Solitary Island

Good Evening, 
I am a little late posting today and yesterday I missed my post as I was ill… Apologies.

Let's see if you can work out what this poem is about. 

Enjoy. 

Solitary Island

One solitary island.

Alone in this vast sea.

Silent ships passing by,

The only friends for me.

Once I was a fertile place,

Of movement, life and sound.

I’m now rocky, dry and barren,

0ther islands they have found.

I miss the playful banter,

Of them dancing in the surf.

Foraging across my beach

And digging in my earth.

Each pebble here upon my shore,

Tells a story of its own,

A saga of love, a testament.

Of occupants now flown.

I whisper every night to them.

Send that message in the waves.

A sleepy message filled with love

To this secret island’s babes.

So I sit here contemplating,

On how things do not last.

I think on them and all they are,

Enjoying memories of the past.

One solitary island.

Alone in this vast sea.

Contemplating… Musing,

On how alive I used to be.

By Helen Stallard

March 31, 2014

Young Blossom

Good Morning All, 

The following free verse poem is written for my daughter Tegyn. A beauty in the making. Too young for grown-up boys, yet too old for toys, she often feels stuck in limbo. As I always said to you at primary school Tegyn, "Make good choices." Life will throw many at you and some will be hard to make. All my love, Mum. x x x

Young Blossom

As I thrive, my crown cascades down. As the willow boughs to touch Mother Earth. 

As I stretch my audience visually consumes me. Mesmerised by my growth and enveloped at the sight of me. 

As I sway, undulating towards the sky, keen eyes must turn from me . 

For I am not of fruit - not yet ripe for the taking. 

I absorb the world around me, firmly routed next to my family. An orchard of such proportions, the fruit it bares will be immense. "A harvest fit for God's table." So whispers my mother.

My siblings rustle about me. The greenest of their shoots protecting me from harshness. 

As I blossom, bees tend me... A Princess who will soon be as fertile, as once was her Queen. Her fertility now gone, but her beauty shines through her wisened bark still. She is so wise through the realities of life.

For now - I am protected from the pollutants of the world. My giant brothers defending my honour. 

Soon though, I will be ripe and must choose. Choose well, with whom I bare my fruits. Where I plants my roots and how I grow my own orchard.

By Helen Stallard
March 29, 2014

The Patient

Good Morning,
As a mainly confessional poet, I often find myself writing about my personal experiences. Today one such experience was brought to the forefront of my mind, by my husband Nick. Earlier I was sitting a little rudderless - No muse or creative flow. So in a vain attempt to find some, I turned to Nick and asked, "Can you think of something I can write a poem about?' He replied, "Your bronchoscopy!" And just like that, I had a challenge, and I do so like a challenge. Now I am aware that this it is not my best poem, but I would like to use this poem as a marker for all. Poetry can be about anything. You don't have to write about loves and pretty things. You shouldn't place your thoughts in the 'to do later basket'. Write because you love it and share it because it is part of you. :)

The Patient

Forcing the tube down my throat. 

I feel the pounding of my heart.

My need to flee is thwarted. 

As that gagging reflex starts. 

On the screen, my innards revealed. 

As the camera searches me.

I feel fear and wonder, but also awe.

As they look and watch and see. 

I am a prisoner trapped and weak.

Held by those who wish me well.

Precision like - they take their cut.

This is now my living hell. 

They coo at me, smooth my brow. 

As a means to keep me calm.

Now panicking and frightened.

They pump more meds into my arm. 

It’s nearly done, but still I view. 

The camera as it seeks. 

The things that grow inside me. 

Those things that make me weak. 

By Helen Stallard

March 28, 2014

Where Once

Hi All, 

Today's posting is about hate. Hate manifests in many forms and can be all consuming. I wrote this earlier today and had every intention of writing about the many frogs in my garden. However, while sat in my garden, my pen and mind had other ideas and 'Where Once' was born. The frogs will have to wait. 

Where Once

Where once was lust, now breeds hate. A monstrous beast of ferocity.

To feel nothing would be an easy escape, but even that you contaminated. 

With false promises you placated, persuaded and perpetuated.

Where once was affection, is now overcome with pestilence and festering 

aversion. Each thought of you blackens my mind and contorts my soul.

Sending my mind to feverish, fittings of repulsion. 

Where once was pride, now lies deflated disappointment. Wrapped in a

disproving bitter, acrid taste... Deposited by disfigured memories of you. 

Once bright and vibrant, now jaded by lies and exaggerations. 

Where once was love, now lays a lock… Keyless. Destroyed by you and 

all that you were all that you are - all that you will be. You made

stepping stones into stumbling blocks. 

By Helen Stallard

March 27, 2014

Filled with Grace

Evening, 

Today is one of my sons birthday and for me it was a time of celebration and reflection. I wrote this poem for my son and hope that one day - when he is old enough, he will understand and it and his importance. All my love R, my special boy. Love Mum… x 

Filled with Grace.

Wide eyes search my face 

This bundle filled with grace 

So wise beyond your years 

For you there are no fears 

Small hands lost in mine

Secret moments lost to time

My grounding gift you came

With all you give - I gain

Were you sent from up above?

As you engulf me in your love

Your smiles that warm my soul

My child, who made me whole.

By Helen Stallard

March 26, 2014

Life Blood

Good Afternoon,
It's raining here in the UK today, but still warm. I stood, all melancholy - tracing the raindrops through the window pain and the urge to touch a droplet came over me. Holding my hand out of the window I caught a droplet. While watching it rolling around my palm, this poem sprang into my mind. Hope you enjoy it.

Life Blood

This clever gem does maximise, intensify things to my eyes.

 That little drop that fell from high, journeying from the bluest sky.

This crystal jewel so perfectly born, with rainbow spectrum in its form. 

Wondrous you are - myself you enmesh, as all around me you refresh.

Enhancing to me the simplest thing, refreshing colours - making them sing.

From my sight you will soon disappear, with nothing to show that you were hear.

Sometimes silent in frozen your form, or roaring on the wings of blackened storms. 

Your fate will be sealed as you disperse and spread your life blood through the earth.

By Helen Stallard

March 25, 2014

Miss Strawberry Blonde

Good Day, 

Hope you are all well and enjoying the poetry thus far?

Today's poem is a free verse and dedicated to someone very special to me… Who helped me discover who I was and am. My love goes out to them. 

Miss Strawberry Blonde

I breathe you in... Inhale you.

My eyes follow your contours

Your scent better than mans. 

Purer than his musky odour.

You flatter my inner senses.

With everything that you are.

Strawberry blonde locks,

Cascade around your breasts.

The flatness of your tummy.

Your delicate flawless skin.

Laid before me to devour.

Directing me, inviting me. 

I follow your inner thighs. 

Advancing to your sounds. 

No words form, but I’m clear. 

Your delectable moans entice.

Writhing; you turn in delight.

Ecstasy readable on your face.

Slim arms wrap me in love.

With it I am whole, now part of you.

By Helen Stallard

March 24, 2014

Adders and Mules

Good Afternoon, 
I missed my posting yesterday as I had family issues that could not be ignored. So apologies and I will post and extra poem tomorrow. 
Todays modern free verse poem is about our current finical climate. Read on and see what you think. :)

Adders and Mules 

There are few things I despise more than lies… Spat from those poisoned minds. 
Minds warped in a mix of greed, coveting, gluttony and degradation.
One will say anything then - to gain and grasp at straws, no matter how short.
Limp offerings of pleasure for the poor. Stretched out in the excuses of mankind. 
A masculine world, run by emasculated rulers. How vile that they devise to tempt you. 
Golden carrots for the mules of the banks. We spend on that with which the tempt us. 
These men of money. Investors of life? 
Tis 'Them' and 'Us!' They, the big thinkers
Wrapped in a thin blanket of doing for others. Charitable offerings to appease and coerce. 
Fat cats getting fatter, with thin cats getting thinner, in this climate of growth?
If not a hissing pit of hungry adders… Then what? 
Tis them and us! They the Adders… Us the Mules.

By Helen Stallard
March 23, 2014

Your Written Word

Good Evening All, 

I know today's posting is a little late, but, better late than never? I have written this as a little basic inspiration for all. Enjoy...

Your Written Word

When fatigue is hounding you, nipping at your heels. 

Heavy eyes from lack of sleep, affecting how you feel.

A need to finish is too great, you compete against yourself.

To give the world your written word and see it on a shelf.

When you’re shot at with rejection, you can bat it to the curb.

You know you work is heart felt, in each passing noun or verb.

You love your words and passion, the simplistic way you write. 

It’s a need you have, like breathing, even when they say it’s trite.

You keep on penning all you words, and love each line you pen.

Because you write not just for you, you also write for them.

By Helen Stallard

March 21, 2014

Parenting Delights

Good Evening All, 

Today's post was written in 2009. At the time I was a busy Mom of 7. I wrote this as a form of self expression. Wanting to articulate how my children's spurts of bickering felt. It isn't easy being put in the middle, when all you want is harmony. So this is for the parents of battling siblings everywhere and my children… Who will inevitably go through the same emotions with their own children. ;)

Parenting Delights

Another question - again and again they come at me. 

More cross words - again and again names rush at me.

Neither rest nor resolve.

Or calm understanding.

No neatness in thought.

Or gentle sweet handling.

Another resolution - again and again they divide me.

More indecision - again and again it multiplies in me.

No Eden in this storm.

Or secret niches to hide.

No surrender in those words.

Or blueness of sky.

Another demand! Again and again they bark to me.

More unrest! Again and again mediation from me.

No peace in this war.

Or limits to this fight.

No rest in this madness.

Or parenting delights.

By Helen Stallard

March 20, 2014

Refections

Hi All,

My poem today is a modern, free verse. I was reflecting on my childhood. Those ours I spent wanting to be big, a grown up and being in control of my own destiny. Problem with driving your own destiny, is that you need to be a great driver who knows all the stops. Sadly we can't learn the stops till we are our own drivers. Oh the irony. So we reflect on our childhood. 

Reflections

Reflections of the one you are. Snatched away, kidnapped! 

Dangled for you as that ‘Cherry’... just out of reach. 

You stretch and twist, contort your body, jump, but you allude - you. 

Away you run with your-elf. Stolen in your memories of what was. 

When it was free to think, to play, to chase, to love and lust. 

As those desires consumed you. That recall of what was? Gone. 

Aloof and more distant than yesterday. Yesteryear's become decades

and so in that struggle to be what was. You have lost who you were.

Important now are not the joys of childhood. The taste of newness 

on your tongue. Away, are the sensational experiences of youth. 

Now are the confines of adulthood and with it the compression of 

responsibility. And so, you seek it. Your past, your infancy, the bosom

of it. Your carefree cocoon, in which you built who you are... grew your 

emotions and developed that desire to be grown. 

How does it feel, this fit of adulthood - too snug? 

By Helen Stallard

March19, 2014

Invisible Frame

Afternoon All, 

I wrote this poem in 2011 while attending an coarse at our local college. I found the building fascinating. This was unusual to me, due to the fact that my love of architecture tends to be of the ancient… Not the new. Finding myself drawn in to the very structure of the building, I placed pen on paper and wrote the following. 

Invisible Frame

I greet you with warmth and sanctuary, but you walk through me like the morning mist. Lighting your way as you fumble about, carelessly gouging, scrapping and bruising me. You don’t see my pain or feel my rejection, but still I protect you.

Though ignorant you are to my being, my existence... Showing no feeling toward me - you disregard my splendour.

I can save you! Guide you like the moon in a storm filled sky. Show the way to safety or alarm you to danger, but still you refuse to look at me; to really see me as I see you.

Filling my wholeness as you pass through me. Like blood pumping through veins. Anonymously I wait... Day after day you return to me, touching me and trusting me. Every second with you, I am filled with your noises and smells and still you ignore me. I'm here with you and yet isolated and lonely in my vastness.

Will you ever look deep into my heart, while you walk my main artery? Sadly, I fear you will never truly feel for me as I feel for you. Watching as you grow and develop through your spaces in time. I wonder… Will my architect be my only admirer?

By Helen Stallard

March 18, 2014

Child Beauty

Good morning all, 

My poem today is my interpretation of child pageants. Please you or offend you... I find them difficult to watch and even harder to understand the desire behind them. So this is may take on child beauty pageants. 

Child Beauty

You sexualise my body, play games with my mind.

Paint me in make-up and show me off to all mankind.

Place me on a platform, like a newly found princess.

Tiara on my tousled locks, while I wear a pretty dress.

Look at me your little girl, presented like I’m grown.

Free me of your desires, as I’m not your little clone. 

You take away my childhood, deprive of my friends.

Lie to me and coerce me, my life it all transcends. 

This will to win is not in me, it only thrives in you. 

My desire to be like you Mom, you really misconstrue.

I wish to run free and wild and just be the child I am.

Not be preened or poked again, this lifestyle is a sham.

This desire you have to dress me up, can only be reviled. 

Just let me be, love me Mom and treat me like your child.

By Helen Stallard

March17, 2014

  

Revealed

Good Afternoon, 
the following was written in October 2010… Has since been edited, but the bare bones are the same. I have gone for a more modern format. See what you think? 

Revealed

Slowly uncurling from a foetal position, 

testing her limbs. Coloured bruises 

upon old, envelope her body; 

patch-worked over her… 

As a caricature of her skinny frame. 

Out here she everyone’s entertainment. 

No hiding her darkened shame 

any-longer. A useless, ugly, 

failing bitch. Wincing,  

agonising this broken heart, 

to rebuild that shattered self-esteem.  

By Helen Stallard

March16, 2014

A Soldiers Banquet

Good Morning, 
The following modern poem, I would like to dedicate to all those serving away from home. I have the pleasure of being pen-pals with a few serving soldiers and one thing is a common denominator, in all of my communications with them… The loss they feel while away and the internal conflict they feel each day while facing unknown dangers. 
I wish to thank them for all they sacrifice to keep us safe in our beds. So, to all have served and are serving away on active duty. I dedicate this to you. Know you are thought of. xxx 

A Soldiers Banquet.

Far away from my touch.

My caress, my essence you toil.

Through dust and extremes.

In the noise and grime with only your will.

In the moments of fear.

Where fools rush in and panic prevails.

Those ones who have your back and trust.

And those foot steps you dread to take.

The letters you cherish, the smell of home.

Nights when you linger in slumber.

Holding on to your memories in the darkness.

Craving the privacy of a normal day.

Token pictures smile down on you.

Before you brave the day you bid them farewell.

The order around that surrounds you, your need.

It keeps you alive and helps you to survive.

While we wait and watch and continue.

The days drag to months and soon to end.

The moment you return and tell.

Of your soldiers banquet.

By Helen Stallard

March 15, 20014