Simple Sorry

Hello Again, 
My second post of the day. This simple poem is written to empathise with those we have hurt. Sorry, is often spoken to late. It is even worse when it is said too often. To those I have hurt. This one is for you. 

Simple Sorry

There is a point at which we reside, 

Of painful mistakes we wish to hide. 

Knowing that we caused such pain, 

A reason to hang our heads in shame. 

Decisions made in haste or speed, 

In warnings that we did not heed. 

Leads us all to saddened worry, 

When all that’s left is a simple sorry. 

By Helen Stallard

June 27, 2014. 

Changes

Good Evening, 

I wrote this poem for my Mum… life is a stage upon which we all play our parts. What we see is always a shadow of what we have been. 

Changes

A distant memory of the person I see, 

In this image reflected back to me. 

This carefree person once full of fun, 

Who laughed enough for everyone.

A shock of hair - now peppered grey,

Proof of age and younger days. 

That familiarity there in my eyes, 

In a vision of me in wrinkled disguise.

I look beyond this membrane of age,

At the life I lived on a constant stage. 

Beyond this mature vision I observe,

Liking what I see as it’s what I deserve.

By Helen Stallard

June 27, 2014

Judged

Hello Again Today, 
My second poem of today. I am trying hard to play catch up. :)

We all make judgements on others. It is human nature. However, what we choose to do with those judgements is vital. Some of us make extreme judgements and that is unhealthy. Being a person of extremes I get judged often… then as we all do, they get to know the real me and have to recant those initial thoughts. 
The following is a poem a wrote some time ago. I was judged very harshly by someone, who turned out to be a stalker. It was very hard to understand their reasoning, but it was unhealthy and there was continuous comparison from themselves to me.  This poem was born from that and I now share it with you. 

Judged

Am I different to you? 

So intent on being me. 

I notice you spying, 

Observing what you see. 

Your judgement is futile, 

I still belong to myself. 

Your criticism gives me life, 

While you sit upon your shelf. 

Your thoughts manifest,

What you think in your mind.

Not the person that I am,

Nor the person that you’d find.

Am I your waking thought, 

The vision in your dreams?  

Is it my image in your head, 

My name that you scream? 

So what makes me different?

Such an opposite to you!

Because I am happy ?

This person that you view. 

I'm comfortable on the outside.

I’ve a perfect fitting skin.

Don’t you like who I am? 

Cause I’m contented from within.

By Helen Stallard

June 24, 2014. 

The Mess

Good Morning All, 

The following poem has only one purpose and that's to make parents smile. Only we could know how frustrating a teenager is to raise… justifying everything badly. My Son Josh was the best at reasoning, even when his reasons were bad, they were well presented. The following I dedicate to him. He always has made me smile. 

The Mess

What is the point? 

It’s a mess in another zone, 

When hanging or laying it won’t be alone. 

If I leave it there. 

Right here on this floor, 

Upon waking tomorrow - it’ll be right by the door. 

I see no good reason, 

To clean up my mess, 

And i’ve no idea why it’s causing such distress. 

It’ll be there tomorrow, 

In the exact same place. 

It’s just my mess Mum and in my living space. 

Mum I am late, 

Is it a written law? 

It's my organised mess, right here on my floor.

Where is my charger?

But it was here yesterday.

Yes Mum I'd know where it was - if I’d tidied it away!

By Helen Stallard

June 23, 2014.

Recycled Me

Good Morning, 

I apologise for not posting for a few days, but things happen and I'm drawn away from my love of poetry. However, like moths to a flame, I return.

Today's poem is a sarcastic look at how some relationships end, because of an affair. We all know that the best relationships are built on the firmest foundations, but sometimes a nudge will bring a building crumbling down around us and I often ponder the thought that to give birth to a new beginning, there has to be death to an old one. 
So I share with you now my reasons for having a much younger husband and the catalyst that made me the happiest woman in the world. Out of the deepest despair come good always. Sometimes we just don't immediately see it. 

Recycled Me

Don’t dismiss me, 

Nor throw away. 

Save me for another day. 

I know I’m useful,

Always ready to go. 

Think of me before you throw.

Recall my purpose,

Re-use my wonder. 

Look at me, stop and ponder. 

Hold me again,

Think on me, 

Really look, what do you see?

You’ll need us.

I wasn’t free. 

I’m purposeful, recycle me. 

I know she’s shiny, 

Looks nearly new, 

But wait... lets try to see it through.

How could you? 

My minds in boggle,

You have yourself a younger model! 

You, your done?

So what about I? 

Maybe I’ll get a younger guy!

Yes I’ll try it, 

How could this be?

Why’d you wait this long to set me free. 

By Helen Stallard

June 19, 2014

What You Are

Good Afternoon,

There are few things that rile me, but falseness is one. With that in mind I wrote this poem for my daughter. As a beacon to turn to, when she feels persuaded to be something other than who she truly is. Not an easy path to walk in this consumerist, advertising soup we have to wade through. Giving our children the tools they need to be real and free. Are the best gives ever. 

What You Are

From the moment of conception, 

You will be what you are. 

From one decision to another, 

You’re wanting to want to go far.

There can be no bold denial, 

Of where you have been. 

In reflections of your persona, 

You reflect you to be seen. 

When you walk lingering paths, 

Of places not to ponder. 

It is our natural human nature, 

To want to linger longer.

Walk with your head held high, 

while reaching for that sky. 

Be what you were meant to be,

A real person that is free.

By Helen Stallard

June 15, 2014

Wise Words

Good Evening,
My second post of today. I wrote this for my Grandfather. He was a man that didn't interact with me much as a child, but when he did say something it was often important. He taught my father many things and carpentry was one of them. I asked him once how he taught my Dad and how he made such beautiful things from wood. He just answered with a simple; " I told him and I listened." So I dedicate this poem to him. The man who learned by listening and taught by speaking.



Wise Words

Each single line a vein of life.
A telling tale of love and strife.
One map of life for all to see.
Of this wise man who studies me.

One line reflects his deepest loss
Of a love that shall not be begot.
A perfect love so pure of heart
Such devotion from the very start.

Another line exposes his sin,
One that's buried deep within
A life he took for country and king
An early death that he did bring.

The deepest line is how he lived.
This ancient man and how he gives
Even now with crippled limb
He tells of stories wrapped in him.

An eventful life in which he learned,
And fought, loved, lost and earned.
The best life lesson he says, "I heard."
Was the lesson of spoken word.

By Helen Stallard
June 14, 2014