Dance

When we grow out of caring about
what schools have to teach us
we are supposed to learn
to dance in the rain,
but you know what?
it’s bloody cold
and i’ve never been a great dancer
and to pause for a kiss
would be far more uncomfortable
than romances in films
have previously led me to believe.
So although it’s supposed to be
the best way to find a rainbow
i think i’ll have to pass,
and to search for my rainbows
in the words written on scraps of paper
in the sparkle in your eyes
and in the warmth of a hug
and to turn away from rainy days
to dance with you in dreams instead

Tonight at Noon (30. time)

I was looking for something that I wrote during TY the other day, but I couldn’t remember which of my many many refill pads I’d written it in (at one point I had about 12 of them sitting in a pile on my bed, stretching back to stuff I’d written in like 2nd year), while I was looking through things to see if I could find it I came across a tiny poem that I wrote while at CTYI 09. It was supposed to be a nonsense poem, and I think at the time I was planning on making it longer but as it was I only have one verse of it, but given that I haven’t got anything better to post I figured I may as well put it up. Plus the vague mention of time in it means I’m one step closer to finishing the list of prompts I started doing when I was stuck for inspiration like a year ago… woo.

Tonight at Noon
I’ll walk on wind
And learn to swim with stars
I’ll touch the moon
And speak with clouds
Who’ll show me where you are

22. low

Despite the crowded room
The surrounding friends
The fact that we are far from alone
This is our moment
No one else matters
Unconventional as it may be
We understand
And this, our dance
Is perfect

My best friend’s not a werewolf

I wrote this in like July, during CTYI. We were given a picture of someone diving off a cliff and asked to write something in response to it. I think we got the picture on the first day, but it took me until the second week to write this, that’s how things worked in WFL though, you wrote whenever you wanted to write it.

Despite thinking the Twilight saga is absolutely awful, it was all I could think about when I looked at the picture. So here’s the poem anyway, since I’ve nothing more recent to put here.

Oh. There are spoilers to the plot of pretty much the entire saga in this so don’t read it if you haven’t read the books.

My best friend’s not a werewolf.

As I curled my toes over the edge
I couldn’t help that be reminded
Of how my best friend isn’t a werewolf
And if I’m caught by a current
There’s no one to pull me out.
I guess it’s irrelevant though,
I’m not jumping to hear the voice
Of a man who hurt me
And if I were in trouble
There wouldn’t be a misunderstanding
Of such epic proportions
That there would be
A flight to Italy
Where a man with paper skin
Touches my hand to find my thoughts
And there will be no petite girl
In an ashen cloak
Trying to burn my mind
I should apologise though
To my sister in law
Who won’t get her yellow Porsche.
I won’t have a tearful reunion with the man
Who hurts me to show the depth of his love
However he made that decision
I won’t call a council with the people
I love more than my family
And discuss the merits of immortality
To protect the family from the Italians
Who will come to visit
And make sure promises
Have been fulfilled.
And I’ll never have to secure the help
Of covens, to protect my child
From the same Italians
Who believe an ancient law has been broken
And I’ll never have a chance
To let my husband share my thoughts
Or need false documents
To save a best friend
(Who isn’t a werewolf)
And help keep my child alive.
So confident in the knowledge
That my life isn’t going to get
Much more exciting than cliff diving
I jump.

Also, when Julie Anne read this, she thought that the girl had jumped as a suicide attempt because she was so upset her life wasn’t like Twilight. Just to clarify, that’s not where I was going with it- it’s that she’s figuring out that her jumping isn’t gonna have insane consequences, since her life isn’t like Twilight, so she’s gathered the courage to jump. Hope you like it anyway.

Growing

Shrinking must feel like falling
Though you never reach the ground
Therefore growing must be like flying
Though you never reach the sky
If by growing you have learnt to fly
When you’ve lost your faith in wings
One cannot help but wonder
If growing ruins many things
Youth can be quite helpless
But, without doubt, it’s free
When I did all my growing
Did I somehow lose my me?

31. forget

A chipped reed
A yellow angry face
A score
A quote filled hardback notebook
A luggage tag
A jersey
A programme
We hold onto these things dearly
Cherishing them and the memories they represent
But if we ever need them to remember
The real worry has to be
Why did we let ourselves forget?

Scraps

There are lines that will stick with us
Inspire us and make us long for a pen
Or a shiny button that says “new post”
And will open up a world of possibilities

There are lines that will burn so brightly in our minds
That we will never be able to pin them down
Never capture them, mold them, tame them
Never form our own art
And maybe they’re better off that way
Maybe we would have just screwed them up
Put them in cages that are too small
Blown out their light
And left behind
Just the smell of matches

We write these lines places, and hope we can work with them
Form a contract and together
Make some lines that sound good
At least we hope they do

Sometimes we will never finish these lines
They will be written neatly but left alone
Just a scrap of an idea
That we’re not worthy to give a proper home

Sometimes we forget about them
Release them back into the world
So someone else, with a bit more skill
Can maybe fix up the idea into something pretty sounding

Since with our own mediocre skill, and overtired state
We’re struggling to make this work just like we thought it would
When the light of inspiration sparked, just a few minutes ago
And we’re not entirely sure why we’re pluralising
It’s just another plan
In the scrap of an idea
That never made a finished……

26. sweet

there is a sweetness in childhood memories
and nostalgia and regressing
that reminds you of fairy cakes
and pancake tuesday
and the first time you ate meringue

there is a sweetness in acting stupid
in letting yourself go for once
in not caring what other people think
in being excited about handbags and laughing loudly
even though the teacher tells you to settle down
and do your english work instead

there is a bitterness in being happy
because you know that it just can’t last
and even something that makes you smile so broadly
that a friend makes a game out of causing you to blush
will turn laughter to tears when you stop and remember

that the fairy cakes were burnt
your mum missed pancake tuesday
and actually you never liked meringue

(For the record: The fairy cake I’m eating is perfect, my dad can make good pancakes too and I absolutely adore meringue)

Bloody Snow (21. death)

Today I was sitting in geography, barely paying attention to the teacher;s voice droning on and lamenting the fact that I’d been moved away from my friend, since now I can’t even talk to pass the time (okay so that was exactly why I was moved but whatever). So I look out the window and notice that thick white specks are falling from the sky- it’s snowing again. I frowned to myself and muttered “bloody snow”, since I’mm sick of the stuff and the intensity it was coming with made it likely that it would still be falling when I had to walk home.

It’s terrible that the horrible January cold spell has made me greet snow with a groan rather than with excitement, which is normal. Tommy has reliably informed me that:
” you’re such an adult
all kids know that snow wins. period.”
but like, at the moment all it is is extra cold, white rain, it’s not even sticking. And I saw enough of white covered roads and cars to last a lifetime during the elongated Christmas holidays. I suppose it’s a good thing that I decided not to go on a ski trip this half term since I probably wouldn’t have appreciated it at all.

Anyway, boredom in geography and dissatisfaction with the weather combined to make me write this poem. I’m not sure if it’s good, and I have to finish it now which might be difficult but sure I’ll stick it up here anyway, if you’ve read my other stuff you should know not to expect a very high standard anyway.

Death in this poem is based like entirely on the character from The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak .

Death sees the sky in colours
Today it is white, the air is filled with snow
The bleached air hangs heavy with the stench of decay
Death picks his way through the screaming masses
Calling to him, begging for him to take them too
“not yet” he whispers to them softly “hold on a little longer”
He finds his target lying, eyes wide with disbelief
Staring at his mangled body, amazed to still be conscious
He looks at death with a wild panic
His mouth is open in a silent “o” of surprise, as death gently lifts him
The light leaves his eyes and his breath stops short
Death carries his soul tenderly back through the crowd
He looks back over his shoulder before he goes
He knows he will be back here too soon
Wrenching life from innocent fingertips
Under the white sky there will be nothing
No one breathing, lying lifeless
Amongst the bloody snow

I have a beautiful view

So basically we had an essay to write this week in English, with a number of titles to choose from. Me being me I left it until the last night and panicked when the title I picked really didn’t work out for me. Fortunately I swapped titles and did the other essay quite well (I hope). Today in geography I started playing around with the first title and ended up with a poem so here it is:

There are tears blurring my vision and I’m not the only one
It is raining, the candles that burned brightly before
Are now no more than pools of wax slowly solidifying on the ground
My feet ache from hours of standing, my heart aches with sorrow
There’s oh so familiar music playing although right now I hate to hear it
You’re standing next to me, black streaking your cheek
You smile and hug me, though you’re just as sad yourself
I’m miserable, because days ago I was so happy
This evening is one of the best and worst of my life
Although right now I would rather not see it
I know I have a beautiful view

Enjoy and all that jazz