Tough Love or Love is Tough? – Jada Leigh

I refuse to give up on us, as it is well worth the fight

My name is Jada and I am a third year student at The University of York. I am currently studying social work, although I hold a passion for English literature.

Tough Love or Love is Tough?

Jada Leigh

It is inevitable that all relationships tend to blossom at the start.
Then instantaneously things just begin to fall apart.
Accepting the temporary feeling of being abandoned all in the dark.
I have acknowledged that love is not easy and clearly not a walk in the park.
If he expresses that he loves me and I am of significance to his life.
Then may I ask why a plethora of tears have streamed down my face this night.
Recollecting my thoughts and evaluating my emotions, how can this despairing feeling be classified as right?
I hope our relationship is not a façade, although things appear to be coming to light.
I guess it is normal for the spark to sporadically disappear, meaning the relationship may not seem as bright.
It is time for us to put our pride aside, therefore put your shining armor back on and begin to be my knight.
I refuse to give up on us, as it is well worth the fight.
I am a true believer that time is a healer, maybe years on we will experience baby fever.

cannot wait for the day that we feel our blessing start to kick.
Knowing that you’ll be the father of our kid is of pure bliss.

Jada Leigh, York

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Love Corner – John Rabenheimer

Today we will paint violet and orange

LOVE CORNER

A scurry of quiet voices.

We are on board the morning train.

Leafless trees and brambles

brush the sky.

Today we will paint violet and orange.

The horizon revolves slowly

its opposing way,

It’s like the rim of an artist’s palette;

that tower is his thumb poking through.

How awesome is our Artist supreme.

Far more beauty in this world

than the sum of ugliness.

I’m heading for the hospital;

a small matter, but not for my family.

Went into a little shop

to buy pen, notebook,

so I could write this down.

The man behind the counter hunted

every corner. Sorry, he said,

take mine.

John Raubenheimer, Settle, North Yorkshire

Miskeen Madraiwiwi -153 Evelyn Grove

How can I be sure of a thing I never see?

I am based in West London and the name of my poem is ‘153 Evelyn Grove’.

Thank you Evelyn for your support and entry to Voices!

153 Evelyn Grove

Rejection can be such a bitter word.

I sometimes wish to forget what I heard.

But alas, things are never that simple.

If you saw my eyes, you’d find a twinkle.

Those would be the tears, too afraid to shed.

Lest I become overwhelmed by the dread.

They say that, “The love will always remain.”

Nothing lost, nothing gained.

That’s what I always hear, what i’m told.

It can neither be bought, nor sold.

But what if it was never meant to be?

How can I be sure of a thing I never see?

They say, have faith! Have hope!

Trust in God, to help you cope!

But I need more, I need proof, to see and feel!

Without experiencing it, how can I live with zeal!?
Regret, a word with much too great a power. Regret.

I wish it held no power over me. Live and let.

But no! Wishful thinking is all that it happens to be.

The forest for the trees, I can not see.

For my tongue is tied, and my eyes blind.

My brain sluggish, my heart…most unkind.
Dull blades cut deep.

Make me cry.

Tears of joy!

The past, has passed.

Can’t stand still.

Must move on.

So, go. Just….go.

By Miskeen Madraiwiwi (pen name)

The Blinkin’ Cursor – Elinor Clark

he wasn’t kidding when he told us all to watch the ”blinking cursor”

Elinor Clark is a recent philosophy graduate hailing from the cold and rainy North. She now works in London as a media analyst, and writes obsessively; it really is her lifeline and sustaining force. Thank you very much Elinor for sharing your talent.

The Blinkin’ Cursor

I did a double-take as the man at the front with

his combed back hair and his well-fitted blazer

and the badge on his tie which said some

words in Latin about achieving and excelling

and such things that people wouldn’t know

unless they’d been to a school with a motto.

This man who talked about maximising output

with words from a textbook in a voice he had

stolen from an American film he must have

watched about British people, suddenly, from

out of nowhere, said a word I pictured pouring

out of my Granny’s mouth, as she’d sit in her

chair, waggling a ciggie and she’d say “blinkin’ ‘eck”.

But he wasn’t kidding when he told us all to watch

the “blinking cursor”, didn’t even seem to notice

that he’d said something funny as he carried on

talking about his output and his input and the

arrow flashing on the screen, his shirt somehow

still smooth and creaseless even as he waved

his arms in wild swinging circles cutting through

the air like a fresh painted windmill.

Elinor Clark, London

01 – Alina-Gabriela Sandu

I chose to be a “poet” so I could sleep under the bridge

Many thanks to Alina-Gabriela Sandu for her entry. Alina-Gabriela is a passionate writer and has ‘been writing for as long as she can remember, on different subjects, sometimes with a more dark view on things, sometimes in a more pastel way, passionate about symbolism, which can make the writing a little bit tricky and left free for interpretation.’

I’ll cut pieces of my courage out while calling myself “Satan of my life”.

I’m chasing sweet words out of drunk people’s mouths, while the lions are eating their cubs.
I’m not chasing fame, I got a “no one” coat, and believe a lot of things.

Life’s a moment and if you’re lucky and truly see it when you die,
It’s gonna be worth it.
I’m talking about what you want to talk about.
I’m not important, but my friends are smarter than yours.

To be myself is dangerous.
I’ve cancelled any talent I’ve had to write white rhimes.
I chose to be a “poet” so I could sleep under the bridge.
I’ve put my soul in a bottle and thrown in the sea
When it has disappointed me.

Some of you made me hate all of you:
Lions, leeches, octopuses, moths and stupid snails.
I’ve grown up among strangers and saw people dying.
I’m holding springs in my stomach and digested all the butterflies.
I’m writing what I’m writing out of simplicity and because I’m willing to ruin your mood.
I’ve learned to keep my distance from people like me.
If I don’t fight for my life it will be a waste of time and space.
Most of the time I’m feeling that verse butt pposite.

My story started with: “There was once a time”

Sorry for any inconvience caused.

If there is anything else, please let me know.

Alina-Gabriela Sandu, London

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

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

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