At the end of seven minutes
What will remain?
Hopefully not
an empty page
I'll test these glorious minutes
as if the end if my soul
is nigh
and try
To live to the fullest
I leave with a dry eye
an burbling well
of unused thoughts
a special little piece
of me
That I never thought
I could wrap with any sort
of decorum
Leaving it under the seat
of a well trafficked forum
Just a little surprise
to light someone's eyes
Just a tiny thought
plucked from so many
*Desire the world
claim your own little part
insider your heart
and never let any
deny your pleasure
For what we all treasure
is something that lives
inside us that is our very own
Our own little piece of the world
Where we can be some one

Just a twinkle in the night sky
A yearning to be someone
A sparkle in the darkest night
Your journey has just begun

Peanut…
Longing to grow into your long held dream
but at just little more than heart and soul
your sudden appearance holds me in thrall

Tadpole…
Swimming in a safe haven
developing on the wings of dreams
you start to understand what it all means

Little Human…
Longing for the world of open spaces
waiting to arrive, you see, you hear, you feel
to bring a touch to a life you can heal

Miracle…
A breath, a cry, held tight against warm skin
bursting into life with little fanfare
all your senses become aware

A shock of hair, a cupid smile
a perfect name to suit
an amazing gift from the Tree of Life
my precious Belly Fruit

© Helen Doogan 09/09/2010

Across all space and time
Left in silent suspension
From dawning age to endless night
And a never ending comprehension

Wrapped around entire emotions
Holding all in a soft embrace
There is no day there is no night
An entire life in a blank space

The smoldering look, the tiny smile
The gentle sigh upon the breeze
The lingering touch, a strong hand
That holds the world at ease

The yearning for a day in the past
To right all that should not be lost
It tightens to bind and remind, it is
A line that could not be crossed

A shield from the crushing weight
Of a pain that can not be shared
A safe haven in a stormy sea
A cocoon for the ill prepared

Of a burning love, or a missing life
Of a gentle word from a perfect friend
Of a millennium of worth that also found
Where it does begin, it shall also end

when Life gives us lemons
we make lemonade*  (1)
when Life shoots us with arrows
we bleed from the wounds
it made
when Life is just a rainstorm
and we discover
a Rainbow
It's like Life
is trying to tell us
which way we need to go...

She was like...
that rundown house you thought was empty. With each rock thrown, broken windows let in the cold, until one day, it was finally abandoned.

I Stopped to Pick a Flower

I saw today, a little Mayflower
blooming from the broken ground
born from a dry earth and dry eyes
It grew there without a sound

I stopped to smell, and maybe touch,
it's dewy visage was a delight
I saw today a little Mayflower
that had grown throughout the night

I'm sure I've said it a thousand times
Life comes with no guarantees
Don't weep for me, for the lesson you see, is I am that little Mayflower

The end of the world,
it just exploded!

With a smattering of light brimstone and fire and a gentle, heavenly rain.  It just started, while I stood in the kitchen, sipping tea, trying to remember my shopping list and wondering if I should even bother, to get ready for work, could I just fake it and gain another day where I could wallow? I weighted my earning ability against what a simple day, for me, would be able to gain.
It was just another day...
One that started the same as every other one, but proceeded to bleed, only to leave a stain…
Oh great, (my first thought)
just another laundry duty for me…

But I digress…

Oh yes, that’s right, I’m drinking my tea, my daughter in front of me… she starts talking, her lips are moving but her words are dissolving my existence that surrounds me...

Where was I?

Yes, there was a big explosion, the world rocked and I’m ambivalent as the earth cracks beneath me and all I can see is a world that has been shaken to its core.
My kitchen fades away… (where the hell is my cup of tea????)

I’m in the middle of the street, the people that I meet are screaming because they also felt it. That explosion that rocked their world that opened the cracks in the earth to release the fire and brimstone. Ugh, the smell of sulpher! I briefly wondered if I would ever get the smell out of our pretty, outdated, papered walls?

Again, I digress…

I’m floating above the cracks watching as humankind drops to their knees, begging their chosen Deity to save them as the fires of Hell wrap tendrils of Regret around the ankles of those that have been Chosen while a really bright light lifts those from their knees, to ascend to Nirvana, I guess they are the ones who prayed really hard… Bully for them! I guess the others should not have weaved when they should have woven!
Not me though!

I’m still floating, in between, as the world ruptures I’m still just hanging, caught between up above and down below. I don’t know if it is because, it is so obvious, Heaven will never let me in and Hell has already said Not just No… but… HELL NO!

But I digress…

What I’m completely fascinated by is that at the End of the World I’m wholly focused on the boy that is fair of hair and fair of face and appears to be full of Grace and while I thought he would ascend, he is grabbed by a lick of fire from Hell.
I’m completely fascinated, that such a nice boy, would be chosen to descend below (I honestly would have pegged him for Heaven) but I can only **** my head, and pretend I don’t see...
Honestly… what do I know?

I’m watching the World fall apart!

Explosions, fire and brimstone, completely lost souls trying to crawl into grace, it all happened to me, while drinking my tea, while my daughter stood talking to me…

What is she saying?

I’m back to standing in my kitchen, cup of tea in my hand and I actually hear the words that my daughter is saying to me and it all goes back to where it began…

So Mum, there is this boy….

Oh God! There it is…

And there is another explosion… again!

Dec 1, 2010

I sit in darkness, soaked in Gin, I remember everything,
except all the things Tequila forgot,
I remember nothing except for the things left to rot

I forgot the darkest nights
most certainly in days light
I forgot you placed the drink in my hand,
is that how we ended up here last night?

A half empty glass we have mired our delusion dear
Do the stories just get better or do we simply fill in the blanks?
Trace our old lines again and again.
Weathered are my eyes behind a mask
It’s no place to breath but anything beats the grave.

As we recall the sunset from the shore it seems so far now
it is but a fraction of the truest sense and the most cursed fools delusion
a switchblades sting and you will remain my favorite scar?

Delusions are illusions with which we fool ourselves
with a magician’s eye and a sense of skill.
Sunsets upon a distant shore are our memories
retreating against our will.

The switchblades knife is rusty and it's only hope is to scar.
Do you revere or revile me?
The empty bottles that lay between us ask for little.
I ask us for more!

Will I be your scar, the one you rub when you’re alone?
Tracing lines that cut so deep but set rigid, like stone?

Perhaps the open wound you created
when you picked apart our past won't heal as quickly,
and like the final drink we had together won't be our last.

Painted is the portrait so far from the truths we all choose to ignore
and now I simply understand are regrets than the echoes of a shared view.

When we break the heart do we find solace in a statue like existence?
We all spill the glass sometimes and a candles view dim will only reflect the shadows we've become.

Tomorrows a dream and the nightmares become a friend far more than this dance
I care no longer to stand and the ice won’t bare the weight of this ego's crash.

Let's skate the ice so thin it cracks beneath the weigh of pain.
Let's dance the tango of wilted dreams and find no shame.
Let the broken heart of shattered glass
be a reminder of our pain
but you and I, we share a common lust
we mix silently, oil and water
blending in the same frame

For from the page to the far corners of this empty floor we have made our choices
Now we understand past regrets in silent reframe

Never doubt the passion for the lack of fire it simmers a volcano underneath the illusion of emptiness and so we find are paths twisted yet always brought back to the same point.

We always speak in shadows what is known in light of day.

Our paths are gritty dirt, pretty split and intertwined
broken cobblestoned nights and sun baked days to which we can’t deny
Shadows that come to play hide the demons
we would once talk to, but threw away
when we attempted to revive a life we weren't meant for
Our answers don't lay at the bottom of the bottle
nor do they rest behind the closed door,
They itch beneath our fractured skin and spill their secrets on the floor
dripping from serrated cuts that pump a life full of ****** memories
the broken bottle stands as sentinel asking always for
One More...
Please?

Maybe we found our muse in a mutual insanity.
Laid bare the vein I question what lingers when nothing remains beneath?

This last round stands only for the night my dear for its clutches are but a moments embrace and an overcast view.
Tomorrow I can never promise what fate hands us by surprise.

Insanity is a fickle Muse
that's sips from a collapsed vein
breaking bottles against skulls
looking for an idiot to blame

Personally I think our Muse
is a Mistress that flogs well in the dark
Chaining our souls to our demons
never shining light on our demise,
Demanding we whip ourselves hoarse
prying opens the oysters
of our murky world spilling pearls of stone into a world so stark

No, the Muse of you and I is an unruly *****.
She chokes our memories and forces our pain
with a flick of her wrist

but, in my defence
I'm thinking,
give me a 4 day weekend
and a fridge
full of Wine
and I'll forget
a lot of things :)

someone layed a blank book
in front of me, asking
What would the title be?

I looked as blank as those pages
I don't know the answer
I'm not a blank book
I have history, behind a story
but what are the chances
my story has already been told
in another's voice
What if there is another out there
that has made the same choice?
Stories are not unique
there is a chance we are already written
I'd take that blank book
and scribbled my name only
because I've read the stories
of my own life in the sound bites
of snatches of beleaguered songs
I'm not a blank book, looking
for a title
I'm where my blank pages
belong

She sat with her back against the wall
    her legs curled to her chest, as tight
as a ball, with her head between her knees
     as she whispered Thank You and Please
She laid with her hand beneath her head
without a pillow and a knife under the bed
and a willingness to **** not just for her body
                                                   but for her soul.
                                   That's just how she rolled.
                 She kissed, just not on the lips.
                              She wanted to quench
                                       but took just sips
                                       and purged it all
              from her mind before she woke
                 so no memories had a chance
                                 to enhance or evoke.
She found that not everyone
                  wanted a piece of her
          that she wasn't willing to give.
Once she decided it was better
    to live, with the tiny part
of her that she couldn't let go.
It was found beneath the snow
that melted from her tattered mind
     buried beneath the weight
      of another life left behind
that tried to negate
most of her feelings
                         and all of her power.
She picked herself up from the alley
                 and stood out in a shower
                                  of rain
             that poured down her body
                      to reawaken her heart.
       She waited for clarity to depart
               but only an awareness
                     was left behind.
                She didn't see the rain,
          only teardrops from sunshine.

uncurling, a yawn
wandering back from the black
unfurled toward dawn

breeze is dependent
on just a single breath drawn
negating oaths sworn

to lie in darkness
yet not let light become us
dark death leaves us torn

that's right!

I was in the middle
of a poppy field
and several butterflies
asked me a million questions
and every answer ended with
I don't know
every four seasons
ended with snow
every little brush of wings
made my heart sing
and the years flow
Each season between Winter
moved beneath my ribs
so slow
Each little insect that alighted
on my pale, perfect skin
I slighted!
I slapped in outrage,
committing an unforgivable sin
Perfect little creatures
with perfectly small frames
perfectly fine bones
that never knew shame
Perfect little feet
that sat gently on my frame
I slapped them all down
one by one
thinking they should take the blame

hmm, where was I?

thats right*

I was perpetually drifting
in my own shame

Death sits in
the front row
a smug smile
upon his face
He now wields
all the power
He’s comfortable
in this place
Regret is sitting
behind him
lamenting all things
left unsaid
Hurt is sitting right beside
lamenting the fact
you can’t ****
what is already
Dead
Love is shattering
in the middle
Hope gently touches
her shoulder
Fear is staring at her
bowed head
but Afterthought will
Shield her as she
grows older
Anger is radiating as
Fury comes in
a little slow
wondering about a future
as Despair basks
in her glow
Hate is standing
forlornly
just outside the door
now this one
is gone
He is needed
no more

The best we can do
is simply to remain true
To Ourselves, to Others
To our fathers and mothers

The best we can do

is to look into a mirror
reflections are hard to face
petty hatreds are like wrinkles
they have their own story place

the best we can do

and this last is so true
Is to be one person among so many
because if we try too hard to be another
then we truly are not any....

Many moons ago
In a simpler time
They danced in this ballroom
To music sublime
Stepping out in their finest
Dipping and swaying
Longing and touching to
The sweetest music playing
Lost in each others eyes
As they moved as one
Two halves of one soul
Since time had begun
But now the music is fading
And she’s turning to mist
Time is returning
This dance was on his list
Alone in the ballroom
Lost in the romance
The lonely old widower
Has his last dance

24/07/2010

I didn't see it there!

the kitchen chair

You hit me in the living room

where there was so much space

a solid lounge

a coffee table made from oak

a television cabinet

protecting life's assets

but you hurled me

into the kitchen

with just one stroke

and I rolled laughing

until I hit the chair

that splintered fine pieces

of rough hewn stakes

into the air

that fell around me

like a cage

I didn't want to escape

but when a spine is broken

the only sound to make

is

a

sigh

It was a nice day to die

stupid Smart phone
just deleted
one of my poems

ahhh ****

Did I have back up?

Nup

Just remember it titled

ahhh ****!

a popular wording
of how I was feeling
unable reproduce it
word for word

how absurd!
I wanted to read it
Hit delete
It said are you sure?
I said ok

and it went away :(

*ahhh ****!

sat alone, beside a lake
neither would ever mistake
each other, for their love
two sisters, bound by blood

They sat upon common ground
neither tried to make a sound
Two sisters by a lake
what a montumental mistake

Two sisters sat upon higher ground
Each knew, the other should drown
but they held hands, so tightly
Never taking their vows lightly

Two sisters turned their heads, as one
to glare indignantly at the Sun
because they were unhappy
that the darkest Night
crept away and left the fight

Two sisters sit upon the edge
of water, rushing beneath a ledge
and kissed each others frights and hurts
because just the thought of sitting alone
*Hurts

you stood beside the closed door, hand outstretched, ready to turn it but, I'm the only one who noticed
her perfume that lingered, lipstick
stains upon your fingers and hair
that I once ran my fingers through
but true, you stood there silently
head bowed, eyes lowered,  
shoulders held so very proud
and you owned it! You owned
every second of the last dance
and as you pulled away from my
embrace you stopped, tilted you
head and said,
I never wanted
anything less more, than to walk
out this door
I laid my hand over your fingers that continued to grasp the door and kissed lips that I've kissed a thousand times or more
and tasted only your regret, wondered if what I had to say was topical or simply emotional and I asked you the most important question I had left inside, a dire need to be said
Don't forget... A ******* thing

I twisted the **** until the door opened wide, put my foot on your **** and kicked with everything I had left inside
I saw you tumble, I watched you fall,
I photographed into my memory
the instant you realised
*you had it all

she's got a fistful of nothing
with a body full of tattoos

she's got plenty dreams
within empty smiles
and a life
that goes on an and on
for miles and miles

she's got pockets full of regret
in her threadbare veneer
a small smile of regret
beneath her trademark sneer
she's never forget
the tumultuous path
leaving her broken,
but at last
a new cobblestoned walkway
opened beneath her dainty feet
all sins remain unspoken

she's got glitter in her eyelashes
and diamonds on her cheeks
she's got ashes in her mouth
producing siren notes
as she speaks
she's got a lump of coal
in her stocking
and rocks in her shoes
she's got nothing you'd see
she's got nothing to lose

You laughed at me
Just the other day
When I held you tight
And said I’m glad you stayed
You shook your head at me
And said with a smile
Where on earth would I want to be?
I’ll be here a while

But I never thought
It would be like this
As the waves rolled out
To a darkening mist
You promised me
You’d be here a while
Now all that I’m left with
Is the memory of a smile

I promised we would wed
There would be no other
You smiled at me and said
Why would we bother?
It’s a bond of Man
What we have is fate
Let’s seize it now
For we could be too late

But I never thought
It would be like this
As the waves rolled out
To a darkening mist
You promised me
You’d be here a while
Now all that I’m left with
Is the memory of a smile

We faced a lifetime
Hand in Hand
Our life was precious
But we didn’t understand
We lived forever
In a few heartbeats of time
I said goodbye to the waves
Knowing you’ll always be mine

*But I never thought
It would be like this
As the waves rolled out
To a darkening mist
You promised me
You’d  be here a while
Now all that I’m left with
Is the memory of a smile

There was only silence and a gentle breeze that caressed my hair and the slightly insubstantial ghostly figure that followed me but never tried to talk to me but just followed and looked, with a stare...

It was cold, it was dark in the middle of the day as the sun beat down through the thick trees and chased the shadows away while I traveled down the cracked and broken path and passed old Mrs Wilson 1827 ~ 1868 (almost ancient in those days)
It was Mr Wilson's heartbreak in the words of How Do I Live Without You? carved in stone that told me I was almost there

There you were, under the weeping willow tree.
I wasn’t sure how prophetic it was and I could never be sure if it wept for you, or for me.
The ground was brittle beneath my leaden feet but it never disguised each and every heart beat. It grew green beneath my head as I lay down and slowly wept my daily tears that seemed to be fed straight into the ground.

I always noticed the gray of the stones, the black of the night, the brown of the leaves and it always felt right.
I scented the death mixed with the hope of the lives left behind and I always noted the inexplicable sorrow of words carved in stone that were written to remind...

But I never once before noticed the butterflies

Today I did because they were everywhere.
They sat upon stone monuments that breathed in with sorrow and the butterflies seemed to care. They flitted inside the darkness to light the path home and glittered in the dappled sunlight that spilled between the branches and sparked happiness while they did idyllically roam.

It was the one that landed on my cheek as I stared into nothing and got it’s tiny feet trapped in my river of sorrow and sat quietly, eyes focused on mine, it’s emerald wings beating slowly back and forth and reminded me of a churning tide that would undulate with all of my tomorrow then sat still and watched me with a calmness that took my breath away and whispered inside my head...

Why do you live in yesterday?

I’m sorry my memories of you keep me tied to the past
and I feel the need to want to hold onto you
to make you more real and make more of everything last
I get it now and I promise I will try...

*Thank you for the butterfly...

I never wanted nature
to represent hope
or the Sun or the Moon
to become my home
I never wanted the stars
that fill the night sky
to interrupt my empty thoughts
as I sat idilly by
I never wanted humanity
to slip beneath my skin
or the birds in the trees
to remind me
that I too, could fly
if I only had wings
I never wanted to pass
the couple on the street
and see their linked hands
and just understand
that's always never going
to be me
I never wanted to shout out
with another's smoke scratched
voice
but apparently
it's not a
choice

Some sit quietly
Some cry softly
Some unintelligently
scream their Whys?
Some lie
Some smile slightly
Some nod politely
Some even throw themselves
into the dark hole,
clutching the Rose
that wouldn't fall
from their fist
Some blow a kiss
give a wink
a smirk
Some just throw dirt

all but the question I asked

how does one say goodbye?

I left a letter on my bedside table
Sealed with just your name
a second draft in my journal
is basically the same
A hidden message in the stars
is waiting on a sigh
When I go, you'll know
but I've already said Goodbye

several times my feet have stopped shuffling
beside a penny, so shiny and round and several times
I've looked down and wanted to pick it up, but I wasn't
ready to stop on the way to my downtown.
I never noticed your frown

several times I've asked myself what I would not give
for your thoughts, or your feelings, or even just to hear
you say, "Have a nice day, don't think too long
about yesterday, it's already made it's play..."

that penny, that I shuffled past, is now my enemy
my nemesis in a world that I'm lost in, a portent
that sways yesterday's grab at life's lessons, a portal
that opens the door to all my transgressions...

if only I had stopped to pick up that penny

yesterday

I'd know what you were thinking today

*but I can't afford to pay