significant things
you hold so dearly.
come alone to me,
tell me nothing remains and
all pain will cease.
You run to the creek,
watching the gushing river
from torrential rain.
Rising at the crack of dawn,
jogging around the same route,
eating the same breakfast,
climbing the corporate ladder.
Dreaming away until midday,
walking at night in the darkness,
eating a different breakfast,
ceasing to be defined by career.
You are an Early Riser,
and I am a Night Owl,
You want the World,
and I want the Unseen.
C & K 