Inert

Good Evening, 
Today's poem is both observational and confessional. The very nature of the poem led me to omit any punctuation. For me it adds to the flow of the stanza. 
There are many things a woman will do in a day. Often to the detriment of her own health. Does that make her a martyr or misguided? I often ponder this thought and as such this poem bloomed in my mind and I dedicate it to all the mothers out there… keep giving. :)

Inert

A wave of tiredness covers her skin

A yawning ache rising deep from within

A darkened eye blinks back sleeps onset

A dream arrives so the dreamer forgets

A stolen moment where chaos now reins

A frozen pause while blood surges in veins

A granule taken from the sands of time

A mark in that sand as she falls at her line

A calmness envelopes a face hiding woe

A peaceful existence in a life to and fro

A beckoning slumber at sleeps sweet door

A second before she is woken once more

By Helen Stallard

May 31, 2014

Precious Little Bundle

Good Evening, 
You may have picked up from my Twitter feed that I have recently become a Grand-Mum again :) 
This is why I have been absent from The Poetry Bank. I was there when my little precious came into this world and I wrote the following poem to honour it. 

Precious Little Bundle

A unique little life, at what point did it start 

When did it begin, the beating of her heart?

Dark minute lashes frame the bluest eyes,

As pink bow like lips shape her little sighs.

Her trust in me implicit, in my cradled arms,

Protected within them, safe from any harm.

Resting now - after her long entry to this world.

My precious angelic bundle, Grand-Mums little girl.

By Helen Stallard

May 30, 2014

You and Me

Hello and Welcome, 
It is no secret that I have a homosexual son, of whom I am extremely proud… it is also no secret, (as my poetry portrays) that I am alternative. So I wrote today's poem with that in mind. I don't give two hoots who you are, how much you earn, what colour you are, where you came from, who you choose to love or hate. If you are nice to me then it will be reciprocated. No need to throw stones, at others, when you too live in a glass house. I have lived in one for years ;) 


You and Me

What makes me 'ME and makes you 'YOU',
The way we are or the things that we do?

From Times beginning - to it's very end,
It's seemed like us, me or you, verses them!

Tribe upon tribe over land they'd fight, 
Making them wrong or making them right?

When is one human so above the others?
Who decides if we're sisters or bothers?

United we stand and divided we'll fall, 
Now fight for equality, stand true and tall. 

There will always be some to oppress one of 'US'.
If "WE' are different then they'll make a fuss.

From our race, sex or preference, they will suppress,
There will always be morons who choose to protest.

So lets be united and in one voice shout aloud,
'WE' are all different and that makes us proud.

By Helen Stallard
March 23, 2014

Volume-less

Good Evening, 
My poem today is how I see my poetical works when I am past.  

Volume-less

Hanging on to all that is.

Grasping at reality,

But by a thread. 

Taking stock of nothing.

Volume-less!

No shadows to chase.

I cast non now. 

Beyond where I stagnate.

No memory for me,

Fleeting nothings in time.

No ripples cast,

Motionless.

Generations from recognition.

Centuries of centuries... 

My written word; defining me.

What I was?

Who I am?

The people's voice.

I am of the wind,

But a whisper now read.

My own memory. 

By Helen Stallard

March 22, 2014

Blindly Subjective

Good Evening, 
My second poem of the day! I have been angered into writing this and I hope and as a confessional poet, I have struggled with this poem and the feelings it has invoked from deep within. Sometimes what one feels may be good news... is not necessarily news at all. 

Blindly Subjective

How did it feel when you twisted that knife,

Are you that informed on me and my life? 

Were you there when my tears flowed? 

Now you share what you think you know!

Politely delivered as one sister to another,

Like you know - cause you too are a mother. 

Look in the mirror before casting that stone,

As you enlighten me on my life and my home.

Look at you and your life with your sons,

Before informing me and what mine has done.

How do you know what mine really feels,

As you sit at your key pad; making me reel.

One passing visit and your that informed,

Of my relationships all tattered and torn?

My message to you as I sit at my keys,

Is back off... cause you don’t really know me. 

By Helen Stallard

March 21, 2014

I Resent You

Good Morning, 
The following poem is not to be misunderstood. I am not a feminist spouting hate. Here I am showing jealousy at the things I feel my man has much easier than I. Within that feeling of jealousy I have also felt resentment. Not because he has all of the following, but because not matter how hard I try… I cannot. Simply because I am woman and he is man.

I Resent You

Your freedom and soundness of mind

That supportiveness within your kind

Whoosh... passing humour lost on me 

The endless hours where you are free

Pleasures you find cupped in your hand

Your ego when you make a stand

How easily you fall to sleep

Your temper that you always keep

The ease with which you forget

That way you never show regret

The way you just don’t give a damn

As I am woman and you are man. 

By Helen Stallard

March 21, 2014

But An Echo

Good Afternoon All, 

The following poem I wrote this afternoon and while doing so someone who I have never met sprang into my mind. We have conversed, but never had the pleasure of meeting. 

My mind takes me places I have no idea where until the journey begins. I know this Echo well and hope you can relate.

But An Echo

My voice is but an echo, this sound that did begin.

A silent voice that wants to scream,

From deep beneath cold skin. 

My voice is but an echo, that someone has to hear.

Sent out on stormy Northern Winds,

That is seeking for an ear.

My voice is but and echo, no one knows where it will fall.

A heart filled voice is searching,

Who will answer her echoed call. 

By Helen Stallard

March 20, 2014

Baby Bear

Good Evening Intrepid Poetry Readers, 
This evenings post is for my son Jacob. In the later part of his teenage years, he feels no need for a mothers love, but it is still there and growing. I wanted him to know that and decided to write these words for him. All my love Momma x 

Baby Bear

Do you remember me? I was there!

I kissed your face, stroked your hair.

I picked you up each time you fell.

Taught you how to read and spell.

I healed your wounds, felt your pain.

Stood for hours in pouring rain.

Faced your bullies, drove them out.

Reassured you when filled with doubt.

Look at you now all grown and strong.

But I miss your hugs, it’s been so long.

Please know that I am always there. 

Your Momma who will always care. 

You are far away, but still in my heart. 

I’ll be there in the end - as I was at the start.

By Helen Stallard

March 19, 2014

Noble Man

Good Afternoon, 
Today's post is very simple and direct. Needs no introduction and explains my gratitude. 

Noble Man

My mind you fill, these thoughts you haunt.

Of endless lust, as your words you flaunt.

You placed flowers on my burnt out heart,

In these soulful verses that you impart.

I take solace as you champion me,

Taking the lead that set me free.

I bow to you my noble man,

You freed me before I ran.

By Helen Stallard

March 18, 2014

Words

Good Morning, 
I woke the morning with this poem dancing in my mind. 

Words

I need to share my written word

Shout them out, have them heard

Spread them all about this globe

Hear them whispered, have them told

Words they mean so much to me

They give my mind such clarity

So in my mind with words I play

Scribing them to make them stay.

By Helen Stallard

May 17, 2014

Alone Again

Good Evening, 
It's late here and my mind wandered to poetry and the following flowed out of my heart and onto the key board. 

Alone Again

Alone again!

No company for me.

Alone again!

I sit silently.

Alone again!

No noise I make.

Alone again!

As I foolishly wait.

Alone again!

But for my beating heart

Alone again!

With no passion to start.

Alone again!

While little ones rest.

Alone again!

I’m passing my best.

Alone again!

Is what’s left for me?

Alone again!

I'll set myself free.

Alone again!

I sit and I type.

Alone again!

As I plan to take flight.

Alive again!

For my freedom I fight. 

Awake again!

No longer alone.

Free again!

My confidence grown.

By Helen Stallard

March 13, 2014

Furthest Horizon

Hi All, 

'Furthest Horizon' is one of my most personal poems. Life is not always easy and unfortunately relationships do not always evolve as we would like. 

Furthest Horizon

High up on your mountain top I climbed,

To look far beyond, to the view behind.

On distance pasts where love was drown,

Where bitter regrets and hurt's now found.

Upon furthest horizon to where I learned.

Those empty loves were never earned!

They drift like smoke up on the breeze,

Bringing mere mortals to their knees.

They don’t give… their owners take,

From those they cheat and hurt and break.

So in fevered rage the venom comes,

Like acid - from once velvet tongue.

And all this I saw beyond my past,

Those fateful choices... my future cast.

So I turned to you my mountain strong.

You heard this past, my sorrowful song.

As my solid rock in stormy sea,

You held me fast, you steadied me.

But while I cast my eyes back there.

I was left too vulnerable, open and bare.

Now time has moved and so I view,

My life as it begins anew.

But stumbling blocks have staggered me,

On this high mountain where I see.

By Helen Stallard

March 13, 2014

Comfort Found

Good Morning, 

I woke and wrote the following poem this morning. As it suggests I spent my early hours with my son who had had a nightmare. It made me think how much courage kids show in those moments while leaving the safety of their beds, too the safety of their parents bed. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed my cuddles. 

Comfort Found

Tiny heart pounds through the dim,

Goosebumps scatter cold, wet skin.

Sheer fear grips his very soul.

Stalks toward his inviting goal.

Cold feet seek that warmer skin,

Searching for that heat within.

His racing pulse begins to calm,

While nestled in his mothers arms.

His courage now knows no bounds.

In the softest comfort he has found.

By Helen Stallard

March 11, 2014

Objectify Me

Good Day, 

I feel this poem is self explanatory, but I'll add the following words anyway. Everyone is unique and individual. What one person feels is ugly or odd, another can find beautiful or intoxicating. No judgement here, hence the following poem :-)

Objectify Me

In the way I walk or how I talk.

Looks and glances, passed by chances.

In my dark brown eyes or rounded thighs.

My gasps of breath or ample chest.

My suggestive talk or stealth like walk. 

These open lips and swinging hips. 

Long flowing hair and hardened stare.

Words so curt and how they hurt.

Lashes fluttered, wicked words muttered.

Warm olive skin... the way I sin.

This open mind or how I dine.

My sexual taste and blinded haste.

My fighting stance to the way I dance.

From words uncouth, to the bitter truth.

My stinging whips or teasing nips!

My stockinged foot and teasing look.

For all the wrongs in me you see, 

There's one who'll want to objectify me.

By Helen Stallard

March 8, 2014 

Hidden Frown

Good Afternoon, 

Sometimes we paint on a smile, be that literally or metaphorically! Today's poem reflects how we feel when we are crumbling on the inside, but showing that smile on the outside. No one is infallible!

Hidden Frown

When all around seem so alive!

In happiness for which they strive. 

Smiles and laughter through their day,

But inside I feel such a different way.

Between the lines through which I write.

My life is a very different sight.

Not love and flowers and angel wings,

But chaos, panic and bitter things.

Where people see a different me.

Joyfulness is all they all see.

But deep within, all locked away,

I hide my frown day after day.

A sadness of the looking glass.

Where I reflect on happenings past.

That darkest shadow of my yesterdays,

Hides my frown, that's where it stays.

By Helen Stallard

March 7, 2014.

Scarlet Moth

Good Evening, 
Today's post is a in honour of all working girls and the pain that they put themselves through.  A small window into a darkened world and the length some mothers will go to to provide for the ones they love. It's a start reminder to never judge a book by it's cover. 

Scarlet Moth

Collar turned up to repel bitter cold,

Strutting her stuff like she’s feeling bold.

The curve of her leg in line with her back,

Her regular punters know she’s no slack. 

So she flaunts her wears in some flimsy cloth,

At street light gatherings, like moon sick moths.

Such biting cold she must rebuke,

Flaunting herself to a man in a suit.

She knows his type as he drives on by,

Another twisted perv who thinks he’s fly!

She can’t turn him down as he’ll pay well,

But she knows his preference hurts like hell.

One hour later she back on the game,

For sex starved men who want more of the same.

Some want to save her, others to abuse,

It’s her who’s the taker, these men she will use. 

Such a pretty young angel back in her day,

Or so they said, before they pushed her away.

Her perfect Mum and hard working Dad,

But what grew inside her made them so mad.

Kicked to the streets without any thought,

No second guessing to the danger that brought.

Now look at their Princess selling her wares,

For the child she now nurtures and for who she cares.

Nights will get colder, it’s the wet that’s the worst,

In those hours it's when she feels she is cursed.

Cold to the bone and soaked to the skin,

With blanked out eyes before they begin.

She knows that the predators will be out rain.

Inviting you in to inflict so much pain.

The beatings, the rapes, the disgust that she feels.

As another trick finishes with a satisfied squeal.

She saves every penny she’s not got to spend.

To her it’s a means to a her fairy tale end.

For her and her baby a place of their own,

Where she can feel safe when standing alone. 

By Helen Stallard

March 5, 2014

Information Station

Good Afternoon, 

I wrote the following poem for my youngest son Jj. He is such a curious child and I tease him so much, but he takes it in good fun. 

For you Jj. Love Mummy x 

Information Station

I’m an information station! You just ask my kids.

I can answer any question, I can open any lid.

I can tell you...

Why reading books can be such fun

and what you get with 1 plus 1. 

Why clouds are white and the sky is blue

and what you get with 2 plus 2.

Why everyone should plant a tree

and what you get with 3 plus 3.

Why we never put fingers in doors

and what you get with 4 plus 4.

Why bees live in a white bee-hives

and what you get with 5 plus 5.

Why sweets and pop do not mix

and what you get with 6 plus 6.

Why good people get to live heaven

and what you get with 7 plus 7.

Why sometimes Daddies are a little late

and what you get with 8 plus 8.

Why people have to stand in line

and what you get with 9 plus 9.

Why tomorrow we all begin again

and what you get with 10 plus 10.

I even know how to tie a shoe

and why sheep bah and cows moo.

Why eating well’s good for your heart

and that practising more will make smart.

That being a Mum is a great vocation

and I’m the comfiest information station.

By Helen Stallard

March 5, 2014

Betrayal

Hi All, 

Not been around for a few days as had some family things to deal with. 

My following offering is a poem about the betrayal of friendship. Something I am sure most will empathise with. Good friends are like gold dust. Rare and precious. 

Betrayal

You feel the hurt so deep inside.

Embarrassed you just wanting to hide.

The betrayal you feel can’t compare,

To this alien emotion thats so rare

Such trust you placed upon this friend,

Never foreseeing so bitter an end?

So twisted, their lies came pouring out

Like liquid from a gushing spout.

Guilt befalls you and so begins

The self-analysis of all your sins,

What you said, where you went wrong.

Should you have sung a different song?

The consumption of your reasoned mind

Leave you rationalizing what you’ll find,

Inside this person you grew to know

And thoughts now of a quid pro quo.

Your words so twisted, misconstrued

From one whose intention was so skewed.

You must back away from this vicious devil

Don’t stoop down to their lower level.

By Helen Stallard

March 4, 2014