Mr Stokes

Hi All, 

Today's poem is written for someone I admire greatly. I tease him terribly, but I think he is probably used to that by now… at least I hope so. Mr Micheal Stokes is a brilliant photographer who pushes boundaries and ignores his critics. His artistic interpretation and admiration of the naked form is second to none and I never cease to tire of perusing the images he captures through his camera. He is an artist much like myself. Out there, not deterred by others who would seek to dismiss or discredit our works. I push emotional boundaries and he visual ones. 

So Mr Stokes, in honour of your works and continued dedication me smile at the beauty through your lens. I dedicate this small poem to you. Keep inspiring others through your work and don't forget that second selfie. ;) @stokes_photo

Mr Stokes

Deep into his lens they glance

Statuesque in their frozen stance

Masculine moulds this artists goal 

Beauty beyond mere mortal souls

Icons chiseled from toil and sweat

Captivating images we can’t forget

These God like idols to humanity

Not bound by the limits of society

Men of men who’s poise invokes

Each stilled in time by Mr Stokes

By Helen Stallard

November 25, 2015

Josh

Good Morning, 
I have written and re-written this piece many times and at last I have encapsulated my son Joshua. 
This is for you Josh. 

Josh

A cunning smile breaks his face

His dark eyebrow slowly rises

This cheeky chap of my demise

The prankster of surprises

A quiet side hidden away

Your secret place to dwell

It draws them in, captivates

Puts all under your spell

Haunting us, enchanting all

He can test my best resolve

In one quick quip or memory

Maternal barriers do dissolve

Now a man of level mind

From a child I raised alone

You fill my heart with pride

My Son, now man, full grown 

By Helen Stallard
November 23, 2014.

Two

Morning All, 
The following is a tribute to that moment when two people share the most intimate and explosive of moments. A slight play on words here, but I think you will get my meaning. 

Two

Two hearts, one movement 

One motion, two souls

One heartbeat, two seconds

Two moments, one goal

One explosion, two bodies

Two moans, one gasp

Two chuckles, one embrace

One love, two collapse

By Helen Stallard

November 22, 2014

Bitter Seeds

Good Evening, 
I have been so very lax with my blog of late. 
So to make amends I share with you something I have mused over for some time now. A poem I wrote to try to explain why I think we humans harbour and revisit painful memories that we have experienced through others. I personally use them to make me stronger and as a beacon to not inflict such pain on others. 

Bitter Seeds

After the actions those words flow

To deep inside wherein they grow

To tangled weed with twisted stalk

Poisoned words each time you talk

Bitter growth from deep inside

Splits your body-bursts your sides

Out it spews that angered seed

Choking you as vengeance bleeds

Slumped into that wounded heap

Toxic spawn you choose to keep

Grasping at this cruelest past 

Gardening you to make it last

To wallow in your own despair?

Or keep him lingering-beaten there?

To make you stronger day by day

For keeping bitter weeds at bay

By Helen Stallard

November 21, 2014 

One Tiny Smile

Good Afternoon All, 
I have been absent for so long and I have missed my little blog and all your feed back via messages here and mail. Thank you all who voiced concern. It is warming knowing that you thought of me. 

I write this poem to all those parents who find the days of toil long and struggle to juggle with the many hats we must wear. Wouldn't you agree that it is the small things in life that re-charge us. 



One Tiny Smile

The rest bite comes when all is done
This allusive treasure for your just desserts
All cylinders firing for the fruition of your day
Past foibles bring more to burden
Fanciful escapes your only pleasure
One mind chancing a passing moment of solace
Then through all the chaos of your time
One small hand. One tiny smile 
Powers you onward and fuels your strength. 


By Helen Stallard
October 20, 2014

Inside

Good Evening, 
Some of you will know that on occasion I struggle with my mobility. I don't let that hold me back and I certainly don't allow it to alter my duties as a mother. Some view disability as restrictive. Personally I see it as a puzzle to work out and I do so enjoy a good puzzle. 
I am currently mobile, but in the times when I am not and my body fails me… it is then that my strength of mind melts those limitations. In that I have a little help. So I dedicate this poem to Jasmine, Adam, Josh, Jacob, Tegyn, Riley and JJ. They are my constant encouragements and allow me to jest in the face of pain. Thank you all my darling babies. 



Inside

Inside my head I'm always there 
The person who will always care 

Inside my head I'm the constant one
The person who will always be Mum 

Inside my head I see all that you do 
The person who will see you through

Inside my head my bodies not broken 
This person who's actions are spoken 

Inside others heads my body limits me 
But in my head I'm strong and free


By Helen Stallard
September 13, 2014

Dependable

Good Evening,
A small poem I wrote for my husband... my steadfast rock.


Dependable

When the darkness consumes
When the cloud descends
When the end is nigh
On you I depend.

By Helen Stallard
September 7, 2014

The Sea Witch

Good Evening All, 
Todays poem was written in mid August while holidaying in Staithes. I have taken my time editing this one and really feel I have captured the heart of the storm. 

The Sea Witch

She howls her song of captured souls

While crawling from the depth of cold

Grey and dismal she has gained

Her power from their poor remains.

Her tangled locks, lash and whip

As she stalks to a struggling ship

Her tattered, torn mermaids tail

Slices through that bellowed sail

They battle her won’t sate her greed

For seafarers on which she feeds

This angry witch with whom they fight

They battle her this stormy night

Relentless she demands her toll

Toys with them as child with doll

Now diving deep she twitches slimy fin

To turn on them, her accent begins

Screeching through the vice like rip

She pounces on the floundering ship

With salty nails she splits the bough

Slaughtering all, like butchers cow

Her hunger fed now she is done

Back to the depth from whence she’d come

This heartless Sea Witch now has fed

Dragging her haul to a watery bed

By Helen Stallard

September 6, 2014 

From The Shore

Good Morning, 

This poem is for David, Sean and Darren. Dedicated to them as the men I have grown to know and admire. The few last fishing men in Staithes. 

From The Shore

The piecing cry of scattered gull

As the engine turns pulsating hull

Salty sand, peppers weathered skin

As they head from the shore ignoring the din

Masters of the sea, they slice through the surf

As one with her they know her worth

How bountiful a treasure they might find

Then unforgiving in her cold unkind

Testing their skills on Lady Sea 

Breaking her waters wild and free

These fishing men from Northern Shore

Who dance with death they know the score

By Helen Stallard
August 27, 2014

Neptune's Hand

Good Evenings, 
I would like to dedicate this poem to the RNLI life guard crew at Staithes in North Yorkshire especially, but also to RNLI crews everywhere. One life guards words especially inspired this poem. I can only hope that you will see their job as importantly as I do. The RNLI gain no government funding and are run on only public donations. They are truly voiceless heroes.


Neptune's Hand 

Pounding the cliffs this storm does roar
Breaching defences and raping this shore

Toying with boulders as pebbles in hand
Baying white horses threaten this land

These fearless lifeguards cut through waves
As freely this night another life's saved

Howling winds scream into my lungs
Day's dawn breaks and the sea has won

Scattered debris lays spewed on the sand
Now this tide retreats under Neptune's hand


By Helen Stallard
August 27, 2014.

Recompences

Good Morning, 
It's a simple word, but one many struggle with. I always say to my children that sorry is a word often spoken to little and always to late. Sorry is only worth it's salt if you only have to apologise for something once. More than once for the same offence and it becomes nothing other than another word. 

Recompenses

Do you see where you have been?

What you leave upon your wake?

How you impacted on others?

While you made your mistakes!

Move past where you think you are,

Reflection won't mend fences.

That genuine heart felt sorry,

Will build your recompenses.

By Helen Stallard

August 24, 2014.

Tipping Point

Good Evening All, 
This small poem serves me as a reminder that we are not infallible. Be it an allergy, Mother Nature or general deterioration. We are smaller than we care to think.


Tipping Point

A grain of sand - one spec of dust
A spore of mould - one patch of rust
A drop of water - one flake of snow
Can tip the balance and down we go


By Helen Stallard

August 23, 2014

Northern Shore

Good Morning :)
My absence has been due to a holiday on the coastline of North Yorkshire. One of my favourite places on this world of ours. This little fishing village has an affect on me that few other places do. Not only do I adore that area, I also adore the folk that live there. It is becoming lost to a fierce holiday trade, that threatens it's very existence and this saddens me greatly. Few such places greet you with as warm a welcome. My goal is to live there, but until then I will share a few of the poems I have penned while there.

Northern Shore

This picture postcard place for me

Infringed in part by bountiful sea

Is not as you'd find on warmer shores

With it's Dog Loup there's so much more

Buxom women and men with pride

No effort in keeping their souls alive

To graft and fight to drag in a haul

Then heave it up the harbour walls

Man is man in this nautical land

It's mother's greet you with helping hands

Bairns are bonnie and a families heart

All moralled with their Northern start

To this rugged shore, to these rugged lands

I tip my hat and raise my hand

As each time I leave, I always find

A small piece of my remains behind

By Helen Stallard

August 22, 2014.

Dusty Mote

Good Evening, 

I sat today quite quietly and while deep in thought my eyes were drawn to the dust motes floating in the sunbeam that spilled through my window. It was such a lovely sight, that I felt compelled to write about. Some moments are a perfect vision of calm, but look closer and there is always movement. 

Dusty Motes

The dust motes flit carelessly in this slanted beam

Dancing with one another, the very merriest of jigs

Warming them selves like fae in the mornings light

Brief and joyous they celebrate the warming ray

Each whispering secret tales to the other in passing

Heated they rise then fall, then prance once again

Peering, embracing and then bewitched by it

Embracing this golden glow of luminous essence

Careless in their pursuit of this temperate life source

As airy celestial creatures sent to frolic as one

To dematerialise before my blinking eyes

As the clouds seize there fun and steal it away. 

By Helen Stallard

21 July, 2014.

The Cleansing

Good Morning All, 
I was up very early this morning due to the intense heat here and as an electrical storm hit I observed and wrote what dawned directly after it. It was a beautiful scene and I hope I have done it justice. 

The Cleansing

After the storm, the ions fly

Blueness penetrates your eye

The quiet once she has passed

Such beauty now will not last

In vivid colours true and bold

A memory so pure to hold

Part of life restored and washed

The filth refined, spent, squashed

Freshness fills once dead a sense

My patience here is recompense

One voyeur of revitalised birth

As mother nature cleans her earth.

By Helen Stallard

20 July, 2014.

Atmospheric

Good Afternoon, 

I wrote this poem earlier today and as I am in a reflective moment in my life, I share this heart broken memory with you. 

Atmospheric

Howling visceral winds, torment… screaming into the tunnel of my breaking love.

Lashing, saturating rains, sheets of aqua cry down to the portal of my soul.

Black ice, spears my beat-less heart, before it shatters before your you.

By Helen Stallard

19 July, 2014.

Learned

Good Morning Again,

Another poem born of lesson. We are all walking our paths, sometimes they seem harder than other's routes. Walk them we must though. However, to walk them is one thing, but to gain from the hardness of your chosen route. Well that is to know true life.  

Learned

The paths we tread, 

While blind or not. 

Are often ones, 

We’d wish begot. 

Some stoney hard, 

Felt underfoot. 

Others burden us, 

With darkened hood. 

Some sunnier tracks, 

Upon which we thrive. 

Are like life veins, 

keeping us alive. 

It is here we flourish, 

Love and grow. 

How we strengthen, 

To press onwards so.

Those dusty ones, 

Leave us unclean.

But protect us onwards, 

With hardened screen. 

Each route staggered, 

Our guide each day.

Back onto course,

To the truest way.

As we stumble, 

With what we earned.

This weight we carry, 

Are lessons learned.

By Helen Stallard
July18, 2014.

Disdainfully Yours

Good Morning, 
I hope this day will serve you all well. My absence has been duly noted and again apologies. I truly am back and I begin with a short but poignant piece. 

Disdainfully Yours

On the edge of my resolve, 
Morals crumble, break, dissolve,
Now feathered is this fuddled brain,
As one wades through her own disdain.

By Helen Stallard
July 18, 2014.

Bent Not Broken

Good Evening, 

Another free verse poem for your perusal. We all go through trials and often don't realise at the time how much we can take from them.  I wrote this for my daughter. As a warming guise when she asks that fateful question … why? 

Bent Not Broken

What doesn't break you makes you stronger. 

Rounds you into an elliptical you,

Prevents you from weakening.

All those knocks and chips create a sculpture. 

Smoothing the sharpened edges,

Teasing you into who you are. 

Each bitter trial a testament to your strengths.

A beacon to show your weaknesses,

Such aching now to shield you later.

These arduous memories will serve you.

Gifting you solace in the knowledge,

You are not broken just bent. 

By Helen Stallard

July 9, 2014. 

Alphabet Sea

Good Afternoon Again, 
My second post for the day, as playing catch up again. 
Alphabet Sea is a poem I wrote to try to explain why I write. There is nothing more complicated in it than that. I do hope my poetry inspires deep emotions in my readers and followers. 

Alphabet Sea

The words I pen as poetry, 

Are what I feel, think and see. 

There is no catch to what I scribe, 

No hidden meaning that I hide. 

I feel the words that flow from me, 

Pulling them from an alphabet sea. 

Some time that sea is calm or dark, 

Impacting the message I do impart. 

A mended heart or tale of woe, 

All parts of me and how I grow. 

Each poem invites you to feel, 

An awakening that's true and real. 

By Helen Stallard

July 5, 2014.  

Flounder

Good Afternoon, 
Firstly apologies for my absence. I am back and wish to share the following with you. 
I wrote this poem today, after chatting with Anita, who was the host to a radio show I did a small spot on. I had been invited there to speak about The Poetry Bank. Anita mentioned a moment to me where she had fluffed her words. I coined the word floundered and in that very moment, 'Flounder' was born. 
Now few of you will know Anita, but those who do will know she treads where other fear to. She has a confident couragesness about her and she has been joy to write about. 

So here is to you Anita, never stop being who you are. 

Flounder

Out of my depth I often flounder, 

Deeper in I dread to wander.

Still I venture further more, 

As newest babe on slippery floor.

As lemmings to the cliff I run, 

No thinking on what could become. 

My character can not be tamed,

Nor trapped ... caught or even named. 

A dancing spirit free and wild,

 Born of Fear and Courage's child.

By Helen Stallard

July 5, 2014. 

Simple Sorry

Hello Again, 
My second post of the day. This simple poem is written to empathise with those we have hurt. Sorry, is often spoken to late. It is even worse when it is said too often. To those I have hurt. This one is for you. 

Simple Sorry

There is a point at which we reside, 

Of painful mistakes we wish to hide. 

Knowing that we caused such pain, 

A reason to hang our heads in shame. 

Decisions made in haste or speed, 

In warnings that we did not heed. 

Leads us all to saddened worry, 

When all that’s left is a simple sorry. 

By Helen Stallard

June 27, 2014. 

Changes

Good Evening, 

I wrote this poem for my Mum… life is a stage upon which we all play our parts. What we see is always a shadow of what we have been. 

Changes

A distant memory of the person I see, 

In this image reflected back to me. 

This carefree person once full of fun, 

Who laughed enough for everyone.

A shock of hair - now peppered grey,

Proof of age and younger days. 

That familiarity there in my eyes, 

In a vision of me in wrinkled disguise.

I look beyond this membrane of age,

At the life I lived on a constant stage. 

Beyond this mature vision I observe,

Liking what I see as it’s what I deserve.

By Helen Stallard

June 27, 2014

Judged

Hello Again Today, 
My second poem of today. I am trying hard to play catch up. :)

We all make judgements on others. It is human nature. However, what we choose to do with those judgements is vital. Some of us make extreme judgements and that is unhealthy. Being a person of extremes I get judged often… then as we all do, they get to know the real me and have to recant those initial thoughts. 
The following is a poem a wrote some time ago. I was judged very harshly by someone, who turned out to be a stalker. It was very hard to understand their reasoning, but it was unhealthy and there was continuous comparison from themselves to me.  This poem was born from that and I now share it with you. 

Judged

Am I different to you? 

So intent on being me. 

I notice you spying, 

Observing what you see. 

Your judgement is futile, 

I still belong to myself. 

Your criticism gives me life, 

While you sit upon your shelf. 

Your thoughts manifest,

What you think in your mind.

Not the person that I am,

Nor the person that you’d find.

Am I your waking thought, 

The vision in your dreams?  

Is it my image in your head, 

My name that you scream? 

So what makes me different?

Such an opposite to you!

Because I am happy ?

This person that you view. 

I'm comfortable on the outside.

I’ve a perfect fitting skin.

Don’t you like who I am? 

Cause I’m contented from within.

By Helen Stallard

June 24, 2014. 

The Mess

Good Morning All, 

The following poem has only one purpose and that's to make parents smile. Only we could know how frustrating a teenager is to raise… justifying everything badly. My Son Josh was the best at reasoning, even when his reasons were bad, they were well presented. The following I dedicate to him. He always has made me smile. 

The Mess

What is the point? 

It’s a mess in another zone, 

When hanging or laying it won’t be alone. 

If I leave it there. 

Right here on this floor, 

Upon waking tomorrow - it’ll be right by the door. 

I see no good reason, 

To clean up my mess, 

And i’ve no idea why it’s causing such distress. 

It’ll be there tomorrow, 

In the exact same place. 

It’s just my mess Mum and in my living space. 

Mum I am late, 

Is it a written law? 

It's my organised mess, right here on my floor.

Where is my charger?

But it was here yesterday.

Yes Mum I'd know where it was - if I’d tidied it away!

By Helen Stallard

June 23, 2014.

Recycled Me

Good Morning, 

I apologise for not posting for a few days, but things happen and I'm drawn away from my love of poetry. However, like moths to a flame, I return.

Today's poem is a sarcastic look at how some relationships end, because of an affair. We all know that the best relationships are built on the firmest foundations, but sometimes a nudge will bring a building crumbling down around us and I often ponder the thought that to give birth to a new beginning, there has to be death to an old one. 
So I share with you now my reasons for having a much younger husband and the catalyst that made me the happiest woman in the world. Out of the deepest despair come good always. Sometimes we just don't immediately see it. 

Recycled Me

Don’t dismiss me, 

Nor throw away. 

Save me for another day. 

I know I’m useful,

Always ready to go. 

Think of me before you throw.

Recall my purpose,

Re-use my wonder. 

Look at me, stop and ponder. 

Hold me again,

Think on me, 

Really look, what do you see?

You’ll need us.

I wasn’t free. 

I’m purposeful, recycle me. 

I know she’s shiny, 

Looks nearly new, 

But wait... lets try to see it through.

How could you? 

My minds in boggle,

You have yourself a younger model! 

You, your done?

So what about I? 

Maybe I’ll get a younger guy!

Yes I’ll try it, 

How could this be?

Why’d you wait this long to set me free. 

By Helen Stallard

June 19, 2014