Island – Alexandra Smith

On my island of dreams I can hold you tighter.

We appreciate Alexandra Smith very kindly sharing her creative talents with us. Alexandra finds all forms of writing to be a ‘wonderful form of self-expression.’ She also enjoys performing with local drama societies, running a writer’s group, and producing exciting new artistic projects. Thank you Alexandra for helping us with this project and for entering the competition.

The Island

The grass is greener

and the birds are louder,

on my island of dreams

you’re at my side, with a piña colada.

–

The sun is brighter

and the breeze is nicer,

on my island of dreams

I can hold you tighter.

–

The sand is softer

and the food is sweeter,

on my island of dreams

there is only forever.

–

The clouds are whiter

and the place is tidier,

on my island of dreams

my inner self is lighter.

–

The journey has been longer

yet, I have grown stronger,

my island of dreams…

–

is on the border.

Alexandra Smith, 25, Derbyshire

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.

Expression – Lee Kelly

Why can’t I stand loud noise, Or lead my own life

Special thanks to Lee Kelly for sharing ‘Expression’ with us and for his support with the competition and project. Lee is very passionate about poetry and writes about a variety of topics. We really appreciate his brave decision to share his work with us.

Expression

Anxious and asexual,

I am just like you on the outside,

White, British, mildly overweight,

And yet I express something else.

–

Colourblind and depressed,

It’s my eyes that don’t work,

My brain is why I’m not happy,

And yet I express something else.

–

Stressed and suicidal,

I feel overwhelmed by life,

I want everything to end,

And yet I express something else.

–

Traumatized and oppressed,

Why can’t I stand loud noise,

Or lead my own life,

And yet I express something else.

Lee Kelly

Hindsight – Matthew Trundle

Recurring characters that have long since Departed

Thank you Matthew Trundle for his contribution to Voices. Matthew is based in Bolton and is an aspiring screenwriter who has recently completed his A-Level studies. He is particularly interested in comedy writing, as well as poetry, and also volunteers for a local swimming club which assists people with learning disabilities. We really appreciate Matthew giving up his time to share his talents with us.

Hindsight

In dreams I live in tainted memories,

In apparitions of my former reality

But with even more tonal inconsistencies in

A skewed representation of my past self in an

Alienating non-linear format that

Pushes me into inescapable delirium where I

Exist as a bystander to absurd plots and

Recurring characters that have long since

Departed from the real-life narrative that feels

Unobtainable in this confounding dreamscape that

Reminds myself of when I often opted to

Pursue grand acts of hubris, and in crimson halls

Innovative takes on recent mistakes premiere to the

One viewer who can’t ever look away

From this special feature, and who must endure each bizarre

Yet melancholic act in whichever

Order they choose to appear in

Whilst already knowing the bewildering denouement

That arrives in typical anti-climactic fashion while I’m

On the precipice of waking to be

Rid of this routine while world stands alight

Momentarily.

Matthew Trundle, 19, Bolton

Yesterday – Joanna Hall

But my pores are clogged with dirty traumas

Thank you Joanna Hall for your decision to submit your poetry to Voices and the competition. Joanna is intrigued with Slam poetry, enjoys creating verse in her spare time, and is also a keen blogger. We really appreciate her kindness and support.

Yesterday

I take a sauntering step in a misshaped mishmashed dream,

I write because I’m unsure of what it means,

With an ancient smile on a quaint face concealing a tongue,

The maps that trace me shudder in wrongs,

But my pores are clogged with dirty traumas,

And my confusion continues to grow warmer,

Sand begins building,

And the castle is feeding,

With waves,

That crash weak yellowed veins.

Joanna Hall

The Sea Creature – Rihana Jenkinson

They say the ocean is a lonely place

We all marvel at the mysteries of the sea, and we are very appreciative of Rihana Jenkinson’s eloquent entry. Rihana is very passionate about poetry and was keen to support her project. Thank you for your fantastic poem!

The Sea Creature

She floated like a water lily

On the moon’s silver stream

Crystalizing all to be seen.

Enchanting is her smile

Bewitching us for miles.

Slimy seaweed withered as she passed

Nymphs danced in a sacred trance.

And a frightening wind blew across the sea

Thundering a storm for all to see.

Ships rose on the huge waves and came crashing down.

People from the shore heard her grieving.

A veil of happiness shone through her tears

As she searched across the ocean for a single song.

They say the ocean is a lonely place

But what song was she searching for through that wide wide sea.

By Rihana Jenkinson

A Picnic in the Park – Maryam Bouteldja

Delicious scents waft through the open park air

Special thanks to Maryam Bouteldja for her vivid and thought-provoking poem about a picnic in the park. Maryam is a sixth-form student who is very passionate about the arts and enjoys penning poetry in her spare time. She hopes to write and travel in the future and we really appreciate Maryam’s decision to share her talents.

A Picnic In the Park

The chequered blanket billows out

– stretching far and wide,

then flutters

down

to settle upon crispy, dry grass.

The bustle begins:

excited chatter hurried the many hands
drawing the spoils of war
from containers galore.
Delicious scents waft through the open park air

and the sun shine on in envy
from the cloudless sky.
Shoes are thrown from sweaty feet

and seek solace in the shade of
withered pine trees.
The feast awaits…

Maryam Bouteldja

The Bubble – Oliver Purvis

the remnants of the dream drifting away

Many thanks to Oliver Purvis for his fantastic entry to Voices and the competition. Oliver is a Biomedical Scientist who lives in Cornwall and has recently rejuvenated his interest in poetry. We are very appreciative that he has decided to share his talents and we are sure you will enjoy reading ‘The Bubble’.

The Bubble

Air in water, expansion,
wobbling undulation
subsiding, equilibrating,
pressure equalising,
minimum surface area
for the enclosed volume.

The sphere – pure geometry,
defined by its boundary,
the non-space interface
where gas and liquid meet;
four-dimensional reality
enclosed by an abstraction.

Inside, continuous concavity,
a life of literal introspection,
centrally focussed, her inward gaze
barely distracted by fleeting fisheye
images beyond her outer limits,
spectral shapes shifting in darkness.

Occasionally she would wake,
trembling, the remnants of the dream
drifting away, recalled to the
deepest fathoms of unconsciousness:
the breathtaking, backwards-curving
thrill of being an Outside.

It was almost overwhelming.
Still, a part of her yearned
to know such an existence,
to commune with such a being;
a primal urge emanating
from her fundamental structure.

Unbeknown to either,
her longing was mirrored
in Outside’s ardent fantasies.
He observed the world with wonder.
Marvels in every direction,
but Inside he could never know.

Embryonic intimacy;
perfect lovers’ symmetry;
total interdependency.
Antithetical; inextricable.
Divided by nothing,
a universe apart.

Oliver Purvis, Cornwall

Origami Men – Shelley Ford

the lost boys

The hustle and bustle of the city inspired Shelley Ford’s poem ‘Origami’. Shelley has been interested in poetry since she was a small child and often draws upon personal experience and hardship to be creative. We really appreciate her kind support and thank her for taking time to submit her work. Shelley’s Instagram name is: a_frozenrose

Origami men

Rolex chain

Fifty shades of Grey

Painted all the same

Boxes on a hill side

Picket fence forts

Where insecurities hide

Office realities

Once a little boys den

The lost boys

Turned

Into origami men.

Shelley Ford

Good Crazy – Marc Carver

the power of a god

Special thanks to Marc Carver for sharing his poetry with us and supporting the project. Perhaps the best people in life are always a little bit crazy…

GOOD CRAZY

You see being crazy is not all that bad as it seems.

After all there is good crazy and bad crazy.

I always have seen myself as good crazy

but I guess most people see themselves as good.

Even the bad ones

But we can always justify what we have done.

Until the last days when you don’t bother with people at all.

They are just there like props in a stage production that no one will ever see.

I talked to the man in the street today, he paints the same town every day.

he says he paints everyday.

He painted over a couple of people in his painting

and just like that they were gone

murdered, seizing to exist.

He had the power of life in his brush

the power of a god

but me I would prefer to create then kill

so you see good crazy that is me.

Marc Carver

Saxifraga cernua – Andrew Millham

White petals, a floral crystal – making tepid rays sparkle.

Andrew Millham is an Environmental Science student from Essex who often finds inspiration in the natural environment for his poetry. We are very thankful that he has decided to submit this excellent piece which celebrates the beauty of the Highland landscape. Thank you Andrew for sharing your talents with Voices and for entering our competition.

Saxifraga cernua

In Scotland’s garden, highland haze,

Stands an alpine plant; nodding kindly

In faerie glen, a winter’s child – of the high north.

–

In winter months, the sun is rare,

This arctic flower; reflects light brightly

White petals, a floral crystal – making tepid rays sparkle.

–

Drooping now, to mark your leave,

A welcome visitor must always part.

On mountains rooted; solitary

But sentinel – the summit’s heart.

Andrew Millham, 19, Essex