To What End – Elen Hughes

a shadow of a memory

To What End

Chop me up and share out the pieces

My flesh is the giver of life;

it was selfish of me to cling to it for all these years.

Of what remains

Burn it. Bury it. Chuck it in the bin.

Leave it to waste and

Remain

only so long as time

In a form

of sorts.

And all the rest means more

(or less?)

To whom it may concern

To whom it may provide

a shadow of a memory,

a ripple of what once was,

a comfort in the remembrance of fondness.

A sham.

The next is not to be dealt with

Or dished out or examined.

It is to be

pure and unfiltered in its falsehood,

naturally poisoned and distorted,

in that way –

Time’s specialty.

Hovering in your mind, interrupting your stories,

somehow more prominent now

Skirting at the edges of your vision,

Buzzing at the window,

not quite me

more than I am

(or less?)

Until

you

too

Elen Hughes

Did you enjoy this poem? Why not visit Maggie’s website at: Maggie’s Centre Nottingham to find out more about their exceptional work and/or make a donation. Do you have a poem you would like to submit to Voices? Feel free to do so by email at: voicespoetry@outlook.com or via the ‘Contact’ page on this site.

Neuroplasticity – Amy Ndubeze

The trees snake their roots around your waist

Neuroplasticity

Instead of of rose-tinted glasses, you had them swapped out for a thin permanent film

I’m not sure when you got it fitted

But I know no child should excuse what you excused

Cheeks stinging and you whisper

I love you, I love you

Nose bloody

Forgive me, forgive me

The trees snake their roots around your waist

Keeping you stable

(keeping you from running)

Snake their way into your brain, and you rot, as expected

Decaying wood used to keep the fire going

Flames become you, for being alight is the only life you know

If dulled out who are you?

What is a life without pain?

Pain is a mother and she nurtures you

Pain is a sister who playfully belittles you

Pain is a father who gaslights you

So of course it was always your fault

Neuroplasticity

A neat word you learnt in class that made you realize that no matter how many tablets you take

No matter how many therapists you see

It will always be you

The feral child will bark until she dies

And so shall you

Amy Ndubeze

A River’s Journey – Savannah Williston

waves like splashing lava

A special thanks to Savannah who has submitted an excellent poem about a very magical river journey. Savannah’s poem is so good that it is now proudly displayed in the ‘Hall of Fame’ in her school. We are sure you will enjoy reading this as much as we did – Savannah is a very imaginative and talented writer.

A River’s Journey

One cold and wet day I saw a river passing my way.
It had waves like splashing lava but I started to think I’d rather…..

–
Be floating on that river in a golden boat,
and then start to think to play a note.

–
The river would be floating in the breeze,
as I start to pass many trees.

–
Suddenly I go into the dark part of the jungle and then I hear something starting to rumble.

–
Out of the jungle comes a big hippo,
As he jumps into the water like a speeding limo.

–
He splashes me with the water, maybe about a quarter.
When the hippo went away the river was nice and calm, nothing to be near me, nothing to harm.

–
When I open my eyes again I am back in my bedroom still gazing out at the sleeping city. I also think I can see my golden boat saying goodbye now.

–
Just as I’m about to go to sleep I can see the river splitting out into the ocean,
And my golden boat with it too…..

Savannah, aged 8

Did you enjoy this poem? Why not visit Maggie’s website at: Maggie’s Centre Nottingham to find out more about their exceptional work and/or make a donation. Do you have a poem you would like to submit to Voices? Feel free to do so by email at: voicespoetry@outlook.com or via the ‘Contact’ page on this site.

Preposterous Abrasion of Classic Humour – Indiana Bolton

Descend into the madness

Indiana Bolton is a 14 year old poet who lives in London and finds much ‘solace and enjoyment’ in writing poetry. Thank you Indiana for your entry and support!

Preposterous abrasion of classic humour

Humour is as thick as dickens novels context

And complex as a circadian rhythm.

–

But its random acts upon our eyes is troubling

To the mind,

as its daft and shallow which on attempt on jumping

Can break the brains sturdy legs.

–

As speed is not key nor is presentation but the depth is dangerous and must

Be filled by the masses of the crippled minds and dare-devils

Looking for simplicity.

–

I warn the explorer of these misleading shallow waters, come the bank

And let the water absorb you.

As certain few understand that to become famous the

Simple trick to survive a humorous depth is to descend into the madness before you take a swim.

Indiana Bolton, London

Resurrection – Samantha Robertson

I’m one with the sounds

Many thanks to Samantha Robertson for her rousing poem. We really appreciate her decision to support the project.

Resurrection

Rhythms shake my ennui;

allowing a ripple of existence to emerge

from within.

I dance to the Bossa Nova;

embrace the music

until I’m one with the sounds

emanating from the drums.

I’ve been woken from my slumber –

dragged out of the depths of depression

by the sound of song.

Freed to express

the joie de vivre that exists in me –

once hidden, buried deep.

Samantha Robertson

Acquiesce – Anne Victoria Westwood

Life’s tides envelope me and try to drown

Anne Victoria Westwood is a primary school teacher who lives in Derbyshire. In her spare time, she enjoys penning verse, and we really appreciate her decision to share ‘Acquiesce’ with us. Thank you Anne.

Acquiesce

I am cast adrift but still afloat,
just hanging alone, low remote.
Life’s tides envelope me and try to drown,
but I’m still head up when I’m down.
For in the sky I see a sun,
one day when all of this is done.
I’ll be back on dry land for all to see,
but will it be the real me?
Could, should, would have to be.

Anne Victoria Westwood, 43, Derbyshire

Pink or Blue? – Katie Bagg

That was the first time you’d been put in a box, but it wouldn’t be the last

Many thanks to Katie Bagg for a very thoughtful and topical entry to Voices. Katie is very passionate about poetry and ‘Pink or Blue?’ focuses on the struggles of a transgender man.

Pink or Blue?

“Pink or blue?” Your parents asked

“Pink” he replied

That was the first time you’d been put in a box, but it wouldn’t be the last

A pink home, with pink walls and pink floors,

Pink clothes and pink shoes, a pink bed you did not choose,

pink food and pink drink, a pink bath and pink sink

A pink life, a pink world, a pink baby – maybe?

A pink school, with pink friends and pink teachers,

Pink uniform and pink hair, a pink chair – that didn’t seem fair,

Pink toilets and pink toys, a pink playground full of pink noise

A pink life, a pink world, a pink child – maybe?

A pink textbook, with pink words and pink pictures,

Blue brain and blue imagination, a blue head full of frustration

Green friends and green hair, a pink world that started to stare

A pink life, a pink world, a blue teenager – maybe?

Pink words from a pink parent leave pink scars on a blue heart

A blue wish from a blue body goes unnoticed in this pink world

Forced time and time again into pink boxes:

College applications – pink

Drivers license – pink

Social media accounts – pink

Email – pink

But, blue boxes were just waiting to be filled,

And a blue life was just waiting to begin.

A blue world – ready for you to embrace it.

Pink or blue?

Blue.

Katie Bagg, 16

Lovebirds – Chris Hughes

When our eyes meet The lovebirds tweet

lovebirds

Many thanks to Chris Hughes from Shropshire for his entry to Voices. Chris is very passionate about poetry and has been writing for a number of years now.

Lovebirds

Your hand grips mine
Our minds intertwine
Two hearts beat as one.
When our eyes meet
The lovebirds tweet
Their tune plays on and on.
Initials etched in trees
You brought me to my knees
You span my head around.
For better, for worse
I can’t wait to traverse
My life turned upside down.
A love without fear
My feelings are clear
They’re written all over my face.
Our future together
We’ll be spending forever
Clinched in loves sweet embrace.

Chris Hughes, 36, Shropshire

Becoming – Amanda Steel

And now I’m changing From the little girl you knew

Becoming

Amanda Steel is the author of the poetry collection “Pieces of Me” and several novels. She is also the editor of Printed Words and co-host of the podcast “Reading in Bed”. Her website is www.amandasteelwriter.com We really appreciate Amanda’s support.

Becoming

I was still talking

Even though I had paused

And had more I wanted to say

I only blinked and missed

What you wanted to say

Now you’re missing it all

I haven’t turned out yet

I’ve still got a way to go

I was still talking

There was more to say

Even though I had paused

And now you won’t get to see

But I hope that you know

I hope you hear now

So that when we meet again

I won’t be a stranger to you

I was still talking

And now I’m changing

From the little girl you knew

I don’t know what I’ll become

But I’ve plenty more to share

And I can’t be who I was

I’m still turning out

Into whatever I’ll come

Amanda Steel

The Earth 01.02.19 – Emily Johnson

like a seed waiting to germinate and bloom in glorious agony

Earth

Emily Johnson is a 15 year old writer from Edinburgh who loves creating poetry. We really appreciate her decision to participate in the Voices project. Thank you Emily.

the earth

01.02.19

It is

dormant,

waiting

my skin shows promise to freeze,

And crack. Break.

eminates from me

like a seed waiting to germinate and bloom in glorious agony

inside

it is buried inside

digging

breaking through the skin

the earth

oh when where you planted

my tears only help you grow

heat, once a comfort, sees you bloom a new leaf,

it all comes from the earth

the mother earth

Emily Johnson, 15, Edinburgh