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