Poetry is my therapy

Sunday is a day I should dress formally.  The rest of the week is casual.  This white collar round my neck, With the book of forgiveness.  Confused farmers work on allotments. The caravan of the middle-class  are shopping.  With the cut of a razor, The forgotten dead flowers on a gravestone. We all eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. The sound of gunfire in Downtown New York; The clubs are buzzing -  The disco floor of sexy feet and knickers.  The broken glass, chips and kebabs At the taxi rank.  All is forgotten as we sit at the cocktail bar At the swimming pool.  Sweet lovers in a park on a Sunday afternoon.  The bell rings for Mass.  Where will you be when the Vicar says his sermon?

Oh set me free from this internal insanity! SOS - rescue me from this lighthouse of pornography! As the school lockers slam, Chitter-chatter in the girls’ toilets, The corridors of pitter-patter.  A bag of books weighs me down; I chew my gum.  A playground of chavs - All the same, so perfect; But I’m Morticia -I never eat much; I’m lost, nervous and silent.  Where’s my Prince to rescue me? He was so cute and charming.  As I look at my pregnancy test In the bathroom.  What will I tell my Mum? A single Mum.  I’m a young girl with a 3-in-1 buggy; Society of the UK. The Poundland Wonderbra With Primark, Matalan and Tesco accessories - I shop in Aldi. All with your iPhones;  The Copycat Generation.

The day the bubble burst A breeze awoke the trees like magic.  Clouds danced - a summer madness. All but a whisper, midnight in a bathroom Lights flicker. A glass crashes to the floor. Footsteps of a stranger... I shout, “Is anyone there?” As if there would be an answer.  I creep down the stairs, naked.  And flick the light on  A man in a balaclava with a 12-inch blade in his hand.  I stare into his eyes as he pushes me to the floor.  Rape, rape, rape.  No words said; just get it over with.  It feels like forever.  He leaves; I curl up into a ball and cry. I want my mother.  I pick up the phone and call the police.  I feel dirty, as I scrub and wash  To get rid of the memory.  My life will never be the same again.  Forever scared of men, How will I sleep at night? The sentence is mine For being a woman.

I walk the beach alone Just a shadow, looking for love.  The sea races back and forth; Dry and salty lips.  The sand is cooling, The breeze is tantalising  As I wander in search of ‘The One’.  We have the gift And the gift to make a baby.  So reliant for everything - Unconditional love. Their smile with such joy.  An inquisitive, innocent person;  They ask the most amazing questions.  Our souls as one mother and father  On a perfect summer’s day.  Sunlight dances as a mirage.  The perfume of the pine trees.  The sun is mesmerising. A picnic of champagne and strawberries  As we sit and lay naked.  We stare into each other’s eyes, Hands caressing each other’s skin.  The intimacy of love.  You feel every inch of me.  Our hearts race, Sweat runs down my face As we bite lips, An earthquake erupts.  A heavenly sensation of lust and passion....

There is a place of hope On a forgotten battlefield.  The young draw their knives; Slash, cut of blood In a gang feud.  As we cuddle our children  A black bag lies - A meaningless gift of life On a sidewalk of graffiti.  No menace, no tears An arrow with a stare.  The feud is pointless. A shriek wipes the drum beat; A hum.  The black raven crows, The chapel bell chimes; The Grim Reaper knocks as we sleep. Death demands my eyes.  The judge says “Guilty” For I sin; even Satan fears me.  “I shall use you as I please  Down on your knees, whore! Worship my feet, I am the beast. You shall eat me for dinner.  I am the Master! Hate, hate, hate me! The pain.... Hurt me, bitch!” As I bite and scratch  I pull your hair; With fire I lust for the orgy; This meat on a plate.  The snake spits; Your fury is my wrath!  I lie, this debt is mine Of adultery.  I a...

The heat!  I can fry an egg on a path in Turkey  On an August morning.  The warmth of a fire on a cold, bleak day; The feeling as I soak up Vitamin D.  The memory of the bath is soothing.  With a weeping willow all is joy.  I remember the colour of the everlasting sand.  On my finger a snowflake crystallises, Particles of mass shine down upon me.  A dry fire of ash.  Now life begins -  A path of ice is a faultless cover on a pond.  A Polar Bear wanders in starvation.  With a spring in my step I ride the globe of life.

Give me a Hand A point with hairs  It’s rough and smooth But hard within.  A microchip skin overlapping.  It’s cold but warm with feeling.  A fitted glove  It’s amazing with its multiplications Five, ten, calculating digits.  A gripping device, A kaleidoscope of colours; Pink, black, brown, blue spots Dotted here and there.  Taken for granted, Stretching like elastic -  A safety device With a knuckle-duster - A fist of anger! I recoil - a lifting tool. Time to say “Hello, It’s nice to meet you,” To the other pinky on my hand.  A bionic machine of instant responses,  A golden circle of promises and love.  I point to the sky as I grip the steering wheel And accidentally slit my skin Fashioning a cut.  Deeply I hurt with a plaster.  A means of signing for the deaf  And a touch for the blind.  Tom Thumb rests by my side  With fingers cr...