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