Adoration

Just a quick one for you today. It's not finished and I wrote it in about twenty minutes

OH and its pretty bad :/ it's definitely not one of my favourites.
Probably because I wasn't happy whilst writing it.
Ah well, see what you think


Adoration.


Elaborate, would you please on your chosen point
its funny how you think you can win me over.
Hilarious, how I used to fit the joint
in the gap, in the space
between your arms
and when I became lost (so lost)
in your charms.

Don’t pity me on my surely useless debate
its funny how you think I don’t remember.
Hilarious, how I used to say great (?)
We relate, we can stay
In this bottomless pit
and when I spit out my words (my words)
you still seem to think my opinions’ absurd.

Stop reminding me, surely I feel enough guilt.
Its funny how you think I forgave you
Hilarious, how leaning on the stilt,
we shared, and we cared
about our lives and each other.
But it’s nice now, I guess having you as my brother (?)

You told me if you could see them today.
It’s funny how you’ve already drifted
Hilarious, how you’ve gone astray.
We were, we adored
each other you said.
Then why are these thoughts of you still hassling my head?

The falling gentleman

This is a poem I wrote a while back. I tried to picture what it would be like steadily growing elderly and looking back on life. I don't know why but I did it in a style of an older man, and I picked a theme of Autumn to try and tie into it..

See what you think and please leave a comment :)

 The falling gentleman

Autumn mists are cracked like your voice
Tired of growing
Tired of ageing
You want to capture
Spring, for new life and wonders

Yet you only have mushrooms
Spotted mushrooms
With crumpled folds of skin steadily
Shrivelling

But how melancholy,
For each time it bends closer to the
ground it lets out a pityful cry
A cry that could almost be
human
'Each day I am closer to my passing'

Warped roots wrap
around your scuffed hoary soles
As you take a rusty breath and
sigh you see a
slice of your spirit

That five year old boy
Seized by the Spring
The infant believed he
would incessantly frolic
through the many blades
of grass..

Each one succulent...
Now it's sour.

You took her there
She was Summer.
Although..

You had changed.
The oak's army twirled around your
lifeless,
limp body, suffocating.

They want you,
they drained your inner being
your colour like the crippled mushroom
Occasionally,

You can sense the beauty seeping through
you can feel the warmth again
Of Summer

You're stuck though.
Squelching...
Knowing that each
And every day
you’re closer
to your passing.

The Seventh Spring

I wrote this when I was on my Creative Writing Course in London (http://www.debatechamber.com/) and my tutor, Megan - told me to write about a tree in Spring in the form of a (poorly crafted :P sorry) SONNET.

SONNETS ARE HARD. I'm not even kidding, I'm not too keen on anything structured, it reminds me too much of Maths (which, consequently got a C in for my GCSE *cheers*)

However, I have successfully (I think?) written a sonnet about "A tree in springtime"
Yes, Megan told me to write about a tree, and for someone who writes about any old rubbish I took this up and then found myself strangely uninspired. I mean come on, a tree! But then I thought about this tree that used to be outside my primary school (so for anyone abroad thats ages 4-10 .. I think) and at this time I was about 6 or 7. Now I was a dilly-daydreamer as a child. I can't sit still for more than five minutes (honest) I used to fiddle with my hair, and I even remember once fiddling with the hair of a girl IN FRONT OF ME, and told her I wanted it, because I thought she had 'princess' hair. *facepalm* ANYWAY, in this classroom there was a really nice view of a cherry blossom tree outside, and each season you could see the changes on the tree you always knew it was springtime when the pink blossom appeared :)

So I began thinking and remembering my silly primary school days, and I created this.. Enjoy!


The Seventh Spring
You, the growing child are starting to bloom
Sweet kisses of Spring and wrapped in the breeze
Twigs twirling up with the joy of the moon
Oozing with sap, gently rising with ease

So softly you brush and groom your splendour
Blossom brushing the awakening eyes
Then the warm times all creatures remember
The winter and the places where it lies

I sit by your regal trunk for a while
Admiring the flesh on this rich setting,
Place my palm on you and begin to smile
Beside this small foilage your are king

Its time to wake up from this dozy dream
Spring is awake and alive is the stream


Yes I know it's not brilliant and it is working progress, but give me a comment and let me know what you think?

Much love,

~misshapenskies

Further Clarification

This was a poem I wrote about a year ago. There used to be a place where I would go when I just needed to sit and think - and this poem is about that. Feel free to comment :) criticism is what I need!

Further clarification

 Out I bound

To this occasional

 Loquacious spring wonderland

A garden so serene in the dawn of frost

Yet others would see as none

I see so much more

Than the Simple

Sepia of that sky

I will deny the primary colours

They are not the sky

The greens and blues

Begin to fuse

Creating something more

On my tongue, catching the warmth in my eyes

I taste the nature of my place

In the black shadow of my hair

This escape for my emotions

Thus is cardinal

And as I gaze through my

Sealed lids that picture only reality

I look at the dancing figure that is me

A spinning little filigree

Once my questions are answered

I’ll thank the sun that sets

In the west

Winking at my grin

Laughing with the soft wind

Then, as it gives me one last soft kiss

I’ll turn my back

To the old oak tree

 Gone,

 skipping back in my crisp white blouse

~ misshapenskies

I do not own the picture.

Cloud Nine

This poem is one I wrote a while ago, I'm not sure what brought it on...
Anyway, critical comments are appreciated and I would love to hear what people think!
So without further ado, here is Cloud Nine

Cloud Nine

Haze

 stroke withdrawn cheeks

I wish to feel your depth,

suppleness of your nonentity in my

Clammed, sticky palms

Oh and how you look tonight

You knew it was an occasion to be remembered

To be hallowed

Heads will roll, to undergo

that essence of baptism

Once upon the hours of owls

 Held out a dove

And gave me a slice of

Cloud nine,

Which is what was, and now is mine.

Nightfall has a frayed black halo,

these echoes shall ring through horns

With remembrance, bound upon spite

In Twilight - I shall mourn.

First Sonnet

I wrote a sonnet for someone... It's not as easy as it looks trust me!

The reservoir
Back in the meadow seeking after him
Chasing bicycles down dreary lanes with
window panes and my feet on the brim of
 the sundown with my limbs rising weary.

Sitting we saw the altostratus clouds
like blankets that swept over the wise words
abruptly my worry seemed draped in shrouds
this atmosphere was convulsing with birds.

Swallows curled up in gratis ecstasy.
Our thumbs had a pulse with murmurations,
of what we hunted and needed to see.
You gave various clarifications.

For I see continual joy amid bliss
Look there, sweet eyelash – make your ceaseless wish.

This is very sweet, I found it on an article
the other day about optical illusions.