Nature called

And so, we have the elements; fire, wind, earth, water.

A wonderful trip to the beach with my equally wonderful little girl. I really wanted to catch the essence of the day, and to be honest I don't think I quite hit it. The day was made up of so much - so much that I really don't think I managed to get into the poem at all. I am glad that at least two of you liked it, as it was a bit of a struggle to put together.

I think that the struggle may have been caused by my desire to write in Haiku form. If you note it really is a series of Haiku. Four in a row, three lines; five, seven, five, syllable sets with a change in tact or punctuation device in the second or third line. Check - yep it's all there, but I am not. It's not really me. I like my usual free falling prose ramblings, so will stick to that for a while.

I do have a 'little' assignment that has been set, and as soon as it's done I will share.

Thanks for reading.

Elements

A gentle breeze sails
across the dunes; rippling grass
flickers in its hold.

Subtle, foaming edge
prompts the slate grey tide's advance;
erosion beckons.

Watered horizon
reflects a tremulous gold -
subdued, bronzing light.

Salt crusted expanse
punctuated with flotsam,
discarded crab shell.

Why is it we feel bitterness?

Anger, frustration, hurt. A desire for someone else to feel the same; but it is internal, insipid and eventually hurtful to yourself. Yet we, (humans that is) continue on, hoping that someone else will feel this pain. That they can look into a mirror and have the pain that they cast out, reflected back at them.

In reality, it is this hope, this desire, that is cast back on the hopeful. This bitterness that burns with acidic force, and damages those who can least afford it.

Bitterness

Let it rain.
Bombard me with your tears.
Let your eyes weep with never ending sorrow.
Fill the room with your woe
As I have done, many times before.
Let your eyes speak for you
As always.
But remember, you can not be understood.

I'm making a difference

I received a really uplifting email on Friday. It was from a student I taught last year and she is now following in my footsteps and becoming an English teacher.

I became a teacher because of my English teacher in year 10. She was amazing (thanks Ms. Bosnic), and now the cycle continues. I feel privileged beyond belief to have been able to be a part of these people's lives and to show them something that they thought was worthwhile.

It's fantastic!

Who is Pandora's Box?

My beautiful mother died on June the 8th, 1986. I was 11 years old.

This poem describes the scene where my siblings and I were told of her death. The emotions are interspersed with the thoughts I had at the time. I found this quite a powerful way of writing as I could describe the scene, and allow you insight into the sequencing of thoughts that had occurred.

I have chosen to personify death, yet use an inanimate object to describe my mother. This was mainly due to the connotations associated with the story of Pandora's Box. The pain of losing someone so wonderful is intense, and the description only just begins to illustrate the feeling.

Lastly, it is a lesson. On the impact that adults can have on children. We were left to support ourselves and left to whisper words of comfort to each other in the night. An incredible burden was placed upon us, and it is only beginning to lift.

Thank you for allowing me to share this burden with you. Please feel free to post comments about any of my poetry :)

Pandora's Box

The children watched as the mis-shapen fingers ambled forth and prised open the lid.
Like stagnant, noxious air, the words filled their lungs,
grew hooks and barbed themselves in their throats.

Swallow, breathe, forget.

Insidious curse preyed upon the quartet.
Moving effortlessly between their faces,
anointing each with shame.

Were you alone?
Did you fear?

Dark wraith suckled at the rivers flowing from each child's heart,
grew strong and crawled into the opening;
extinguishing what remained within.

I did not know you.
I cannot smell you.
I long to hear you.

Cast aside, the children left.
And so began their life.