Monday, 17 September 2012

Wildernesschic Poetry Recital - So Many Little Shoes



This is the one poem I regret leaving out of my book.
Book two maybe ...



From the black and white picture,
I will never forget.
The Angel haired girl,
standing out from the rest.
Her innocent face,
looking so out of place.
All down to a question of race.
What happened my darling,
where do you rest,
did you shower with your mummy,
or were you saved for the test ?
"Arbeit Macht Frei" 
said only in jest.
Did you friends turn against you,
Why, 
what did you do?
Forced to leave forever,
the only life that you knew.
All you held dear,
overnight disappeared.
What were they doing,
why were you there?
Men, 
to the left. 
Women, 
to the right.
Pretty face so confused.
Eyes wide,
with fright
"What's happening Mummy?"
You had not a clue.
To me, 
you were beautiful.
To them,
just a Jew..

So many questions.
Yet nothing to do,
but to remember forever,
those thousands of shoes.
Once belonging to people,
just like you and I,
taken away by the call of
 "Sieg Heil"


Wednesday, 12 September 2012

Painted Smile







I hold inside 
an overwhelming urge
to weep.
Do I throw it
or do I keep?

Indulge those tears
over wasted years.
Cry away 
tortured 
twisting
nurturing those fears.

Or do I swallow 
straighten.
Paint on that smile,
bury them deep.
Once again 
my secret I do keep. 





Wednesday, 15 August 2012

Foreign Affair








One September dawn.
As leaves twist
and raindrops fall.
She counted everyone.
Each tear,
one for every passing year.

She thought of you 
and happy times. 
Eighteen years old, 
in warmer climes.
Watching the sunrise upon the sand.
Each from a distant land.

Eyes locked in deep embrace.
Fingers laced.
The world on hold.
Memories etched upon the soul.
‘I love you’
‘Ich Liebe dich’
Hand in hand,
neither able to understand.






Sunday, 12 August 2012

The Beautiful Ones




Where do all the beautiful ones go?
When they start to fade
and their looks have flown.
To risk their life, under the knife?
For a nip and tuck, that could surely fuck up.
Or to leave the scene.
Disappear from view, opt out and go.
Live life alone, like Greta Garbo.



Thursday, 9 August 2012

Exciting Times







“So, who are you and what do you do?”...

How many times I have been asked this question in life.  Somehow, judgements, whether they are right or wrong in their presumption, are often made on my answer.  

I do many things and have been many things to many people, but, the true description of what I now feel I am, is an artist.  I have always appreciated style and beauty.  For years I have enjoyed making people look pretty, by styling them.  Their hair, makeup, clothing even their homes.  I thrive on a quest for the perfect french chandelier or an art deco evening bag and will spend hours trawling junk shops, attic sales and Ebay, for that perfect something.  In a local gift store, people have been known to rummage through my trolley, mistaking it for display. It has been said that I possess an eye.

There is nothing I love more than enhancing that natural beauty within and unconsciously search for it in daily life.  The way a shadow falls, or the light filtering through boarding on an abandoned building.  There is beauty and emotion everywhere, now I love to capture it either by sketching, photographing, or writing about it.  

After much persuasion, from people who’s opinions I hold with tremendous respect.  I decided to publish a book of my poems. The artist in me wanted to create something a little different.  I thought if I used a few of my images, it would make it more visually appealing and compliment the words.  It was never about the money, it rarely is with me, I am always motivated by the heart first.  

Of course what I hadn’t considered in this quest, was the cost of publishing, so when the publisher gave me the price the completed book would eventually retail at, I nearly wept.  I felt that I had created a very beautiful thing, that would never sell.  Personally I would love to gift you all a copy, but my husband would kill me.  So back to the drawing board. 

Had this book been in black and white, it would be a whole different story, yet so would the book.  I began to experiment with black and white, but after seeing the full colour book, well, it felt disappointing.  So, working closely with the production team, we have reformatted the book reducing the page count, which then reduced the price a little.

I have also made the decision to forgo my royalties.
I repeat, it has never been about the money.

I just want to produce a book that I am proud of, that I would enjoy reading myself and as it is dedicated to my dad, I wanted it to be perfect.  Poetry is never going to set the world on fire, unlike “Fifty Shades,” but sometimes a poem can really touch a part of your soul as you identify with the writer. 

"One of the things a poem can do
Is remind us of what
We forgot we knew"
Brian Patten

So many people have been so supportive and lovely about wanting to buy my book and I am delighted and humbled by their support.  I know it will be a lovely “Coffee Table Book” containing, I hope, a poem and images for everyone. It will be available to order online at £17.99 SB and £24.99 HB from Amazon, Xlibris and Barnes and Noble. I am not yet sure of which UK stores will be stocking it.

What I intend to do for all my followers and Facebook page friends, who wish to purchase my book, is to take pre orders.  Where I can buy the book using my author discount and be able to provide everyone copy at a more reasonable price of £12.99 for the soft cover and £17.99 for hard back.  I will even sign it for you if you like ... Giggle.  

So please if you would like a copy please email me at wildernesschic@gmail.com  I do not want any money now,  I only wish to know how many books I need to order.

So now when the next person asks me, what do I do, I could answer, with a huge smile, that I am a published poet.  
Even though I won’t have changed, I am still a full time housewife and mother,  I do have to admit to owning a sense of accomplishment.

Sunday, 8 July 2012

Jekyll and Hyde




Every wall of my castle slides towards me 
I feel their constricting pressure from within
Smothering my existence
Twisting at my gut
The place I should feel the most peace
Is the place I fear the most

This sickness is killing my babies 
Damaging and infecting their souls
Innocent eyes plead with clarity
The answers are simple to a child
Recoiling with horror and disgust 
As you evolve from Jekyll into Hyde

Tuesday, 3 July 2012

Someday Somewhere Somehow




Somewhere
Somehow
Someway
Surrender 
I fear I shall
Someplace
Sometime
Someday
Some saffron summer sunset
Succumb
I know I will
Secret seduction
Sensations
So sweet
So powerful 
So strong
Simply,
can no longer, be overcome.




Saturday, 16 June 2012

Rows at bedtime





Shivering
Alone
Sat in darkness.
Heart drumming an angry beat
I hate you
Jaw clenched
Determined 
“Never to give in.”
Exhausted
Desperate for bed
Longing 
to sink within its warmth
completely wrapped in softness.
To lay down my head
allow myself to tumble
into deep slumber.
Then I smile
I hear it
You
No, not calling my name.
Nor attempting to be friends
No, just you 
snoring like a pig.
And I know its safe
to come back.



Monday, 4 June 2012

Sunshine After The Rain






Morning sunlight smiles upon the land.
Green fields 
sweet summer grass 
glistening.
Waves of wild flowers
flourishing. 
The evening rain fall
making everything new.
The air feels soft 
mellow.
A sky so blue
filled with birdsong. 
The river high and opaque
as it meanders past.
A lane in motion.
Crows calling from on high
as I watch the lone Buzzard fly.
Trees filled with age and wisdom 
whisper through new leaves
“We love you, you are not alone.”




Sunday, 3 June 2012

Saturday, 2 June 2012

Fake Friend






With every slippery,
syrupy word 
released from your mouth.
I trust you less.
Dislike you more.
Where you born to be fake,
or just a cultivated whore?


"Better and honest enemy, than a false friend"- German Proverb








Friday, 1 June 2012

I Have To Let Go






Take your hand off me
let me go.
Touch that burned with passion
now cold
angry 
with contempt.

Stomach sickens
skin shudders
shrinks
beneath them
frantic for release.

Where is the love?
Once felt
now only said 
unconsciously repetitive.

When did it leave?
Our mutual need
allowing pain to move in.
Abandoning the soul 
suffocating within.

I have to let go of whats killing me, 
even if it kills me to let you go.




Thursday, 24 May 2012

Road Trip




Blue skies 
radiating light,
not a cloud in sight.
Hedgerows flying past
overflowing with life.


Birds and Bees,
having a blast,
continuing their task.
After all,
it is procreation time!

Twisting and turning. 
rubber burning, 
as we go driving by. 
My best friend and I.

Roof down,
low to the ground,
wind blowing out our hair.
Driving, 
without a care.

Just two girls off to play.
Freedom,
if only for a day.



Saturday, 31 March 2012

Damaged Damsel












Liverpool girl with the beautiful hair,
that glitters and shimmers,

golden in the morning air. 
Blue green eyes,
sparkle,
so clear,
reminding me of the Caribbean sea.
Yet silently you weep.
Such a sad sweet little girl. 
Just needing to be loved.
Wanting to belong.
Great sadness hidden deep.
Behind such a glorious smile.
Body of a woman. 
Soul of an innocent child.
My pity you don't need.
So I give you my time.
Protect your mind.
Don’t reward him with your demise.
That is something I truly would despise.
This is your moment.
Your precious time.
Allow yourself to blossom,
to let yourself shine. 
Take that wonderful sense of fun.
And run.





Tuesday, 20 March 2012

Acceptance






Acceptance
the word,
which echoes through my mind.

Acceptance
of self
trying to be more kind.

Acceptance
of life,
count its blessings and not it’s strife.
Acceptance
of imperfections,
those times when nothing seems right.
Accept you are blessed,
you do not starve, 
there’s shoes on your feet.
Accept 
the inevitable coming of age.
There is no alternative,
only the grave.




Wednesday, 8 February 2012

March Prisoner




I shiver 
and dream
of hot summers

past
Whilst silvery 
feathers
dance patterns

upon glass
Whispering
life’s message
"This soon will pass..."

Figures of Stone
Apples lay prone
The incessant
ringing
of the phone
Warm by the fire
the river
runs higher
with constant
dripping 
of rain

Daffodils
fade 
Tulips 
bloom
Nature lifts 
winters gloom
Perhaps 
then soon
I will
leave this room........