Her novella

She's written a novella,
the writer who knows it won't sell

This is her rebellion

The world has broken too many things
smashed souls into pieces
the morality of the human race
lies shattered on the floor
but among the ruins
lies a novella
untarnished by an industry
whose vision has become clouded
by colourful paper bills

she lies there
intact
at the mercy of her author
whose hands refuse to break her
to protect her from a world
that has already broken the writer.

My city

You're an inextinguishable memory,
The description of twilight
You're a cloudy day,
Fog refusing to ease
You're a lonely walk among many
Green-tea long deserved
You're the discovery of self-respect
And the first few inklings of friendship
You're mistaken sexuality
And clothing pegs abandoned in alleyways

You're kindness,
You're cruel,
You're mine.

                       - Sara xo

Braille

A blind man
Defines comfort
Not by letters written in Braille

But by the softness of his companions fur
Every single hair
Informing him that he's there
And that he'll be there
Until comfort from his memory
Never becomes rare

Wonder

The crunch of an apple,
A hint of a sigh
They wonder longingly
About days gone by

Instinct

My instinct cried wolf,
And I ignored him.
Their instinct cried bite,
So today is grim

Street-lamps

Twinkling street-lamps
Are gently woken by twilight,
The early evening's sky
Afraid of the night

Night and light

I wonder what you see,

When you close your eyes at night.

What is unable to survive,

And must hide itself in the light.

The Temple

Most of the time,
You’ll find nobody here
But some of the time,
You’ll see somebody here

Perhaps a man, just like me,
Carefully reading the book
So many choose to ignore,
Without offering a second look

I know the feeling,
I’ve known it a while
You see, not ignoring me,
Is permanently out of style

Written as an interpretation of this photo by Timothy Robinson. Check out the real story by clicking on the photo!

August 2013

He asked me the question
That reached deep into my soul,
And handed him a part
Without my control

A question I'd never asked myself
But had always known the answer to
And now he knew,
Too

Unfazed

The sun shone bravely
Through the cold winter air
Unfazed by the mystery,
He may stumble upon there

Where stray dogs
In their restless sleep
Dream of kinder days
And weep.

My attention

My attention dove off a cliff,
A mountain high in the sky
He used aeroplanes as stepping stones,
He'd always wanted to try

He saw his face in the wind,
It wasn't clear at first
An eye at a time, an ear
And then all in a burst

The spaces between the clouds,
Asked him again to stay
He knew he had to go,
But would visit another day

Tell your alarm when to wake,
He's fond of sleeping too
It's purely unintentional,
If he sleeps right through

When the future knocks on your door,

Do not turn it away

For hidden beneath his hat,

May be the brightest day 

Mug of tea,
Don't you see
How you make me?

The boiling water is mine,
But the comfort is yours
Picking me up when I'm down on the floor

Autumn wind

The Autumn wind,
Encourages leaves
To roll up their sleeves,
And follow their dreams



I know I can do more with this poem...bear with me x

The Painting

Shoulder to shoulder,

Breathing in time

Two boys watch a painting,

That struggles to rhyme

One thinks of darkness,

The never-ending night

Wrapped up in his blankets,

Or wrapped up in fright?

The other thinks of sunlight,

Streaming through his window
Silently each morning,
Entering on tip-toe

Written as an interpretation of this photo by Timothy Robinson. Check out the real story by clicking on the photo!

 

The ones who won

I'm scared for the thoughts I've forgotten,
The flowers they didn't become

Other thoughts came along
And they are the ones who won

Not what I saw

Mr Frog gave me his hand,
Warm,
Soft,
Exploring the land

Mrs Lion gave me her paw,
Cold,
Slimy,
Not what I saw

She

She turned her head to the right,
She turned her head to the left,
She shifted a lock of hair,
She flicked the switch for the light,
She turned the kettle on,
She bit into the biscuit,
She took out the flour,
She tried to sift it,
She took her cup of tea,
She set it on the bench,
She pulled out a novel,
She tried to read in French,
She pulled on her gloves,
She pulled off her gloves,
She pulled on her socks,
She glided across the floor,
She slipped she tripped she fell,
She pushed her arms up,
She lent back on the couch,
She listened to a CD
She breathed in every word,
She breathed out every word,
She ripped up the paper,
She put together the paper,
She stood up to walk
She picked up the phone,
She punched in some numbers,
She stopped and she talked,
She slept and she wept

The flower and the sun

The flower opened her petals,

To hug the rays of the sun

He smiled down upon her,

And away she turned to run

xx