This Is How The Sun Will Destroy The Earth – KR Pearce

Seasons blur December daffodils

K R Pearce is a 44 year old Sussex born and bred Poet who has written both comedy, poetry and short stories throughout his life. From his late teens to his mid-twenties he performed around the UK both as a poet and with a band. He then shelved his performance poetry to only write for his own pleasure due to putting his family and work commitments first. His works have remained unpublished, but he now feels ready to embrace sharing his work again as part of his recovery from work related stress. Many styles and topics are covered including everything from politics and the economy through to the environment, demanding children to 1970’s cold war spies!

This is how the sun will destroy the earth:

Lithium ions
Taming lions
Solar farms
Spinning yarns
Combustion factory
Licking the battery
This is how the sun will destroy the earth

–
Selling ice to the Eskimos
Before we know it
Hiding C02 emissions in our pocket Trading them to worldwide friends
To carbon neutralise
Into power socket credit
This is how the sun will destroy the earth

–
Dead seaside towns
Hide Bedford ice cream vans
And high street tango tans
Taxed by the minute
But still Stacey glows
In her flannel clothes
Stepping in her credit limit
Like it isn’t dog shit
This is how the sun will destroy the earth

–
Palm tree oils
Massage developing worlds
Seasons blur
December daffodils
When autumn falls
Colour loss seen from satellites
As we take our weekly flights
This is how the sun will destroy the earth
K R Pearce 2020

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.

The Autistic Princess – Melanie Jeffs

The love grows stronger, day by day

My name is Melanie Jeffs and I am 15 years old. I am in the process of a diagnosis for ASD and wanted to write a poem about how my boyfriend has helped me come to terms with who I am and own it rather than be ashamed of it.

The Autistic Princess

A lonely princess cries herself to sleep

Alone, nobody understands her ways

Her brain inside is like a puzzle or maze

Nobody can catch those tears she will weep

–
Food, lots of it, a new way to cope

The pounds pile on and clothes grow tight

It becomes an addiction, one she cannot fight

Nobody understands her, she’s lost all hope

–
But wait, a prince, with that same mind maze

Climbs up the tower with loving open arms

He reassures the princess with a voice that calms

And helps her escape the tower where she lays

–
He opens her up to a new way of life

Showing her what living is all about

She proudly speaks, and is never in doubt

The two fall in love and become man and wife

–
The love grows stronger, day by day

The princess hardly feels sad since,

She is accepting of who she is, thanks to the prince

She knows her true love will always stay

–
A journey of happiness has only just begun

Soulmates, two hearts, joint as one.

Melanie Jeffs

Heartbroken Addiction – Sarah Louise Rennie

replacing love with glass bottles God

My name is Sarah Louise Rennie, I recently graduated from Edinburgh Napier University after studying English Literature for four years. I have suffered since I was thirteen-year-old with Rheumatoid Arthritis which lead me to go down the dark road of depression. I understand a subject like this is very sensitive and might not be suitable for the poetry competition, but I have had a passion for writing all my life and if you cannot be honest in your writing then what is the point in making art?

Heartbroken Addiction

by Sarah Louise Rennie

Rip my heart out, replace it with liquor,

the way it burns down barley makes me quiver.

Not living, just existing, broken and numb without you,

replacing love with glass bottles God, I hope I pull through.

Replaying made-up fairy tales of you returning in my mind,

and me putting down the alcohol finally leaving it behind.

–

My joints are all swollen and so are my eyes,

I’ve tried to move on but I can’t seem to cut these ties.

So many hospital beds I’ve lay praying to wake to your face,

so many intimate relations, yet you I still can’t replace.

Bottles, pills and all these cheap thrills have nothing on your love,

still searching, still wondering why in the end I wasn’t enough.

–

Intoxicated on streets trying to blur out the past,

you were the one good thing in life, how stupid to believe it’d last.

I’m crippled, I’m on my knees, I’m shattered like broken glass,

struggling, self-medicating, my thoughts are racing, it’s way too fast.

My lungs cannot breathe, you’ve sucked out all the air,

Even now I know that you’re gone, I’d like to think you’d always be there.

–

Recovery from heartbreak, addiction, Lord I don’t think I’m ready,

everyone has got to start somewhere, even though they’re highly unsteady.

When you see light, you see hope,

and when you start to fight you begin to cope

So, I’ll go on and I’ll roll up my sleeves, I’ll show all my battle scars,

farewell to these substances of abuse no longer will they keep me behind bars.

Sarah Louise Rennie

Strawberry – Tamsin Brown

Persevere, persistence, positivity is key

My name is Tamsin Brown, I’m 24 years old and work as a nursing apprentice for the NHS. My poem is about mental health. I’m also a huge Beatles fan and find that music has played a huge part in my recovery, so there’s a little reference in there and my inspiration for the name of the poem. Thanks for reading 🙂

Strawberry 🍓

Living through eyes closed,

Ignorance is bliss.

Desolate individual, a little optimism wouldn’t go amiss.

The antidote is within you, no one else.

The drive for the recovery of your own cerebral health.

The expedition to the impeccably, imperfect me.

Persevere, persistence, positivity is key.

When will this end? How will I know?

Patience, patience… embrace the odyssey of the lesson.

Tamsin Brown

Chewing Gum – Georgina Hinsley

Finally she was spat away and stamped on right in the street

Chewing Gum

Neatly packaged with a wrapper all shiny and new,

Then she was chosen but he still kept a few.

Her flavours exploded stimulating every sense.

It got chewed away when he took offence.

As putty she skillfully danced around his throat,

But she took too much room and he started to choke.

She tried to stay out the way when his teeth were clenched,

Her resolve kept her sticking even when she got alcohol drenched.

Finally she was spat away and stamped on right in the street,

He never looked back she admitted defeat.

He left her right there in a deep darkened hole,

That poor poor women that chewing gum soul.

Georgina Hinsley, Shifnal

DidI 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.

Confession – Huda Javed

When she had hair that shone in the blistering sun

My name is Huda Javed, I’m 16 years old. This poem was inspired by my observation in the difference between the generation of British-Pakistani’s, who grew up within a new, modernised culture, compared with that of my parents, who grew up in Pakistan. It highlights that the youngerBest generation values different things and aspects of life compared with previous generations. I used the object of hair as it is a symbol in Pakistan, among women, of youth. The poem expresses underlying tones of nostalgia and an ignorance to what we possess when we are young.

Confession

My mother cried,

When I cut my hair.

–

When she saw the dark locks,

Littered on the white tiles

Of the bathroom floor.

–

It was just so heavy,

Like carrying a sack,

Laden with stones.

–

Too weighty to pile atop my head,

Too much to let loose,

Too wild to set free.

–

A creature of its own, that battled me daily –

It clawed as I combed,

Snarled when I gathered it roughly,

Forcing it into a knot –

That I knew wouldn’t hold.

–

When I washed it with water,

It yowled and it yapped

When I tamed it with oils and sweet-smelling ointments,

It scowled and it snorted

At my futile attempts.

–

I gave up on my efforts,

Left it to grow and bask

In its short victory –

The ends grew wispy, rough and neglected,

Split with confusion and weak with dejection.

The wild mass grew tired and lost its spirit,

–

The fearless black, of a starless night sky,

Faded, into a cloudy dusk.

–

Holding my scissors,

Before I could hesitate and think of

The severity of this cut,

At the missing cape that fell to my waist

At the fresh strands that would brush my shoulders

And the plait that wouldn’t snake down

My spine

But tickle my neck with starker ends.

–

I looked at the floor,

And saw what my mother would see,

Not dark locks covering my feet

And the white tiles

Of the bathroom floor.

But a rejection –

Of a gift,

Of the motherland

She left behind –

When she had hair that shone in the blistering sun

And sailed past her waist,

That whipped in the wind

And flew in her face.

–

Hair that was her pride

And her fading grace –

That she lost

When the strands grew limp and tired with age.

She put up a fight,

Caring and nursing

With oils and ointments that came from the garden

Trying to preserve

The rich dark river

That flowed down her back,

Burdened with honour and gladness.

–

The missing weight,

That used to drag at my head –

A reminder to her

Of the step that I took,

Away from home –

–

A lesson

For when the strands go limp and tired with age,

–

Of the dark, fearless cape,

Of a starless night sky

That once brushed my waist.

Huda Javed

Streets of Hockley – Emma Wing

The rainbow road leads to the forgotten shops

My name is Emma. I live in Nottingham

The Streets of Hockley

The rainbow road leads to the forgotten shops. You have bookshops, restaurants and even a cow outside a café.

These little streets have so much for everyone. Bargain books at Bookwise. Bargain at Sue Ryder and even something for Goths at Jugglers.

These little streets are so vibrant. Something for everyone. Even crystals for the spiritual at Ica Nine. Which has been serving Nottingham for a good few years.

After all your bargain hunting at the shops. Take a rest at one of the many pubs or independent cafes. Especially the one with the famous cow outside.

Support our local businesses before it’s a dying trade.

Emma Wing

Breakfast in the Village – Josh G Hamshar

Fried, boiled, poached?

Josh has had several pieces of writing published in the last couple of months, both online and in anthologies. Alternating between observation and personal meaning, his eclectic style can range from war and politics, to peacefulness, nature and humour.

Breakfast in the village

The waiter brings a plate of pigs

entangled in unethical crowds

of scrambled clouds

Fried, boiled, poached?

With coffee to make the most

The

honey

drips

toast

And the ferry slides through like bread in the yolk

Josh G Hamshar

Factories Will Rule The World – Simeon Filipov

We mustn’t radiate, let hate propagate and our trees decapitate

Simeon Filipov, 14. I am passionate about climate change. I want to share my views, inspire the masses and motivate change and salvation. Through poetry, I can express my views and dedication, and I aspire for my work to be an inspiration, to spark the thought that there is survival still on offer so let’s forget intergalactic migration)

Factories Will Rule The World

They tell me it is too late

They tell me that we have to accept our fate

And I say, why are you taking the bait?

There is no point to underestimate

Yes, our extinction we accelerate

Because to me, ourselves we asphyxiate

There is no need for Mother to irritate

We mustn’t radiate, let hate propagate and our trees decapitate

We must cooperate, educate and salvation motivate

It is still a clean slate

And to the moon, I wouldn’t want to emigrate

Because between me and you, global annihilation wasn’t deliberate

Globally we must communicate and a simple solution we can’t cultivate

Or do you need me to translate

STOP POLLUTING OUR BEAUTIFUL EARTH IF A SUSTAINABLE SOLUTION YOU CAN’T FORMULATE

It is never too late. We are a unified nation so let’s save the universe’s most beautiful creation

For normality to return will take dedication. so let’s not take survival out of the equation

Simeon Filipov, 14

Counting Stars – Brian Wake

we went outside and gazed at stars

Brian Wake

Born in Liverpool. Published in the UK and abroad. Work broadcast

On BBC TV (BBC 2), Radio 4 and local radio (Merseyside). Books published

By Headland Publications, England and Driftwood Publication (UK)

Counting Stars

In the early hours then, sometime between

not wanting to get up and needing to,

expectant silences, the visual discrepancy

between gunmetal blues of fading night

and gorgeous morning, my father walked

the landing half asleep.

He asked me if… do I, he said, still work,

and should I shave, and if his bus was due.

I turned him back and closed his bedroom

door, and wondered if, at some god-help-me time,

I too would walk the landing half asleep

and if my children might be near

to keep me from unutterable despair.

Against conditions such as these, to question

how and why we live and breathe is somehow

quite absurd. That night, a little time ago,

we went outside and gazed at stars.

My father counting them, my children asking

what they mean and me caught somewhere

in between what matters everyday

and what is meaningless.

Brian Wake