tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2013-05-24:/This is where Michele Brenton - alter-ego of banana_the_poet shares her poetry.MokoFeed2013-05-24T04:54:36+02:00tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2013-04-12:/2013/04/12/bedtime-story-15749291/banana2013-04-12T16:30:22+02:002013-04-12T16:30:22+02:00 <p><strong>Bedtime story.</strong></p> <p>Once upon a time<br> there was a genetic code<br> and the genetic code was made<br> of many tiny messages<br> and each message<br> was made of even tinier words.</p> <p>And every story the genetic code tells<br> from the very first person<br> to the ones living now<br> is a story of growth<br> and of survival<br> and of how each mistake<br> and of how every change<br> means each story<br> is special<br> is unique<br> is the newest chapter<br> to be read with wonder<br> and astonishment.</p> <p>And you my beautiful child,<br> with your questioning eyes<br> and stormy words<br> may be my 'broken baby'<br> but those breaks make you<br> who you are<br> and take your story into places<br> you would otherwise<br> never see,<br> and that is your adventure.</p> <p>Michele Brenton<br> 12th April 2013 </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2013/04/12/bedtime-story-15749291/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2013-03-25:/2013/03/25/father-s-day-15669032/banana2013-03-25T12:45:15+01:002013-03-25T12:45:15+01:00 <p><strong>Father's Day.</strong></p> <p>I will remember the sun in your thinning hair<br> and the way we danced on a Sunday morning<br> with my feet on yours<br> and laughed at Round the Horne<br> knowing we were the only ones<br> in the room who understood<br> how rude it was.</p> <p>I will remember rides in the car<br> when I was off sick from school and you took me<br> on deliveries<br> the smell of the cotton<br> curtains and loose covers still wafts<br> if I stop and allow my nose<br> to recall it.</p> <p>I will remember you sleeping through films<br> in the cinema while your family enjoyed a treat<br> only waking up<br> in time to drive us all home<br> and argue with my mum<br> about nothing.</p> <p>I won't remember the date of your death<br> I won't associate pain with you<br> I won't let sadness take away<br> the lifetime of who you were<br> and how you shaped me<br> and what your life meant<br> and means<br> and what your death taught me<br> is that dates don't matter<br> it's what you do with them that counts.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 25th March 2013 </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2013/03/25/father-s-day-15669032/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2013-02-14:/2013/02/14/a-poem-for-onebillionrising-love-does-not-hurt-15531748/banana2013-02-14T13:53:11+01:002013-02-14T13:53:11+01:00 <p><strong>LOVE DOES NOT HURT</strong><br> <a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/screen_shot_2013_02_13_at_17_43_26/6883399" title="Screen Shot 2013-02-13 at 17.43.26"><img src="http://data8.blog.de/media/399/6883399_1d375a5536_m.png" alt="Screen Shot 2013-02-13 at 17.43.26"></a></p> <p>I don't believe love hurts although it comes with pain<br> wrapped round so tight you might mistake<br> the one for the other.<br> No, they are distinct, unattached<br> and if you work to tease them apart<br> love breaks free,<br> pain falls away,<br> and something wonderful begins.</p> <p>But some people make a dire mistake<br> and get entangled in the hurt,<br> telling a story in their head<br> that love is dark and cruel<br> and read from blood and tears and pain and fear.</p> <p>And strangle love so weak and small,<br> finally becomes no love at all.<br> by Michele Brenton 13th February 2013 </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2013/02/14/a-poem-for-onebillionrising-love-does-not-hurt-15531748/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2013-01-11:/2013/01/11/the-journalists-lament-15418749/banana2013-01-11T22:01:11+01:002013-01-11T22:01:11+01:00 <p><strong>The Journalists Lament.</strong></p> <p>How do you feel?<br> How do you feel?<br> Tell us your thoughts<br> the public hungers<br> let us run our fingers through your life<br> tear you up to find the heart<br> show the pictures on our pages<br> debate your pain, your tears, your rages.<br> We want to know what you went through<br> and when we're bored find someone new,<br> and if you die from what we did<br> and leave a crying orphaned kid<br> we'll start again with anguished squeals<br> "Tell us kid - How do you feel?"</p> <p>Michele Brenton.</p> <p>Written today after hearing about how journalists are yet again tormenting a friend of mine beyond endurance. How some of these people sleep at night is beyond me. I understand that the world needs to know about certain things but when a person is fragile and vulnerable and a victim it is despicable that reporters pester and harrass them in order to try to break them down and get any snippet of information about them. Even pestering neighbours and relatives and friends and making life in the community for that person hideously difficult. They must know the stress they are causing could lead to somebody maybe taking their own life - but still they relentlessly continue. Jackals are gentle friendly creatures in comparison. <img src="/img/smilies/icon_sad.gif" alt=":(" class="middle" border="0"> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2013/01/11/the-journalists-lament-15418749/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-11-08:/2012/11/08/a-poetic-rebuttal-to-philip-larkin-15181851/banana2012-11-08T19:56:38+01:002012-11-08T19:56:38+01:00 <p><strong>Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse</strong></p> <p>They fuck you up, your mum and dad.<br> They may not mean to, but they do.<br> They fill you with the faults they had<br> And add some extra, just for you.</p> <p>But they were fucked up in their turn<br> By fools in old-style hats and coats,<br> Who half the time were soppy-stern<br> And half at one another's throats.</p> <p>Man hands on misery to man.<br> It deepens like a coastal shelf.<br> Get out as early as you can,<br> And don't have any kids yourself.</p> <p><strong>Michele Brenton - Vice or Verse?</strong></p> <p>Why don't you thank your mum and dad?<br> They did their best, most parents do.<br> The faults you have that once they had,<br> Created what's uniquely you.</p> <p>And they were made like you in turn<br> By people you don't understand,<br> Who did their best to live and learn<br> And used the tools that came to hand.</p> <p>You like to blame those gone before<br> Instead of taking on the load<br> Of what you do with what you've got<br> and how you chose to walk your road.</p> <p>Written in response to the Poetic Asides Blog PAD challenge - write a rebuttal to a dead poet's poem. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/11/08/a-poetic-rebuttal-to-philip-larkin-15181851/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-10-25:/2012/10/26/see-how-far-we-ve-come-15128317/banana2012-10-26T01:21:11+02:002012-10-26T01:21:11+02:00 <p><strong>See how far we’ve come!</strong></p> <p>Women carry placards with words in red,<br> Malala keeps on fighting from her hospital bed,<br> Demanding respect with heads held high.</p> <p>See how far we’ve come!</p> <p>Little girls married to grizzled old men,<br> children born to children again and again.<br> Paedophile abuse on the News at Ten.</p> <p>See how far we’ve come!</p> <p>And the old ones in high places are closing ranks,<br> packing their cases and giving up thanks<br> for the Swiss bank accounts that keep them safe.</p> <p>See how far we’ve come!</p> <p>But the will of the people will not be stopped<br> and truth comes out though the stories are dropped.<br> Not <em>just</em> women, <em>only</em> women but loud strong women!</p> <p>See how far we’ve come!</p> <p>Michele Brenton</p> <p>This was written in response to a poetry prompt on Robert Lee Brewer's Writers Digest Poetic Asides Blog to write a chant poem.</p> <p>It was inspired by stories that struck a chord with me over the last few weeks. Malala Yousafzai - the young girl shot in the head for daring to speak out in favour of education for females. The protests in Morocco against a law which forced another young girl into marriage with her rapist and led to her suicide. The heartbreaking wedding pictures of extremely young girls in Afghanistan with their much older grooms. And finally the ever snowballing story of abuse emerging from the BBC.</p> <p>The last of those stories has a special poignancy for me because I am a web pal of the inspirational brave lady who gave those interviews to Newsnight and Panorama - Karin Ward. There is a long way to go to ensure women across the world can rely on the authorities and legal systems in their home countries to protect their basic human right to sexual security and education and respect. But over the last few weeks women have stood up and spoken up and I am humbled by their bravery and tenacity. </p> <p>"Not <em>just</em> women, <em>only</em> women but loud strong women!</p> <p>See how far we’ve come!"</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/10/26/see-how-far-we-ve-come-15128317/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-10-17:/2012/10/18/it-is-a-gloriously-sunny-day-i-will-be-forgotten-15063416/banana2012-10-18T00:49:57+02:002012-10-18T09:42:42+02:00 <p><strong>Freeze frames.</strong></p> <p>It is a gloriously sunny day, the air hangs lightly with a hint of freshness, still, warm, enfolding but not enclosing. I gaze out over the hillside to watch the goats pick their way up the shrubby, rocky surface towards the feeding troughs at the top edge that the shepherd has filled with water from the tap I know is there. </p> <p>I remember the day we first walked up there and found in the middle of an otherwise wild landscape, a pipe with a tap which on turning, gushed clear cool water in abundance. It was as incongruous as the lamp-post in the Lantern Wastes of Narnia and typified the fantasy atmosphere of living on a small Greek island.</p> <p>Here the colours are so clear and the air so clean we can stand at the top of a mountain further in height from the coastal edge and the sea than the top of the Grand Canyon is from its lowest point, and see every detail like a tiny architect’s model.</p> <p>And the sunny days stretch ahead of us like a never-ending string of translucent pearls on a golden chain.</p> <p>I hold your hand tightly and you squeeze back. We are together, here and now in this wonderful place, we are happy, contented and safe. I can feel your skin against mine; hear your steady breathing, slow and certain. I know if I rest my head against your chest I will feel that familiar warmth, smell the scent of you and hear your heart again as always. We don’t need to speak, I know your voice so well as I know all of you as well as I know myself.</p> <p>Better probably, because I have gazed on you so many times, touched you and shared your space – I am inside myself and outside of you, learning your every atom, recording it and keeping it. Do you do the same for me? Even if you do, I know I will be forgotten. It doesn’t bother me.</p> <p>You have a terrible memory, it is one of the things I learned about you and because it is who you are, I love, accept and remember it.</p> <p>It is a gloriously sunny day, the air hangs lightly with a hint of freshness, still, warm, enfolding but not enclosing. I gaze out over the hillside to watch the goats pick their way up the shrubby, rocky surface towards the feeding troughs at the top edge that the shepherd has filled with water from the tap I know is there. </p> <p>Your dark hair has started turning orange in places because of the strength of the sun. I used to have a brown cat and the same thing happened to him.</p> <p>It is a spring morning. I am sitting in the garden in South Wales. You are curled up on the flagstones at my feet. I am wearing sandals and I can just feel your fur against my bare skin, soft and tickly. You are purring; you are radiating warmth. If I hold you against me the vibration will transfer into me, I know your smell, your frequency. </p> <p>It is a gloriously sunny day, the air hangs lightly with a hint of freshness, still, warm, enfolding but not enclosing. I gaze out over the hillside to watch the goats pick their way up the shrubby, rocky surface towards the feeding troughs at the top edge that the shepherd has filled with water from the tap I know is there.</p> <p>I hold your hand tightly and you squeeze back. We are together, here and now in this wonderful place, we are happy, contented and safe. I can feel your skin against mine; hear your steady breathing, slow and certain. I know if I rest my head against your chest I will feel that familiar warmth, smell the scent of you and hear your heart again as always. We don’t need to speak, I know your voice so well as I know all of you as well as I know myself.</p> <p>You have a terrible memory. We are together, here and now in this wonderful place, we are happy, contented and safe. I know if I rest my head against your chest I will feel that familiar warmth, smell the scent of you and hear your heart again as always.</p> <p>It is a gloriously sunny day. It is a gloriously sunny day. It is a gloriously sunny day.</p> <p>I know I will be forgotten. It doesn’t bother me.</p> <p>Michele Brenton</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/10/18/it-is-a-gloriously-sunny-day-i-will-be-forgotten-15063416/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-10-04:/2012/10/04/this-is-how-i-spell-poetry-my-poem-for-national-poetry-day-14972145/banana2012-10-04T18:17:20+02:002012-10-04T18:17:20+02:00 <p><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/customer-media/product-gallery/1907375678/ref=cm_ciu_pdp_images_all" title="Hallowe"><img src="http://data6.blog.de/media/986/6645986_6fa997b9a9_m.jpeg" alt="Hallowe"></a></p> <p><strong>This is how I spell Poetry.</strong></p> <p>By the red of holly berries brought forth by thorns<br> By the sacrifices spilled onto cool green earth<br> By the energies released when love is shared<br> By the darkness and the light and the power of air</p> <p>I call on the everything in the spaces<br> to coalesce in buzz and fizz<br> and even the joy of crackle and pop<br> and laughter, giggles, mirth restrained,<br> pain and sorrow, all emotions<br> be the fuel to set us moving<br> faster, further, never ending,<br> journeys without destinations,<br> always looking through the windows<br> revelling in each sensation.</p> <p>This I invoke to gift the world<br> wrapped in starlight tied with string theory<br> and infinite possibilities.<br> Do with it what you will.</p> <p>Michele Brenton written for National Poetry Day on 4th October 2012</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/10/04/this-is-how-i-spell-poetry-my-poem-for-national-poetry-day-14972145/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-09-13:/2012/09/13/rub-out-and-start-again-14730568/banana2012-09-13T03:10:19+02:002012-09-13T03:10:19+02:00 <p><strong>Rub out and start again.</strong></p> <p>“You did what now?<br> How many people?<br> You are kidding me right?<br> Stop there for a moment while I take this in.<br> This is going to need some time for me to digest.”</p> <p>The shimmering hologrammatic representation of the Great One<br> sitting quietly – hands steepled beneath chin,<br> eyes half-closed, lips unsmiling and down-turned.</p> <p>The holy scientists waited. It had taken many years to reach this point<br> a combination of gene manipulation and spacio-time engineering,<br> they could wait longer.</p> <p>Many hours passed.<br> Crowds gathered.<br> The image of the Great One was beamed<br> across the planet.<br> The biggest reality<br> on screen ever.</p> <p>Eyes opened. Tears fell.<br> The lips parted.<br> The head thrown back.<br> And a scream –<br> across the universe,<br> across time,<br> across humanity,<br> “Noooooooooooooo!”</p> <p>And everything folded in on itself<br> as the Great One said firmly,<br> “Let me try this again,<br> I think I can get it right this time.”</p> <p>written in response to the Wednesday prompt at Writers Digest Poetic Asides BLog by Robert Brewer. The prompt being to write an interview poem.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/09/13/rub-out-and-start-again-14730568/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-09-10:/2012/09/11/tender-memories-14711760/banana2012-09-11T01:38:11+02:002012-09-11T01:38:11+02:00 <p><strong>Tender memories.</strong></p> <p>This is a tough one<br> how to explain a life with someone<br> who never remembers?<br> Or more accurately sometimes does<br> but in fits and starts<br> and how that constantly breaks my heart.</p> <p>Because I'm like an elephant<br> everything sticks.<br> I remember a film from a line overheard<br> a book from ten years ago,<br> every moment we've shared<br> each word and the way it was spoken<br> but I live in a world where a promise is broken<br> or rather it isn't quite because can you call it a promise<br> if the person who made it forgets its conception?<br> Not in a way that can find recollection<br> the data is gone <em>it's gone.</em></p> <p>Every day is a new day, a new beginning<br> which sounds rather lovely and full of hope.<br> I carry our history, treasure it carefully,<br> curate our necessary frequent contracts,<br> there has to be trust, because I am the only<br> person who tells of the things that have been.</p> <p>And this is the way we have been forever,<br> I tell you the story you follow directions,<br> we laugh and we love and we have new adventures<br> and I tell them to you so you don't lose the moments.</p> <p>I sit in my bedroom and I travel in time<br> and scents and sounds and feel of the air<br> and sun on my skin and I'm there<br> while I'm here<br> and I cry for the you<br> who will never be able<br> to hold onto a moment and love it forever.<br> So I'll love it for both of us,<br> I'll love us for both of us,<br> and that will have to be enough, forever.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 11th September 2012</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/09/11/tender-memories-14711760/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-07-21:/2012/07/21/wisdom-14163310/banana2012-07-21T13:13:43+02:002012-07-21T13:13:43+02:00 <p><strong>Wisdom.</strong></p> <p>While we are here,<br> if we open our eyes,<br> our hearts,<br> our ears,<br> then we will know<br> why we are here.</p> <p>While we live,<br> if we open our arms,<br> our minds,<br> our homes,<br> we will receive<br> all the love we give.</p> <p>While we live,<br> While we are here,<br> is a fleeting moment;<br> spread hope not fear.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 21st July 2012 12.12</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/07/21/wisdom-14163310/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-07-19:/2012/07/19/ian-tomlinson-selling-newspapers-14150920/banana2012-07-19T16:19:35+02:002012-07-19T16:24:44+02:00 <p><strong>Selling newspapers.</strong></p> <p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/paulissima/3431317921/" title="Justiceforiantomlinson"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/541/3424541_568da02b7b_m.jpeg" alt="Justiceforiantomlinson" vspace="5" hspace="5"></a></p> <p>Every day he went to work<br> selling newspapers.<br> At the stand all day long<br> earning his rent and living.</p> <p>It's not very exciting work<br> selling newspapers.<br> Good a way as any<br> to make his way and living.</p> <p>Each evening he walked home from<br> selling newspapers.<br> A comfortable routine<br> his own template for living.</p> <p>No more at the news stand, but still<br> selling newspapers.<br> His name is headline news<br> now he's no longer living.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 8th April 2009</p> <p>More poems written contemporaneously as the case regarding the death of Ian Tomlinson developed here: <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/search/tomlinson/AND/">http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/search/tomlinson/AND/</a></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/07/19/ian-tomlinson-selling-newspapers-14150920/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-06-16:/2012/06/16/a-poem-for-father-s-day-about-my-husband-13886671/banana2012-06-16T23:03:16+02:002012-06-16T23:03:16+02:00 <p><strong>Wasp.</strong></p> <p>Your dark silhouette<br> training a hose trickling<br> against the flames<br> just enough to make you stay.<br> Memories<br> piling fuel on fear.<br> I thought,<br> <em>He's going to die</em><br> examined that idea<br> as if I could prepare myself,<br> lessen the impact when it came.<br> But bones know and blood knows<br> and nerves scream.</p> <p>In smoke, in heat,<br> as rain poured inside,<br> soaking our home with poisoned sweaty smears;<br> Choked by dread's fatal oxygen<br> I recalled the summer day<br> you snatched a wasp<br> threatening our child,<br> crushed it in your hand,<br> as instinct to protect<br> won over your terror<br> of stinging insects.</p> <p>Afterwards,<br> the tubes and smell and dirt and tears<br> and platitudes and coughing<br> and struggling and running and fighting,<br> and all behind it the whisper,<br> <em>He's going to die.</em><br> And even when the mind knows<br> it's over now, the danger passed;<br> my nerves scream,<br> my bones know and blood knows,<br> <em>He's going to die.</em></p> <p><img src="http://data7.blog.de/media/104/6433104_61ed4c4ed3_s.jpeg" alt="IMG_0151"></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/06/16/a-poem-for-father-s-day-about-my-husband-13886671/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-06-13:/2012/06/13/warm-memories-of-a-carthen-13862457/banana2012-06-13T10:47:41+02:002012-06-13T10:49:42+02:00 <p><a href="http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/330745540077" title="berry welsh wool blanket"><img src="http://data7.blog.de/media/351/6426351_0e055b4df1_m.jpeg" alt="berry welsh wool blanket"></a></p> <p><strong>Warm memories of a carthen.</strong></p> <p>Small child, big ideas<br> medium sized Welsh village,<br> deep valley near the sea.<br> King sized bedspread<br> berry shades<br> in the spare room<br> where I went<br> after nightmares;<br> snuggled under<br> cosy warmth,<br> closed my eyes<br> and happy dreams<br> filled my head<br> till morning.</p> <p>by Michele Brenton<br> June 13th 2012 </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/06/13/warm-memories-of-a-carthen-13862457/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-04-24:/2012/04/24/a-love-story-13571157/banana2012-04-24T20:29:58+02:002012-05-01T21:51:50+02:00 <p><strong>A love story.</strong></p> <p><em>Throw them out - get rid of them.</em></p> <p>But every day it is impossible,<br> the textile reminders<br> of a life force so powerful<br> he still fills the house<br> as well as the wardrobes.</p> <p>Sliding through her fingers,<br> silk and viscose, every colour<br> every texture, every moment,<br> ties of memories,<br> braille messages from the past.<br> <em><br> Get rid of them? The idea is untenable.</em></p> <p>Then one morning, while the birds sing<br> and the sun blazes through the<br> picture window where she still<br> 'sees' him waiting for her to come in<br> from the garden,<br> something readjusts.</p> <p>The fomites have finally passed on<br> the germ of remembrance,<br> imprinted memories safely stored<br> in her DNA and she cannot lose them<br> ever again.</p> <p>A decade on<br> and the wardrobe<br> has space now,<br> his clothes are out<br> making memories<br> for someone else.</p> <p>by Michele Brenton 24th April 2012</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/04/24/a-love-story-13571157/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-04-17:/2012/04/18/a-glimpse-of-the-future-the-once-and-future-librarian-13532177/banana2012-04-18T00:47:14+02:002012-05-01T21:53:18+02:00 <p><strong>The Once and Future Librarian.</strong></p> <p>People come to listen to the sound.<br> It's a bucket list type of thing.<br> Everyone should visit <strong>The Library</strong><br> at least once in a lifetime.<br> I remember once the queue was so long<br> it took 36 hours to get to the front.<br> But it is worth it to gain admittance.</p> <p>In <strong>The Library</strong><br> the<br> only<br> sound<br> is<br> of<br> pages<br> turning<br> slowly.</p> <p>The recording is said to be,<br> <em>'Just like hearing the real thing.'</em><br> There are rumours video footage<br> exists somewhere.</p> <p>Sheer fantasy.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 17th April 2012</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/04/18/a-glimpse-of-the-future-the-once-and-future-librarian-13532177/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-04-16:/2012/04/16/a-mixed-up-poem-it-s-in-the-mix-13522182/banana2012-04-16T22:54:07+02:002012-04-16T22:59:38+02:00 <p><strong>It’s in the mix.<br> </strong></p> <p>The maiden, the whore<br> the wise old hag<br> all mixed together<br> to create this bag<br> of contradictions<br> truths and fictions<br> part of silk, part oily rag.<br> And in amongst the feminine<br> is added something else of mine<br> a certain masculinity<br> which truth to say bewildered me<br> until I came to recognise<br> what makes life fun is the surprise!<br> There is no person on the world<br> who knows the secrets yet unfurled<br> hid deep in hearts and minds and souls<br> and every scrap makes up the whole.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 16th April 2012 for <a href="http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2012-april-pad-challenge-day-16#comment-530241">Poetic Asides Day 16 prompt: write a mixed up poem.</a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/04/16/a-mixed-up-poem-it-s-in-the-mix-13522182/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-04-15:/2012/04/15/endings-13509086/banana2012-04-15T12:47:35+02:002012-04-15T12:47:35+02:00 <p><strong>Endings.</strong></p> <p>There is no moment I can find<br> unravelling the tangle<br> following the threads<br> digging through the dirt<br> and mess<br> and bleeding.</p> <p>No point where I could have<br> seen the harm<br> seen the failure<br> hiding behind sunshine<br> poised like a spider<br> measuring each trembling<br> silken event<br> to determine<br> when best to deal the killing blow,<br> dripping venom along pathways,<br> entering my soul,<br> withering and blackening,<br> shrivelling, ensuring<br> there could be no renewal.</p> <p>As my eyes dry up and my tongue cleaves<br> to my mouth<br> I have no tears, no words.<br> My skin cracks,<br> My heart bursts<br> and death is a kindness<br> with soothing songs<br> endless sleep<br> and no more dreams.</p> <p>The spider feeds.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 15th April 2012 </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/04/15/endings-13509086/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-04-01:/2012/04/01/little-victories-a-poem-about-communication-13371334/banana2012-04-01T20:55:43+02:002012-04-01T20:56:10+02:00 <p>Written for the Poetry a day challenge on Writer's digest Poetic Asides blog day one the prompt is: For today’s prompt, write a communication poem.</p> <p><strong>Little victories.</strong></p> <p>There was a time I wondered<br> if we would ever communicate?</p> <p>So much stood in our way:<br> the absence of a palate<br> to move your tongue against<br> was the least of it<br> though I didn't realise that<br> at first which was just as well.<br> Each new problem had its own timetable<br> of shock, grief, acceptance and after a long time<br> and many struggles,<br> eventual circumvention.</p> <p>Now when we talk together<br> I know exactly who you are<br> and you know exactly who I am.<br> It is as if there had never been<br> any problems at all.<br> "How lucky you are to have such<br> an easy relationship together!" exclaims<br> a new acquaintance and<br> your eyes meet mine and we smile<br> as I just say, "Yes."</p> <p>by Michele Brenton<br> 1st April 2012 </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/04/01/little-victories-a-poem-about-communication-13371334/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-02-28:/2012/02/28/to-whom-it-may-concern-an-open-letter-to-the-powers-that-be-12948851/banana2012-02-28T14:29:19+01:002012-02-28T14:29:19+01:00 <p><strong>To Whom It May Concern.</strong></p> <p> Dear God (or whoever or whatever is in charge<br> if anyone or anything is),<br> please give me a break and let the bad stuff<br> stop for a little while<br> so I can catch my breath<br> and build my strength<br> to be able to cope<br> with whatever<br> you have planned <br> to smack me over the head with next.</p> <p> I'd ask for good things<br> but I've learned to be realistic.</p> <p> Yours sincerely,<br> me<br> xx</p> <p>Michele Brenton 28th February 2012</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/02/28/to-whom-it-may-concern-an-open-letter-to-the-powers-that-be-12948851/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-02-25:/2012/02/25/skeletons-and-cupboards-12934646/banana2012-02-25T23:38:23+01:002012-02-25T23:38:23+01:00 <p><strong>Skeletons and cupboards.</strong></p> <p>I put myself away<br> when words become too hard to find<br> and I think of you...</p> <p>there is no way I can know you<br> but your loss seeps<br> deeper than it should<br> my tears are not just my tears<br> yours wet my cheeks<br> and I wish you could have felt<br> mine comforting you<br> as you wept for your dead love,<br> dwindling and fading<br> neatly put away<br> until you were free<br> to join him.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 25th February 2012</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/02/25/skeletons-and-cupboards-12934646/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-01-25:/2012/01/26/nack-12525001/banana2012-01-26T00:24:15+01:002012-01-26T00:24:15+01:00 <p><strong>NACK</strong></p> <p>Messages<br> airborne<br> buzzing interference chattering muttering phonemes spluttering<br> template sliding<br> meanings hiding<br> senses gliding<br> warm draught thermals<br> epidermals<br> shivering shaking<br> nervous breaking<br> down through the atmosphere<br> message over.<br> Not understood.</p> <p>Michele Brenton</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/01/26/nack-12525001/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-01-09:/2012/01/09/the-nature-of-things-12419071/banana2012-01-09T20:59:58+01:002012-01-09T20:59:58+01:00 <p><strong>The nature of things.</strong></p> <p>I am screaming into emptiness<br> and my doppler doppleganger<br> envelopes, engulfs, encapsulates<br> expands to fill the space it's in<br> until there is no more room<br> and I disappear.<br> Nothing there.<br> Nothing hear.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 9th Jan 2012</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/01/09/the-nature-of-things-12419071/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2012-01-08:/2012/01/08/viking-funeral-12411381/banana2012-01-08T15:54:37+01:002012-01-28T23:51:57+01:00 <p><strong>Viking Funeral.</strong></p> <p>Lay him down<br> dress him fine,<br> weave flowers in his beard;<br> for he is loved,<br> he is mine,<br> paid for with my tears.</p> <p>Battles over,<br> Warrior King<br> respected by his peers;<br> hold his image<br> sing his songs<br> to echo through the years.</p> <p>Upon the waters<br> send him well,<br> let the flames begin;<br> Valhalla waits<br> while my heart breaks<br> and yearns to burn with him.</p> <p>Michele Brenton.</p> <p>Written in response to a photo prompt on the Poetic Bloomings website: <a href="http://poeticbloomings.com/2012/01/08/photo-prompt-prompt-37/">http://poeticbloomings.com/2012/01/08/photo-prompt-prompt-37/</a></p> <p>Inspired by this blog post by Jane Alexander <a href="http://exmoorjane.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-viking.html">http://exmoorjane.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-viking.html</a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2012/01/08/viking-funeral-12411381/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2011-12-27:/2011/12/27/intelligence-12357880/banana2011-12-27T15:16:27+01:002011-12-27T15:16:27+01:00 <p><strong>Intelligence.</strong></p> <p>What has passed is wiped away,<br> a wish repeated often enough<br> to make reality of lies.<br> For what has passed remains<br> embedded in the now,<br> flavouring scents and subtleties<br> changing all that comes<br> into something else.<br> And maybe that's a good thing?<br> Because I don't know about you<br> but I wasn't born yesterday<br> and surely that's a good thing?</p> <p>Michele Brenton 27th December 2011</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2011/12/27/intelligence-12357880/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2011-12-14:/2011/12/14/5-a-m-and-all-s-well-12301096/banana2011-12-14T07:16:43+01:002011-12-14T07:16:43+01:00 <p><strong>5 a.m. and all's well.</strong></p> <p>The day has not begun yet.<br> Sitting in the darkness<br> listening to them breathing<br> as they sleep.<br> They are so peaceful<br> lines erased<br> cares forgotten<br> pain escaped.<br> The day has not begun yet. </p> <p>14th Dec 2011 Michele Brenton</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2011/12/14/5-a-m-and-all-s-well-12301096/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2011-12-13:/2011/12/14/alive-12300574/banana2011-12-14T01:31:36+01:002011-12-14T01:31:36+01:00 <p><strong>Alive</strong></p> <p>It<br> hurts<br> breath<br> pains<br> eyes<br> sting<br> mouth<br> dry<br> head<br> aches<br> heart<br> cries<br> silently,<br> Bring it on<br> I will take it<br> I always have.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 13 dec 2011</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2011/12/14/alive-12300574/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2011-12-01:/2011/12/01/useless-female-12242569/banana2011-12-01T12:04:49+01:002011-12-01T12:04:49+01:00 <p><strong>Useless female.</strong></p> <p>I spoke up.<br> So now I must be squashed<br> deep into the ground<br> my nose smelling the appropriate stink<br> of dirt and dust and all the leavings<br> life has dropped and here I belong<br> dribbling tears as if they could wash it all away.</p> <p>When will I learn to disappear quietly?<br> When will my spirit finally accept<br> it is not of benefit to me?<br> I need rewiring - my program is obsolete<br> I am unfit for purpose.</p> <p>Take a scalpel to my brain,<br> carve out the useless,<br> the dreams,<br> the needs,<br> the hunger.<br> There is no happiness<br> while they persist.</p> <p>I only need some basic skills<br> required to carry out my jobs<br> Please grant me peace to live my life:<br> remove the bit of me that sobs.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 1st December 2011</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2011/12/01/useless-female-12242569/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2011-11-29:/2011/11/29/you-might-just-get-what-you-deserve-12235307/banana2011-11-29T19:36:06+01:002011-11-29T19:36:06+01:00 <p><strong>You might just get what you deserve.</strong></p> <p>Stop all joy,<br> the unexpected.<br> Crush the unknown<br> lest it flourish<br> colour life in<br> muted tones.<br> God forbid<br> imagination.<br> Should a child<br> exhibit genius<br> make it clear<br> they are not wanted,<br> Then sit back and wonder<br> why your life seems<br> empty, blander<br> and the light's gone<br> from the mountain<br> and the flowers grey<br> in sorrow<br> and the music<br> you once loved so<br> never speaks<br> of hope tomorrow.<br> Here's the world you wanted<br> Take it.<br> Stick it where the sun don't shine<br> You have got what you deserved<br> You don't deserve this son of mine.</p> <p>Michele Brenton</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2011/11/29/you-might-just-get-what-you-deserve-12235307/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> tag:poems-2-share.blog.co.uk,2011-11-29:/2011/11/29/school-s-out-forever-12235189/banana2011-11-29T19:04:19+01:002011-11-29T19:04:19+01:00 <p><strong>School's Out Forever!!</strong></p> <p>I will grow my nails until they are long and strong and<br> drag them down the black board<br> until the sound fills the world<br> and everyone hears it<br> drowning out the excuses<br> the platitudes<br> the cliches<br> the million reasons why<br> it is NEVER their fault<br> for failing and failing and failing.<br> I will never stop<br> and the screech<br> will last<br> until somebody<br> takes responsibility.<br> Which means<br> noise everlasting<br> destroying the peace<br> forever.</p> <p>Michele Brenton 29th November 2011 </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk/2011/11/29/school-s-out-forever-12235189/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>