When T Meets B – Erin Keeble

On a beach somewhere on a summer’s day…

We really appreciate Erin Keeble’s excellent submission to Voices and entry to the competition. This poem carries a very important message which comes as no surprise as Erin aims to move audiences and ‘capture their minds and hearts’. A student at the University of East Anglia, one of her poems was published in the prestigious ‘Armistice for Schools 100’ poetry competition (judged by Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy) and her work has also appeared in UEA’s Art-History Magazine. Erin is a passionate and talented lyricist who often takes part in poetry slams too.

When T Meets B

When T meets B there are firework sparks

T’s eyes dilate, above his beating heart

As he gets closer he begins to see How glamorous B is,

floating free

Her tall, slim body bathes with grace

The radiant sunlight upon her face

T can feel his body begin to shake

His mind is spinning, he feels wide awake

B stretches in the water and turns around

That’s it, T’s heart is bound

As B reaches and beckons with her slim white hand

T swims closer to the sand

He’s nearly there

It’s all too much to bear

As he sees the sunlight coat her cheeks

He shivers and buckles, his knees feel weak

As B reaches out her slender arm

T is overcome by her charm

He is sure her expression is one of love

Her pale body floating like a dove

But when their hands lock her nails are sharp

Like the small jagged teeth of a carp

He struggles but now it is too late

The carp has won, it has its bait

Pain encircles him and he is overcome

His head is hurting, his legs feel numb

He looks once at the ocean before glancing with dread

At the white entrapper spinning her web.

On a beach somewhere on a summer’s day

Fate dropped B the bag and she washed away

There to stay

And not decay

Didn’t think of T the turtle swimming by

In the ocean, under the azure sky

It was dawn when he suddenly wondered why

There was something so beautiful floating by

But he had to die

Why?

Because this love he thought he’d felt so strong

He’d actually got it all very wrong

For B the bag was a web of lies

She had got T the turtle mystified

Her beautiful exterior and fantastic shape

Hid what lay under her pretty white cape

T the turtle had made a mistake

But he hadn’t realised until too late

But if B the bag had found B the bin

T wouldn’t have suffered what fate chose for him

And then T would still be swimming, and free

This was the story of when T met B.

Erin Keeble, University of East Anglia, Norwich

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 Decimation – Xavier Coughlan

under the guise of playing saviours

We are extremely grateful for the talented Xavier Coughlan’s offering to Voices, and we appreciate his support. Xavier is a student who often chooses to address the theme of mental health within his poetry. Eloquent, profound and thought-provoking, we are very fortunate that he has decided to share ‘The Decimation’. Thank you Xavier.

The Decimation

Berkshire. A high-security psychiatric hospital designed by architect Joshua Jebb to accommodate Britain’s most elusive and intuitive.

An assembly of ten,

unburdened by morals,

gathered one fierce night

to float suggestions

of a solution –

to fabricate subtleties

in catastrophe

and solve

what makes you man.

These mighty ten

had been convened

by fate and a sectioning law,

and together round a table,

crafted by Joseph’s son himself,

the group disputed your future.

The Richest clanged

for an annihilation;

the demolition of a continent

blessed not by wealth,

but by culture,

and all the economics

heritage entails,

under the guise

of playing saviours.

One proposed a decimation

and advocated it by tying a noose

and swaying from the hands of

Our strongest

and jiggling to the pain of their

blood-crossed hands.

We were subdued by two thoughts

in watching him dangle:

admiration for not being formulaic

in not using the flush of lighting;

and the eulogizing of his manifesto

in watching its flair unfold.

He was right.

That night, we shared his Lithium,

grinding the pills

into equal amounts –

complying with the cadaver.

Decimation was the future.

The decision had been made.

They bid farewell and set off

to tackle the execution.

Pax vobiscum

Xavier Coughlan, Pewsey, Wiltshire

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.

Nursery Mares – Stuart Hardy-Taylor

my life was scarred forever and a more

Thanks to Stuart Hardy-Taylor for his humorous and witty contribution to Voices Poetry Blog and the competition. There is indeed a certain darkness in many of the stories and rhymes we are told when we are children. Stuart sums this up in a very clever way, and we are sure his excellent poem will make you smile. We really appreciate his unique offering.

Nursery Mares

Ever since I was a child, I’ve had horrendous nightmares 

Because of all the stories and nursery rhymes, like Goldilocks and the three bears   

And Hansel and Gretel and red riding hood 

witches and granny eating wolves, how could that ever be good 

And every night I would worry, unable to sleep  

Because I was so emotional and scared, about bow-peep and her sheep 

Expecting me sleep and stop crying, parents what were ya thinking, it begs all belief 

WHEN ALL I COULD SEE IN MY HEAD, IS A BRIDGE AND THE TROLL UNDERNEATH  

Jack and the beanstalk and the goose laying gold eggs  

But only thing i can remember, is the giant that wanted Jack for his bread 

And the three little pigs, i was petrified the wolf, would blow my house down, just like the one with the sticks 

And my life was scarred forever and a more, because Humpy dumpy would never be fixed 

And I’m not surprised I took drugs, come on, cows jumping over the moon 

The fox ate the poor ginger bread man, and the dish ran away with the spoon 

And the little dog laughed because he thought it was fun 

But I would cry and I’d weep for the little piggy that had none 

And little miss Muffet and that great bloody big spider 

Fancy telling me that as a child, that it came and sat down beside-her 

I never wanted to hear, about the old duke of York and his ten thousand men 

And especially the time that they wasted, just going up and down and again 

Putting all these things in my head, I didn’t think it was healthy or fair 

Oh the nightmares that I had, about the mouse in his boots, WHERE, there on the stairs 

But I’m going to bed now, and going to try and go sleep 

And you can do one bow-peep because I don’t care anymore about you or your bloody lost sheep  

GOODNIGHT 

Stuart Hardy-Taylor, Loughborough

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.