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

The Key

Good Morning,
The following poem is small, but one of my favourite pieces. Not only is it very true - it's also wise. I guess some would call it a quote!

My Grandfather Horris, was small in stature, but huge of heart. Wise beyond his years and kinder than the truest of loves. He once told me that the grandest of things, come in the smallest of packages. He was clearly referring to himself and how true his words were. He imparted in me some of the most beautiful thing I have ever known.  This is so true of this free verse poem. which I dedicate to him.


The Key

I can write the words you need to read

I will speak the words you need to hear

I can show you the doors through which
you need to walk

But it is you alone who holds the key to
release you from your chains.


By Helen Stallard
March 27, 2014

One Shared Love

Good Afternoon,
I wrote the following poem for my son in-law in September 2010. He gave my son Adam a new meaning and purpose in life and I felt in the moments before they became a couple, that I might lose him altogether. Luke grounded my son Adam and I penned this for him to explain why. I am indebted to him to this day - for giving my my son back.

One Shared Love

We all need a light... a guide in our lives

Something that's needed for which we will fight

We all need something to take breath away

An essence so precious, we want it to stay

Something so loved it brings you such joy

Like a mothers love for her little boy!

Sometimes that light fades to tarnished grey

You search for the reasons, to a new way

Hating the poison that tainted your ones special love

Searching, hell and heaven for a feathered peace dove

When all seems lost and the grey turns to black

Along comes his hero and carries him back.

With Much: By Helen Stallard

March 25, 2014

The Wood Cutter

Good Evening, 
Today I had the opportunity to do one of the things I love. I observed… I observed in awe; the art of a wood cutter and I was so taken with him and his craft that I sat and wrote. Now I share this with you an hope you enjoy my verbal visioning's. 

The Wood Cutter

Freshly cut wood, tempts me out to see

This gargantuan man dissecting a tree

Blade spinning aptly like knives through butter

A wonderful sight to watch this wood cutter

Plumes of smoke make diesel filled air

Flying wood chips; like sparks from a flare

Pounding and pushing splitting it cracks

Shoulders taught with the weight of that axe

Shattering wood with the strength of his back

He bests the wood while avoiding the sap

Muscles flex as he swings at the pine

His stares intense as he follows the line

Singularly he ploughs onwards in his task

Only ever pausing to sip from his flask

Jaw clenched as sweat soaks his brow

Swinging onward through branch and bough

This chiseled man so rugged and grand

At one with himself in this wooded land.

By Helen Stallard

March 23, 2014

The Manager

Good Evening, 
Today's poem is an alternative look at a job held by millions. 

The Manager

Singular in your doing of all

Elated as your enemies fall

Relentless in your perfectionist pursuit

Endearing as you wrestle the brute

Grounding as you strive for more

Exhausted as you view the floor

Demanding as you take your stand

Revolted by a helping hand

Critical as you view your crew

Dismissive as you build anew

Creative as you give another

Formidable you… these children’s mother 

By Helen Stallard

March 22, 2014

Empty Beach

Good Evening, 

The following poem is about a childhood haunt of mine. I adored it there and still travel there with buy own children today. Every visit brings a new adventure and loving memory. 

Empty Beach

The sheer cliff edge crests out before me,

To down below, where the land meets the sea.

Wrinkling sands fluting this beach,

Kissing fallen rocks, wherever they meet.

Deep, cool rock pools hold the tiniest of lives,

And offer these lives secret places to hide.

Niches, crevices, pebbles - all places to dwell,

For odd little creatures; some huddled in shells.

High in the cliffs, lay gaping mouths of caves,

 Dryly they wait to be licked by fresh waves.

Splashing springs turn to clear water falls,

Tracking to the sea, down hard, granite walls.

Screaming above, the caw of common gulls,

Their sharp, shrill cries penetrating my skull.

Those aerial acrobatics as they take flight,

For a tasty morsel, over which they now fight.

Tasting the sea salt from my grinning lips,

Smelling the sea spray, as I count distant ships.

I’m burying my toes deep in the sand,

As I admire my place, in this alien land.

By Helen Stallard

March 21, 2014