My blog

Hi, thank you for looking at my blog.

It is a series of poems and short stories that I have written.

Sometimes specifically for a loved one or former.
Sometimes not.

Some are very personal, some are not.
Yet with my writing, I like to feel the feeling. I like it to be heartfelt. Thats my style.

Although, after I have written something, I am quite open to share it with others. Because, well I like sharing my art works. Which in this case are my poems and short stories.

In July-September last year (2012) I wrote a series of poems. I asked a few friends to tell them three things about themselves. It could be anything. The choice was theirs.

From there, I wrote a poem for them. Mostly very long poems. The poems normally would take me 30 minutes or less to write. Some times I could write 5 a day.

It's just something that I really enjoy doing, so I hope that you enjoy these poems and stories too.

I have always felt this is where my talent lies, in my writing. And theres nothing I would love more than to be a professional creative writer.

Please join my blog, and comment. Your feedback is appreciated. You will see how to do this on the top right hand corner, below the title of the blog.

There are a list of followers. And, just above that, you can see how to join the blog.

Many thanks for looking at my blog.
Enjoy!

The flower

The flower.
There’s much to be said about a flower,
How you hold her,
Do you hold her far away,
Letting her hang down,
As you walk along,
That beaten path,
Or do you hold her close,
Hold her tight,
Breathing her in,
Gently patting her back,
Her head,
Looking down on you,
Smiling,
The flowers centre,
Looking nowhere else,
But at you.
That flower,
Rests on your lap,
Like the lights,
Bouncing off the lake,
And the gentle breeze,
Blowing in the trees,
Bringing calm,
Bringing peace,
To a heart,
That’s over flowing,
Spilling from its lips.

Find

She is the sun rising,
She is the sun setting,
She is the sun high in the sky,
I will always find her, 
Even if shes hiding, 
Behind those clouds, 
Our tears raining down, 
I will find her.

Sand

Sand

Born feet first, not head first

Only loved two people in her life, both have broken her heart,

Hates wearing shoes

Sand

Before,

We learn how to walk,

We crawl first,

Before we talk,

We gaggle,

Before we swim freestyle,

We use the floats,

We do doggy style,

Before we make it,

We fake it.

Things are first,

And things are second,

Not,

Because we want them,

Because it just happens,

And that was how it,

Occurred,

With her,

Landing feet first,

Walking,

Before talking,

Freestyling,

Before faking,

Her head,

Coming a dead last,

She was destined,

To be that walker,

Jumping,

Leaping,

Acting,

Like as if,

On a bad Arnie day,

Thinking,

Was something,

For later,

While,

She was floating,

Drifting through,

The air,

Looking below,

Despair,

Reading her mind,

Landing,

Her fist clenched,

Like the terminator,

Waking with his gun,

Hunting for,

Young Miss Sarah.

A lesson needs to learned,

Until,

It’s made perfect,

Until,

That stupid,

Fool has learnt it,

Loving,

Is an easy thing do,

Like buttering hot toast,

On a cold day,

So many people,

Love,

Yet,

So many people,

Don’t love back,

Finding that love,

Is harder,

Like,

Dipping into the peanut butter jar,

Scooping out a lot,

Only to look down,

And see,

It’s marmite,

Not wanting to waste,

Spreading it light,

Cooking more toast,

Pulling that cheese,

Out of the fridge,

Gifting it to the marmite,

Easing,

The taste,

Being in love,

Two hearts,

Becoming one,

Is harder yet,

Like,

Taking that diaper,

Of that baby,

His sweet sweet aroma,

Filling your nose,

That diaper smell,

Is not forgotten,

It’s not the best part,

Of this task,

But,

That warmth,

That natural love,

Is what makes,

That diaper changing,

A little,

A tiny break easy,

Like that diaper,

Her heart,

Was meant to be changed,

Numbers,

Are,

Just another way of counting,

Breaking,

Is just another way of mending,

Living,

Isn’t just waiting to die,

Loving,

Isn’t something to be afraid of,

Being afraid,

Shouldn’t be a reason,

Not to love,

Loving,

With eyes wide open,

With diamonds,

Dazzling from her eyes,

Is the only way to be,

For to fear,

Is to be like,

That little boy,

Who teases,

And taunts,

The young girls,

Who boldly,

Pushes,

The young boys

To the ground,

When they walk away,

Holding that special hand,

When in his there is air,

That little boy,

Braving it off,

Pretending,

Like nothing else matters,

Loving is another way,

Of sharing,

Of joining in unison,

Breaking,

Is simply mending,

Finding,

Another,

New,

Better,

Exciting.

Way.

There’s nothing like,

That feeling,

Of walking into the supermarket,

And stepping into something wet,

Something clear,

Yet,

A little yellow,

Toes,

Splishing,

Splashing

Shaking,

Heels,

Picking up the pace,

Eyes picking out,

Any other wet spots,

Navigating a track,

Around them,

Shoes were made,

To protect

And to serve,

Shoes were made,

To avoid,

Those little puddles,

On the floor,

But,

She’d rather take that risk,

A prick,

Or a dip,

Is welcomed to her,

Her hardened sole,

She entices danger,

She spreads it,

On her bread,

With her freshly made,

Jam,

Free is where she wants to be,

Cool,

Out in the open dust,

Breathing,

In the fresh,

Not soaking,

Inside that old brown sock,

Trapped within a cage,

All sweaty,

All stinky,

All stiffy,

Free,

Like they were born,

Landing first,

With her head behind,

Loving two,

Mending,

Not breaking,

Her toes,

Playing in the fresh,

Hot,

Golden sand.

Glass

Glass

Wine

Lamb chops

Horse

Glass

That bottle of white wine,

Sits half empty in his fridge,

That carton of red wine,

Sits half full,

On his kitchen table,

Those lamb chops,

Sit half used,

In his freezer,

Those horses,

Sit half attended too,

In their stables,

He’s lost the desire,

The drive,

To pull that bottle,

Out of its shelf,

And pour it.

Into a glass,

He’s lost the need,

To empty that wine,

Into the glass,

Sitting below it,

He’s lost the hunger,

To see,

Those, who love him the most,

The wine,

All alone,

Waiting for another chance,

To share,

Its fruitiness,

Its sharpness,

Its boundless,

Energy,

To share,

With someone who cares,

It’s not like,

He doesn’t want to,

Its just he doesn’t see the point,

But,

Such a waste,

Of those precious coins,

So it sits there,

And waits,

To spill a drop,

Sharing,

Its endless joys,

With that special,

One,

Who it belongs to,

That special one,

Who isn’t thirsty,

Yet,

Will,

Swirl it around,

Slowly releasing it,

Pleasures,

Like the sun,

Waking up the seeds

At dawn,

Will be known,

And that waiting,

Alone on the cold shelf,

And on the warm table,

Will have all been done,

In jest,

Because,

Its she,

Who he,

Has been waiting for.

That ice,

On those four walls,

Have been a bit chilly,

Sitting in there,

With the scraps,

Waiting to go out,

Even to the pig bucket,

On the first floor,

Would be a better journey,

Then sitting here,

Alone with the cubes,

Constantly disappearing

Going to dance,

With Jack,

Or Jim,

Reappearing,

But this time,

A little wet, a little shaky,

They long,

To go for a dip,

And mix with some juice,

Browning,

Tenderizing,

Those long red legs,

That huge red heart,

They whist,

To mix with green,

And red,

And white,

And orange,

And yellow,

Stretching out,

On that big wide bed,

Giving all its glory,

Being admired,

For its beautiful body,

Ready,

To be used,

What

For its reason for living,

Ready,

To be used for,

Its reason for existing,

Ready,

To mingle,

With its friend,

Chilling on the shelf,

Ready to mingle,

With its friend,

Warming on the table,

Ready,

To be used,

To fulfill,

The pleasures,

It was destined for.

They are there,

Not for him,

Not before him,

Not for anything,

To do with him,

Yet they are there,

He feels sick,

He feels alone,

He just doesn’t feel,

Like he’s that bowl,

Of just right without them,

He tries to break away,

He tries to leave them,

Yet,

He just can’t,

That knife,

Stabs him,

Deep within his heart,

When he’s not around them,

Suddenly,

Food,

Water,

Become to swallow,

When he realizes,

He won’t be near them,

He needs them,

As much,

As he needs air to breath,

He’ll sneak up to them,

Give them a pat on the head,

A rub on the back,

A hug around the neck,

He’ll put his hand in their mouth,

He’ll sit beneath their chest,

He’ll lie against their belly,

All dirty on the ground,

He’ll give them a kiss,

Right between their eyes,

He’ll give them a kiss,

Right smack on their lips,

He’ll whisper,

To them,

His greatest secrets,

His greatest fears,

He’ll whisper to them,

His greatest joys,

Those moments,

Where the happiness drips,

From his eyes,

He’ll talk to them,

They listening,

Intently,

Like the cat,

Resting on his lap,

Back when he was young,

They’ll take it all in,

They turn to rock,

As he turns to butter,

Melting away,

Under their intense heat,

They know,

All his secrets,

He can’t hide from them,

They know,

That although,

He has his moments,

And for reasons,

That only they know,

He won’t rear his head,

Won’t open his heart,

For a while,

They know,

That when he does,

He will be theirs again,

Like he always was,

He knows,

That four years,

Has been to short,

They know,

That they have grown,

He knows,

He’s soft on them,

Too soft,

To get angry,

And give them work,

They know,

He’s their play dough,

Molding,

Making,

New strange shapes,

He knows,

That those four,

Have been the best part,

Of why he’s stayed,

They know,

That,

It’s more then,

Just the original four,

He knows,

Like them,

He spreads his love around,

Although,

Those four will always,

Take the top rings,

In the ladder,

That is his heart,

They know,

That the time will come,

The time will end,

And he will once more,

Desire,

One he can call his own,

Like he did,

Before,

In another life,

Although,

That special one,

Was a little smaller,

Sleeping with him in bed,

They know,

That the time will come,

That the time will end,

And that he will once more,

Desire,

One he can call his own,

Like he did before,

And took a dive,

Took a fly,

And landed in their lair,

They know,

That day,

When he was,

Kicking the stones,

Looking for a bar,

Finding a club,

Of the four legged sort,

Was the day,

That would never end.

He knows,

They are the glow,

That is his sun.

That wine,

Chilling,

On the shelf,

Warming on the table,

That lamb,

Spread out on the bed,

All dressed in green,

Those horses,

Resting,

Rolling over in the hay,

Harbor,

Stories from yesterday,

Living in the day,

Waiting,

To share,

And give the love,

For tomorrow.

Cup

Cup

Kiwi,

Poem,

Horse,

Cup,

He’s small,

Brown,

And cute,

He likes to stick his long nose,

Into everything,

That isn’t his,

And everything,

That is,

His,

Beady little eyes,

Staring out,

Looking in,

Hiding,

Beneath that bush,

Afraid of the sun,

Afraid of being too bright,

He likes to walk around at night,

All by himself,

Pecking at the worms,

Eating all the bugs,

Cleaning,

His nest,

When no ones around,

When no one can see,

He likes to be noticed,

He likes to be seen,

But,

He doesn’t take the

Admiration too well,

Leaving that,

For those who deserve it,

Those who work harder,

Clean tidier,

Who,

Unlike him,

Really gleam,

Out in that hot sun,

He likes,

Doing the work,

That nobody does best,

He likes,

His feet close to the ground,

His nose in the sand,

He likes an education,

He likes these situations,

Yet,

He sees others,

Who are more worthy,

More daring,

So,

Like the good little,

Brown thing he is,

Knowing,

He’s a star,

Yet,

Admonishing the admiration,

He keeps his feet,

Firmly planted on the ground.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Yet he doesn’t have you,

There was a ball,

Rolling down the hall,

About to fall,

When Paul,

Ran up,

To it,

With his cup,

He made it sit still,

In his hand,

A bitter pill,

To swallow,

When it was about to land,

In that tiny hallow,

Within the wood,

He thought,

What should,

He do?

Where will he go,

So he had a poo,

As he went to show,

His dear old mummy,

Just what a big,

Bad dummy,

Wearing a wig,

He was.

He knows them,

Better than he knows his best mate,

They know him better,

Then they know their master,

He knows,

He’s not that great,

They know,

That it doesn’t matter,

He knows,

That when he found them,

He was trapped,

Like that rat in that cage,

They know,

That,

When they met,

He would never be like a tree,

And leave,

He knows,

They are the reason he stays in Korea,

They know,

He will always be that brick in their wall,

Solid,

Staying strong, in their ground,

Until,

That typhoon comes,

And blows him down.

My blog

Hi,
and thank you for spending the time to look at my blog.
you will see on my more recent poems,
there are 3 things at the start,
this is because I have said to my friends to tell me 3 things about them, and give me a photo, so i have a visual stimulus, or i will look at their photo on facebook,
Then I write a poem from those three things,
the original I send to the subject,
then i repost it here, and I change the name, so they can keep their annoynmity,
so noone should ever know who the poem is about.

Please become a follower, you can do this by joining my site, on the top right corner,
you should use your gmail account to do this.

In the earlier posts here, prior to August 2012,
you will see my travel journal from my great Malaysian. Brunei, Indonesian, Singapore trip,

and the earlier posts before that are random stories and poems,

and theres a few from when I was at university, and before.

My hope is to get published sometime.

Soon, I will open a new blog, that will have the book that I have been writing, its not complete and not edited yet, but if you comment on that, I hope I will be able to improve my structure, and the course of the book.

Please comment on this blog,
your comments are appreciated, hopefully I will be able to grow from what you say.

Thanks for looking,
Poetry, not in Motion.