Lo(nley)ve – Anu

Until one night you said you’ll be back and I never saw you again

My name is Anu and I am 16 year old girl from South London, Bromley. I wrote poetry as a way to communicate, as an outlet, it’s my therapy and I enjoy sharing that with people.

Lo(nley)ve

The feeling you’re holding tightly onto something you feel you want and need.

The fact I can have you to myself and you’re my only excuse for greed.

To be with you, not without was my one hearts wish, to share with you that beautiful true loves kiss.

Because that’s what I thought you were, my one true love.

But you started to lose interest and ‘I love you’ became a phrase, is it something I did or didn’t do that got us into this phase?

After time went on I raised my concern and your reassurance would surely lead me on.

Until one night you said you’ll be back and I never saw you again,

So I sat and there to remain,

Ceased to complain.

Just got out a bottle of wine and drank the pain away.

Because I knew it would happen

I knew we’d get here to the end of this rollercoaster of emotion.

I never knew what love was until my Kingdom had no King.

the butterflies became bees and my heart began to sting

It was nice that for 5 minutes I endured love from someone, it’s bad it ended so quick.

So to never love again or never love the same?

Is what I have to pick.

Anu, Bromley

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.

It is Spring – Melanie MacLennan

I will spoon-feed you peaches

I’m a 19 year old Literature student from the Highlands trying to fall back in love with writing and words.

It is Spring

If there is still a life

to be grasped at,

then Spring will

bring it to back

to you.

–

If there is still

a ragged breath somewhere

inside of that

chest,

then I will nurse

it quietly into a song.

–

I will tuck you in

and I will water you.

I will spoon-feed you peaches

and love

and open up the windows

again.

I will change the sheets.

I will keep you safe

until your suffering

falls asleep.

I will bring flowers

to the grave of

the person

that you were,

before you were

somebody that is really,

really

sick.

–

It is Spring and I

know that you think

that you’re dying.

–

It is Spring and

the April light is still madly

in love with your

delicate hairless

head, your

veins still

furiously alive beneath

tender skin pumping

drugs that will

break you before

they will build you.

Your sticky honey

hands still clenching mine;

your child. I am your child.

Your child.

–

On the worst days,

I will bring you entire

gardens of growth.

I will show you how

the earth unwraps itself

every single year to reveal

fresh layers of hope.

–

Listen, I know.

I know that you want

to die with dignity,

that you

want to write the profound

letters and sink

softly into the sky.

–

There’s no dignity

in digging yourself

an early grave.

There’s no dignity

in leaving me behind.

–

It is Spring and I

know that you think

that you’re dying.

–

But the birds fly quietly

through the clean blue air.

–

They come back home

again and weep

with joy and relief for

their matted wings,

and all of the

different places that there are

in the world.

–

And you watch them

up there,

in their small arrow formation,

from the dirty old window

beside sick bowls

and needles

and you laugh with amazement.

You laugh because you’re

still alive to see the

birds coming home.

–

It is Spring

and the grass has

never been this long.

The bees never so excited.

The sky’s bursting

and the plants are

singing, loud

and gentle.

–

It is Spring.

–

It is Spring,

and you still have

so much

growing to do.

By Melanie Maclennan

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

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

I Am Me – David A. Stansfield

I was like a day that was refused a dawn

I was born in Liverpool in 1968, and was unfortunately abandoned by my mother. I spent the first 18 years of my life in and out of children’s homes and foster care. I always felt alone, without anyone who I truly trusted, or who I could talk to. That is how I originally got into writing poetry. It was the only way that I could release my emotions and thoughts, even though I never shared my poems to anyone at the time. Now, I enjoy sharing my poetry with people. I hope that my poems will inspire, guide, and support all those that read them.

I AM ME

I was abandoned by my mother at two hours old,

Fighting for my life for the first two years.

Going through Hell, whilst being brought up in care,

Falling asleep, most nights, in tears.

Most days, at school, I was ridiculed and bullied,

Rarely getting praised for good work I’d done.

Playing truant, for me, was my only escape,

Because being alone, was almost fun.

Even when I was placed with foster parents,

I felt like I was always second best.

I never felt like I was part of the family,

More like a social experiment, or test.

It seemed, to me, for my first eighteen years,

There was nowhere for me to belong.

I was like a day that was refused a dawn,

I was just like a non lyrical song.

Then one day I had an epiphany,

Everything became suddenly clear.

A realization that broke through my darkness,

For the first time in so many years.

I was a victim of circumstance, not a victim.

My whole mindset had been so wrong.

I am a survivor, I am a fighter,

I am emotionally and mentally strong.

I have done many things that I am not proud of.

I haven’t yet become all I can be.

But I can look in the mirror with my head held high,

And be proud to say “I am me”.

By David A. Stansfield

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