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