erica-statham
English
Student of life and Uni. / / I love to write poetry and mine is fairly hit and miss and sometimes I spell stuff wrong, which is bad for an English student. I consider Lyrical Ballads to contain some of the best poetry I have ever read and have both a love/hate relationship with William Wordsworth. / / I am extremely opinionated. / / I do cry at the ten o'clock news on occasion. / / I wish I was a Time Traveller, but I would never go into the future because it would spoil it. / / Fairy lights and candles make me happy as do my friends and family. / / I love to be around people, and I love reading poetry. I will happily critique your work for you, but don't ask me if all you are looking for is praise. / / Erica
Not mine in sleep,
In depths too deep.
He smiles closed eye,
with stretching love,
hand down covered chest,
unseen like dream,
under cover protected.
Back to me now,
in horizontal bow.
Mirrored actions,
from dream to me,
moaning to be free,
from sleep breathing shallow,
but still tightly under.
He doesn't smile like that at me.
Who does he see,
when he is with dream,
wandering through endless.
Fighting off monsters,
******* relentless.
It is the redhead-
**** of his dream,
demon of mine.
Voice betrayed.
You said her name,
in lustful wont.
You're ******* her.
You're ******* her?
breathing her name,
as sleep becomes distant,
dream moves away.
He looks my way,
and clambers on top.
007 him has more skill
more attractive women
but I will do, oh, already the spill,
sticky and wet,
not broken a sweat.
She laughs behind
my unseeing eyes,
licking his love off her fingers.
She has him every night now,
like he has her most mornings.
Instead of me.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 2:51 AM UTC
Thirteen week bump,
Thirty four week lump.
Tummy flutters,
Excited mutters.
Boy or a Girl,
Ultrasound swirl.
"Wow! Congratulations".
Silent commiserations...
Her friends all excited,
and she not invited.
Scream at the smiling,
hurt from the beguiling,
of the unknowing monsters.
The mothers and fathers,
of children not quite existing,
egg like and nesting.
They don't know her agony,
being in perfect anonymity.
but it eats her insides,
like a child that resides,
or once did.
So she logs off of Facebook
Where she can only look
and then logs back on again
Does she enjoy this pain?
One day she cracked
and her emotions hacked
through her rational thought
and she gasps like fish just caught
Shhh, It is okay. It is okay
one point seven second delay
Delete it now.
You stupid cow!
What were you thinking?
Oh you've been drinking.
Facebook friends
and their mid twenty trends
You will have yours one day
Like Anne, who was thirty three?
Just log off now and get on with life.
I can't... Oh look Hannah has a wife!
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 4:24 PM UTC
Pixelated.
Diluted to death.
The words from your electric inkwell
are a single grain of sand
on the most vast shore of sameness.
Hello Poetry
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 4:17 AM UTC
Time didn't stop for you
It wore you down and drowned
The reason for your being
And sat on the bed
Numbed cold and dark
In amongst a set
Camouflaged.
Swaying in kelp
And calling for help?
No, you were dead
Kept in the sea
And hidden under animal
Probing shell
Realising silver handle
Indented amid raised floral pattern
Lying wasted, purpose voided
No fair hair to meet
In bedroom
No table dresser to sit
Ever waiting to service
Then you were not needed
Expressing regret to mistress forgotten
Educated schools caught your shine, now
No one around three miles down
There you were forgot
Whale teeth returned and
Eaten at depth
Little brush empty and
Violated and not pretty
Ended.
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 3:07 AM UTC
Pretty summer dress,
Lola holds Porcelain Meg.
Car brakes scream, smack, stop.
Jan 12, 2011
Jan 12, 2011 at 1:41 AM UTC
Congratulations "Mommy_2_B"!
You sold "baby pram in powder blue"
For two hundred and forty dollars to "Ann_3"
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 12:31 PM UTC
The Sister
pushing pram, playing
face ever changing, as she grows.
The Father
drinking tea, swaying
blurring the edges of his woes.
The Mother
going out, sneaking
looking over shoulder, as she goes.
The Brother
behind bars, crying.
Only Mum visits, everyone knows.
The Child
Safe, soundly sleeping.
Sweetpea visable, until it first snows.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 11:04 AM UTC
White washed and
Waxing
Cobwebbed corners curve
Right angles
Oozing rash of asbestos
Bubbling
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 10:36 AM UTC
Inedible frozen fruit appears sensual;
Wasted flesh dressed as blessed and fresh.
Life's cycle is unseasonal and inevitable
Now onto Winters unfair descent;
To perish like apples stacked in barrels;
Left to sour and rot to the most bitter core.
To hell with the gourd and the hazel shells
The prolonged farewells. Send me away to shore;
To Rome where I will walk beyond the gloam.
To warmer days that will silent my moan;
Where my master has rung out my knell.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 8:46 AM UTC
You are not fair, not fair.
Never have been and never there.
And we will live for years;
Under foot and without doubt,
That our Parents mistakes will break our backs,
Hearing them crumble and crack,
Under the whip and as they shout;
Faster, Faster, and we groan;
Quicker, Quicker and we moan.
Until we die under the weight of kings.
As we were blind to all free things.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 8:16 AM UTC