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12.0k · Mar 2014
Ophelia drowning
Sia Jane Mar 2014
Dearest Destined Jewel,
                                         Of longest heartfelt yearning, Bestow on thee, Hamlet awaits, Ophelia picking flowers, Magnolia branches speaking, Beautifications of Spring.

Supreme buds of new life,  Magnoliaceae of Queen bees, An enterprise of wonder, Symbolic child's enchanted play, Faeries in flight whisper attractions, Fondness, Les fleurs du mal.

Ample blossoms, Bosoms of delight, Devouring light, Little birds sing, Nestling, Chirping a languishing cacophony, Blissful unawareness, Nature nurture the soul.

A slip then fall, Nearby church bells distract, Into abyss fallen, Elevated body all at once, Floating amidst flora, Drowning, Petticoat woven dress, Resting on fresh valley water, Immersion, No contention, Hamlet awaits.

© Sia Jane
Sorry for the absence and I hope to catch up on all your poems soon!!
10.5k · Sep 2014
Chapters of Self
Sia Jane Sep 2014
I'm made of all;
The books I've ever read
Poems I've ever written
Faces who have smiled at me
Hugs that have wrapped around me
Caresses that have graced my inner thigh
Countries & continents my feet have touched
The lovers as we simultaneously reach ecstasy within
Lonely nights shedding tear drops
Nights gazing black skies moon & stars
Children falling asleep to my heartbeat
Animals whose soul was found through reflective eye stares
Conversations spoken in French, Spanish, Italian, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Norwegian, German
Years of ******-, cognitive-, dialectical-, art-, drama-, music-, mindfulness-, trauma-, psychiatry-; therapies
The drinks & drugs & mind altering substances dispersing my mind
In all I'm made of;

In all I'm made of;

A soul; securely contained within a body of battled scars;
pain & triumphs, losses & gains, rejections & acceptances, dishonours & accolades...

With the hope; she too, can live life through.

© Sia Jane
Written at 1.53am
9.6k · Oct 2015
Poets Ink
Sia Jane Oct 2015
It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane
Mike opened this piece and we went from there.
Hope you enjoy this Hello Poetry collaboration too :)

It goes without saying, just how honoured we are to have this as Daily <3
Y'all are the greatest <3
Thank you so much <3
8.8k · Apr 2015
Sia Jane Apr 2015
A moonlit dance beneathe constellations
      not Taurus or Gemini, Delphinus or Orion
                 but stars we named together
                   linking lines from star to star
       hands pointing in air so cold
a tear falls and
  leaving a roadmap on my cheeks
            that you
                           ­            chase
   ­         lifting the palm of your hand
                 so cold to the touch I shiver
            feeling the beauty of my tears
         that glisten like Venus in the midnight sky
             of this cold Parisian night
  you smile in jest and
     I misplace the space
  between you and I and that sky
  whispering "do you love me?"
    how could I resist the beauty of
                 our second to last kiss.

© Sia Jane
6.0k · Mar 2016
Wednesday's Child
Sia Jane Mar 2016
We’re looking into each other’s eyes;
it’s 4am.
We’re sat in a hospital room, I’m reciting your favourite verse.
You’re ragged and stitched together;
I just wish it was from being loved.
I just wish my love could make you Real.

I knew from day one, no one and no thing,
not even love, could take you away and finally
set your soul free.

I gave you all of me.

It wasn’t hard to give away.
Within moments of witnessing your smile; the one
held in your eyes widening your stare,
you crushed through my ribs with warmth and love,
held my heart in your hand, promising no matter
the distance and land between us, my heart would remain
safe – beneath your bruised chest.

Tonight, I’m alone.
It’s been 17 days since I last saw you.
I’m in the park where we always walked,
where our love was made tangible by etchings in wood.
The bark now crumbles
and the decay mirrors the gradual corrosion
of what was once, and will
never be, again.

© Sia Jane
Incredibly honoured to be daily poem.
I've had such encouragement from all of you here, and I am forever grateful.
Without too much self deprecation, I deserve this spot no more than many of you other great writers out there.
You inspire me daily too <3
Much love and light always, Sia <3

Re-working old writes with some new ideas <3
3.3k · Jun 2014
Sia Jane Jun 2014
a peace sign
painted in sugar
tulip tattooed circle
swan like movements
lifted into blueskies
rose tinted sunglasses
hungarian green eyes
forests silver lining
magic easily broken
oh little girls
why bruised eyes
baby set free
winged haute couture.

© Sia Jane
3.1k · Nov 2013
Sia Jane Nov 2013
**** head, struggling for breath
Final hit, before the red
Light flashes, warning to stop
Over dose, **** the innards
She never chose to lose this
Battle, between herself & it
Where'd she go, lost in space
Chasing herself, a dog with his tail
Praying to an above, to lead her
Straight laced, not swerving off track
Please God save me, her last plea
Before another day dawns, her final wish
Sketcher, tweaker, where's that syringe
The lights too bright, reality a curse
Rolled up in rehab, another ghetto kid
Not this girl, high class, white, moneyed
Lost to the night, speed freak, hopeless
Drowning in addiction, using again
Chemical structures defining her fate
Her brain the game
Disfigured face, unrecognizable eyes
Family love, isn't ever enough
Rushed to ER, another broken soul
Promises that drugs will save her
When only she can ever
Save herself
This time, she's not another life
The Gods sure blessed her, not with
Her wish
So she's packaged off to rehab
The third times a charm, right?

© Sia Jane
3.0k · Jan 2014
Writers Oath
Sia Jane Jan 2014
I think perhaps as a writer, we seek the adventure, the unknown, the destructive, not only to know we are alive but to know what it is to live. We live fast, we love without restraint, with impulsive desire. Are we the tortured, the wounded, the broken, abused. We have lived a thousand lives, loved a million times. We dream, we idealise, we fall in love unintentionally, we make mistakes, we endure deep suffering and we fall to the hands of lust within a heartbeat. We choose to show our *******, our *****, our hearts or our souls. We refuse to sell our mind, to which we must always remain held to. Our body is a vessel, one of productivity made victim to abuse. It's such neglect, despair, that leaves us enveloped in patterns of trauma and deeply embedded psyache. Once touched, our bodies remember as an elephants mind always will. We are tainted, scarred, stained by another's love, lust, cheating, lying, crying, kissing, losing, dreaming. We are the risk takers, the ones who dare step into the unknown and often don't adhere to rules and regulations of societal ideals. We crave love. We crave endless excitement. We crave the adrenalin rush of a new lover. We don't settle. Wanderlust writes us. Each journey shapes us, choosing a new direction, experimenting with style, fiction, autobiographical tones. Landscapes colour our pages, pollute the rooms with a myriad of paints, smoking out those who don't endure, slaves to the written word, a pledge to keep reading pages of paper, dusty from step ladder high book shelves. Finding joy in limited first editions, autographed and locked behind glass doors.  Fairy tales whispered by Hans Christian Andersen - The Snow Queen in a pop up book laced with glitter and scintillation. Falling into stories, Alice's rabbit hole, lost to liquor saying drink me. The young ingénue, naïve and shy, her first role acting, embodying the spoken word through the masters written script.

© Sia Jane
I didn't use "I" in this piece, I was merely thinking out loud, a stream of consciousness maybe.
2.9k · Jan 2014
a moral evil
Sia Jane Jan 2014
On the first day, he was pushed
robust in his stance, the other forced,
this boy down the spiral staircase
of the Catholic church, the school
had renovated, the Spring before
Isaac had begun his studies,
at the high school.

Ballet was his passion, Latin was the
language that so effortlessly, fluently
was spoken from his lips in class
as he smiled at his Professor, another
victory accomplished in academia
so proud were his parents, of their
blue eyed boy.

Jonah was the reject, the older brother
he had been kicked out of school,
not once, but twice, and was often
found with a joint, his unshaven face
wrapped around one of the girls,
from the all girls school that ran
alongside Isaacs all boys.

Issac was hurt, a further blow to his
stomach, rendered him broken
as a waterfall of tears ran down his
bruised and cut face, so ashamed
as other pupils laughed, staring, pointing
until the final bell rang as they fled from
the high ceilings and narrow corridors.

Wrapped in a ball, he waited for all
halls and students to clear, and as
he rolled over, picking himself up
he took to the washroom, knowing he
needed to be presentable for his mother
waiting for him at the school gate
brimming with pride, at her boys scholarship.

All his dreams, mystical and serene, Romeo and Juliet
fluid streams of poetry of Elliot, Poe, Hughes
and of course Wilde and those love letters of Beethoven
math, biology, all paled into insignificance
he was born a writer, a dancer, a drawer,
sketching and typing his heart to a page,
prose a future love would read.

Johan saw his mother's car pull up
as he raced and giggled with Saskia
leading her astray, he promised her all
the things those boys always did, and of course
not to break her sweet sixteen heart, unlike other boys
as his mother smoked another Camel, the two lovers
jumped into his truck, Johnny Cash blaring from speakers
laughing hysterically, the world at their feet.

By 4pm, Isaac was ready to leave school,
tentatively walking out the main door, down
concrete slabs as steps, no predators in sight
he couldn't hide the dark circles under his eyes
that formed as bruises, knowing he was fortunate
to have not been damaged further
by the haunting before last period.

Walking to the gates, he listened through
headphones; Tchaikovsky
his release
his home
his saving grace.

© Sia Jane
2.7k · Jan 2014
Eleven Minutes
Sia Jane Jan 2014
9 January 2014   02.21am

"We all have feelings for our girlfriends Bea, it doesn't mean we have to act on them.."

Silence filled the room
Two opposing forces
Love lust passion
Hate anger fear
What was once owned
Has now been taken
Walking towards her
Reaching out, hand movements
So slow and graceful
An aura so compelling, senses heightened
Bodies shifting as though
Magnetic forces were playing
A sultry dance acting out
Underneath the candelabra
Eyes locked mirroring feelings
Left unspoken, razor sharp tongue
Hips graze, music intensifies
An atmosphere fraught with
Tension, favoured to be cut by a knife
Hesitating lips part with a subtle urgency
Circulatory movements dancing feet
A lowly finger fondles an inner thigh
Ever so slightly withering, exuberant pleasure
Eyes connect, glistening from the light
A smile pacifying both women
Others gazes capture their movements
For now, they are the only ones
Whose love and light fills this room
Alone, unhinged, they kiss
At first tentatively, then feverishly
Drowning, they are both saved
The lovers bodies blend into one
Possessing one another
Nothing is lost in that moment
Desperately clinging to affection
Souls freed, emotions making miracles
Two lovers effortlessly become
One soul being.

© Sia Jane
2.6k · Mar 2014
She x Love Bug
Sia Jane Mar 2014
Love bug, lady crush, peeking through a midnight sky,
Deep Purple, Smoke on the Water, before a
glimmer in her eye,
90's girl, child stars of, The Disney Club,
Timberlake, Spears, Aguilera,
Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls dominating,
every air wave,
Victoria Beckham, her Parsons inspiration
fashion designer she'll fight her way,
to the top, so much power in her name,
yet even stripped bare, she'd be a star,
her talent to sketch, draw and drape,
falls on knees bent, if only we pray,
to even have an ounce from her display,
I know few like her, love unconditional,
we're the writers seeking solace,
an unforgiving pain,
life taking so much drain,
in the light of day this pain brings forth,
an edge to your art, a masochistic feel,
creating itself a soul untamed.

You write to remember, you sketch your dreams
hopelessness turns to desire,
the dark cloud of youth,
dissipates in the air,
knowing there is a way through,
treachery and despair.

My dear, you may some days,
feel in that gutter trying to,
catch a star,
but today you shine, as bright as
a diamond in this very same sky,
we see across continents,
each night that we pray.

Release the grip, lessen the pull,
fly and fly,
sore heights so high,
you ain't ever coming down.

© Sia Jane
My little love bug, celebrates her birthday today and this little bit of poetry, if we can call it that, is the least I can do. Love you angel <3
2.5k · Jan 2014
Mythological Lovers
Sia Jane Jan 2014
"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

Shall I compare thee... the Iguazú Falls River, where legend serves that a serpent; Boi, demanded a sacrifice each year of a young female, and the day two lovers; Tarobá and his beautiful maid Naipí, took to escape, and in revenge of such an act, Boi exuded such anger that he parted the river, thus forming the Iguazú Falls, splitting the river and condemning to two lovers to the falls.

or Cristo Redentor; Christ the Redeemer, the Art Deco statue, protecting and looking over the city of Rio de Janeiro, to whom in all its glory cannot escape the force of nature, struck by lightning, causing damage irreplaceable.


…to The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, hundreds of metres into the sky, a place that to this day is unknown, myth being that King Nebuchadnezzar recreated the homeland of his precious wife Amyitis, who was deeply depressed and homesick, allowing her to find comfort and happiness.


…the Taj Mahal, of Pradesh, constructed using marble by the emperor Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his third wife; Mumtaz Mahal, the *jewel of Muslim art,
a calligraphy written Great Gate reading; "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you.


…the Temple of Artemis; Istambul, on sacred land in honour of the Greek goddess Artemis, the most apotheosized of Greek deities, the supposed daughter of Zeus and Leto, the temple also known as Diana, one of the goddesses who vouched never to marry; alongside Minerva and Vesta.


… the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, of the Persian Empire, whereby Mausolus ornamented four sculptures created in relief for his wife (and also his sister); Artemisia II of Caria, generating an above ground tomb that would become to be listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

But of all,
I compare thee to the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Sexuality; Aphrodite
arising from the sea, floating ashore on a shell;
Venus rising from the sea,
a lover of many,
later depicted as a painting of the Birth of Venus,
by the sufferer of unrequited love; Botticelli,
using his muse Simonetta Vespucci as a model.

© Sia Jane
2.4k · Dec 2013
Sia Jane Dec 2013
I want to be the Ginger Rogers
to your Fred Astaire
the rocks of ice
in your Jameson glass,
I want to be the girl
you sing about
or the lit cigarette
your lipstick marks
Chanel rouge noir,
I want each embrace
you encounter
to touch me too
through the spaces,
I'd even be the words
in the book
you lift to read at night,
I just simply want to be
every single
missing piece
you've ever felt
or ever needed,
I want to be Cupid
stealing your heart
selfishly for
my own pleasure,
oh what toil and trouble
a girl unhinged
her unbalanced mind
bursting bubbles of blood
through her boiling passion
deep within the skin.

© Sia Jane
2.4k · Jan 2014
Sia Jane Jan 2014
Leaving the room, the subtle scent
only for those, daily encounters
it is of night,
meeting a lover, darkness
perfume weighs heavy, in the air
clinging to her, silk skin,
clutched, pinched
pencil shape skirt, ribbon
drawing the inches,
sewn bustier, each stitch
climbing gentle curves, lace
ornamenting her *******,
a drop gold pendant, swirls
teetering, cobbled streets
Blahnik, green Ossie shoes
their final destination, grand floors
Regent home, four story,
Chelsea, London
her beau Fabiano, open arms
champagne in hand.

© Sia Jane
Perfume: The Story of a Murderer is a novel written by  Patrick Süskind.
The novel explores  a person obsessed with scents and their emotional meaning.
2.4k · Feb 2014
Unforgotten (manliness)
Sia Jane Feb 2014
I get home, to a hand crafted
note, one you wrote, with
the old calligraphy pen, that
sits at grandfathers writing desk.

You even used the envelope,
sealed by candle wax, stamped
a red wax, my initial, touching,
folded paper, a kiss of brass.

The art of, manliness, unforgotten
left on the pillow, of this grandiose
four poster bed, mahogany homemade,
the resting place, for weekend affairs.

You refuse to kiss, ruby covered lips,
as I remember the calling card, you
used as a formal introduction, perfectly
groomed, you entered my life, unregrettably.

You, a man learned from his, grandfather
his own father passing away, whilst
away at sea, that cold and distant war,
my tears fell as you pursued his path.

You looked so debonair, a
tuxedo, measured to fit, all alignments
and as I stare at you, eyes connecting
all I wish for, are sweet kisses.

I want your arms around me,
softly whispering, of how you
will gently caress, each
and every curve, kissing my thigh.

The letter, quite simply,
hand typed, reads;
Florence Rose, will you do me the honor of marrying me?

I flush my arms around your neck,
tears fall, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.

He embraces me, kisses those lips,
lifts me to the bed,
******* me for minutes
moments and hours,
he makes love to me,
and I know, I know he,
is the only man I will ever need,
or even know.

© Sia Jane
2.3k · Feb 2014
Wanderlust - Sia Jane Lloyd
Sia Jane Feb 2014
I don't even know what to write, or say.
And for a person who has written so many poems,
on this site,
it is kind of unbelievable.

My first poetry anthology, "Wanderlust" - Sia Jane Lloyd
is now available via Amazon.

This place (Hello Poetry) has given me something I could never return or give words to.
Such acceptance, courage, love, belief, determination, inspiration...

Thank you for making me realise my dreams.
I couldn't have done it without you.

I love you all so so so much xoxo;=1392582925&sr;=8-1&keywords;=sia+jane+lloyd

2.1k · Oct 2013
Sia Jane Oct 2013
angels falling from the sky
an abundance of delightful
choice, role models inspirations
so many different places to
look, and you were hidden, my
little wallflower, among the
sea shells couture and
more, I finally remove the hair
masks, make up, to reveal your
true, for ever lasting self
admiration regard and respect
no matter the turmoil, struggles
you, endure, I sit back and
try to hold, court, not judge
but sometimes tears flow, pour
from these eyes, and although
you, cannot see why I feel the
pain too, it's there, it's real
and would never be felt if
you, didn't mean the world to
me, cause how can I hurt if
no love is found?
trying to be the best person
possible, to support you through
but a voice always screams not
only, not enough, but also,
why her?
losing you would be a travesty
last year my angel of hope
my Lennon dreamer, princess die
meeting you a dream come true
I swear to god, I refuse to lose
you, please don't let me
don't let me go

© Sia Jane
Dedicated to a dear friend who I adore more than she knows ***
2.0k · Jan 2014
Labyrinth (lost)
Sia Jane Jan 2014
I am a thousand different things
I'm people, objects, nature, animal
I'm woman, man, girl, boy, child
toddler, baby, foetus

I'm all you could dream of (not) wanting
I'm all you wish you were (not)
I'm (your) anger, sadness, fear, regret
I'm (your) happiness, joy, hope, love

When I write, I'm a character
fiction, autobiographical, biographical
I'm lived, burned, broken, insane
I'm madness, virginal, loose, free
closeted, bi-curious, let's wait it out and see

I'm intrigue, a passer by,
I'm the observer, the observed,
voyeurism, peeping tom, negative film
Moss, McQueen, Klein

I'm art, symbolism, post-modernism,
I'm poetry; written and spoken
I'm the woman you read of; her
I'm the girl who made you cry
I'm full to the brim of (your) inspiration

I open doors to the past, then slam the door
in your bright doe eyes
I close doors to my future, and sneak back
through cracks in the floor,
just to get back

I laugh in your face, and burn holes
in skin at your absence
I kick dirt in my eye, then cry wolf
I'm the severest of contradictions,
I say yes at no, no to yes,
I decide on impulse, and cry on cue

Beauty, romance, love, lust
all the questions I am made of
I answer in the written word

You only know me,
(if of course you dare)
by reading my rhymes,
(non judgmental stance)
and loving me regardless,
(don't expect perfection)

If you're going down
the same road
start today,
face your demons,
be the contradiction.

© Sia Jane


"So unimpressed but so in awe
Such a saint but such a *****
So self aware so full of ****
So indecisive so adamant

So rock and roll, so corporate suit
So **** ugly, so **** cute
So well-trained, so animal
So need your love, so ******* all"

Robbie Williams - *Come Undone
1.9k · Apr 2014
Phoenix (from the flames)
Sia Jane Apr 2014
War of the worlds,
                                men bartering money
Dollar bills left abandoned,
                                               blown to smithereens
Battling dusts of torment,
                                            acceptance of surrender
Waging a money war,
                                       business men flee
In the shadows rises,
                                   a fallen angel
Akin to a phoenix,
                                from the ashes
She symbolizes a renewal,
                                             dying in fires
Sparks burning a nest,
                                       immortality supplying coffins
Diabolical legacies of past,
                                             bow & arrow
Punctured wounding broken heart,
                                                          ­   wings disallow flight
Stumbling a splintered hip,
                                               reborn a chance
Of independent determined autonomy,
                                                       ­             la Cuesta Encantada
Fallen at the gates,
                                an enchanted hill
San Simeon seeking redemption,
                                                     ­   death awaits her
Carrying body & soul,
                                       Santa María Maggiore
Of Roman baroque temples,
                                                 small cascading pools
Death releases her body,
                                         the Neptune pool
She floats without dissension,
                                                   sinking in grace
In all her glory,
                           Hearst Castle will
Entomb body & soul,
                                      memories of her

release release release


© Sia Jane
Inspired by Lady Gaga and her G.U.Y an ARTPOP film video.
1.9k · Jan 2014
Soul on Fire
Sia Jane Jan 2014
"I'll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting..."*
Richard Siken

You set my soul on fire
pouring gasoline over
every inch of the skin
I inhabit daily

You set my soul on fire
knowing how much it
would burn, leaving
deep everlasting scars

You set my soul on fire
excruciatingly ripping
a person I love so
knowing the pain you'd cause

You set my soul on fire
your face ablaze with
an unspoken contentment
at claiming what you believe is yours

I sit here and mourn
my heart misshaped from the norm
I sit here and weep
at how trampled I was by your feet
I sit here with anger
knowing where to point the finger
twist it round,
with your well rehearsed stirs
that damage, disintegrate and curse

© Sia Jane
1.9k · Jan 2014
Gods & Monsters
Sia Jane Jan 2014
"No one's gonna take my soul away
I'm living like Jim Morrison...
In the land of Gods and Monsters
I was an angel"*
Lana Del Rey

Innocence lost, made her crazy
her smile forced, living twisted lies
bitter sweet memories, captured
in death defying detail
waken by the same song bird
who only blessed hope in the
darkness of a new dawn,
singing from the soul,
with filtering movements across
a chipped wood window ledge
enough to keep this young girls
heart in place, making her sad
even cry, with solitude, mixed
with an urgent sense of joy
a window ledge looking out
to grand oak trees, squirrels
playful in flight,
shaken autumnal leaves drop
whispering stories
to the blue ****, chaffinch, swallows
a lowly stray cat jumps
chases leaves that swirl
mini tornados, whistling winds
chasing his tail
a thief of his prey he captures
a baby bird of first flight
racing off into bushes
hiding his feed for the day

A cacophony of deafening
sounds forces their noise
up the narrow stairwell
pounding feet; her father
he frightens the song bird
away, and a silence forms

In her nightdress
Emily grabs the soft torn eared
teddy, lays flat to the dusty
wooden floor and hides
under the four poster bed
silent as a ghost
she is filled with the same
fear, she faces each
and every

© Sia Jane
1.9k · May 2014
Sia Jane May 2014
Touch me like I am,
a moonbeam of delight.

A sky diamond no flaws,
a flashback through time.

Seek solace in midnight memories,
a weight in golden worth.

Arrest me make the suggest,
to hold me in utter nakedness.

Pretty dancer whiskey bottle,
phone on repeat dead line.

Custody danger never to be seen,
another round null no sound.

Constance in the coffee shop,
scouting out potentials.

Blows off steam outside church walls,
ringing bells magical three tolls.

Great thinkers diseased,
malady of souls.

Faking it 'til they make it,
open your eyes.

Sorrows of another night,
off the wagon.

Pick you up,
lost cause.


a blinded soul.

© Sia Jane
1.9k · Jan 2015
Sia Jane Jan 2015
If I were to say;
the devil & god both
rage within,
I would render myself
For despite blind faith
you have never heard
me surrender,
to the devil or god.
The agnostic in me
did surrender, to a name
still unknown.
An internal war
battles of wills I so fought
pleading & praying;
save me from what I have
so become.

A war rages within
thirsty blood red, slaughter
a house for the dead.
I fall at your feet, lick the blood
splashed & spilled;
a slaughterhouse will never
be a clean resting place.
I kneel; genuflect
at the
shrine of gods
& monsters.
I whisper;
What will be?
What will become of me?

Laughing, spitting,
in the face of anguished despair.
A war rages within.
Nor devil nor god may see,
I am yours for slaughter,
surrendered for you
in this wasteland
my mind created when
were first

© Sia Jane

"I’ll be your

slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this

          bullet inside me."

Wishbone by Richard Siken
1.9k · Mar 2015
Black & Yellow
Sia Jane Mar 2015
Black & Yellow
                                             – for Wiz Khalifa  ✌

                        “Stay high like I’m supposed to do, that crown
                        underneath them clouds, can’t get close to you.”

On the first day, he was pushed.
Robust in stance, the other forced,
this boy down the marble stairs
of the Catholic church, the school
renovated the Summer before
Khalifa began his studies,
                  in junior high.
The ballet was his passion,
Latin was the language that so
fluently was spoken from
his lips. The Professor smiled,
another victory accomplished.
Khalifa’s mom was so proud of
            her blue eyed boy.
Rapped in a ball, he waited
for all students & halls to clear.
Rolled over, picked himself up
took to the washroom, knowing
he needed to be presentable
for his mom stood at the school gate,
           brimming with pride.
All of his dreams, mystical.
Don Quixote & The Nutcracker,
fluid streams of poetry;
Elliot, Poe, Wilde. The love
letters of Ludwig van Beethoven.
Born to dance all Principal roles,
                  a lovers’ prose.
By four, he was ready to
leave school. Tentatively walking,
no predators in sight, out
the main door. Leaving behind
a haunting first day. Listening to
Tchaikovsky; his release, his home,
                 his saving grace.

© Sia Jane
You might recognise the song title! A serious subject I know, with a degree of playfulness concerning what we CAN rise above in pursuing our dreams <3
1.8k · Oct 2013
ebony & ivory
Sia Jane Oct 2013
Draped fabric across ebony skin
blues so bright, even the sky fades its light
nestled over the linen
she glances up
a camera smiling
as she giggles with
embarrassment as she fell
the fall is captured as a moment in
time that will never be

Chilled wine glass in her left hand
cindarella burning against red painted nails
in the other, looking over the balcony she sits
ponders her day as the night sky
fades to red then a deep pitch black
stars like diamonds in the sky above
crickets among the silence
the only noise she hears

Her phone lights up with messages from
the day that, she wasn't able to read
as she skims through, a shout is heard
from inside the hotel room
she drops down the phone, places the glass
to the table, and the lighted cigarette to the tray
more time is allowed some space outside
she finishes her smoke, drinks up her wine
shuts down her

She smiles to herself red lipstick caresses the glass
like a lovers lips touched
not tainted
bottle in cooler, fills the glass to the rim
her heart is warm, soul content
she knows she is loved
unrequited unknown
for now she has a mind
so occupied it's impossible to



Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder

© Sia Jane
1.8k · Mar 2015
My Traitors Heart
Sia Jane Mar 2015
My Traitor’s Heart

I cut your heart open with a knife,
And drink you up like the elixir of life.
My body would now be the perfect host
To house the remnants of your ghost
Forestalling your indignant daily riposte.

At the dining table, I compulsively realign
Silverware. I take a crystal glass, pour red wine,
Knowing I’ve committed a murderous sin
Goosebumps form on every inch of my skin
Dark memories resume within.

You spoke to me of girls undreamed-of
You taught me lessons of absent love
Such stories only fed my vengeance,
And now my body pays it's penance;
Flesh laid bare. A life sentence.

Tonight, I trace with fingers, tramlines of
Forgiveness; my Mourning Dove.
I am now so pure, and Satan
Cannot punish me with rattan
Palm. I was never part of his grand plan.

© Sia Jane
Another challenge with form as Elinor Wiyle's "Full Moon."
1.8k · Feb 2014
pink cotton candy
Sia Jane Feb 2014
not here, here, here

inside, outside, her head
bath tub, bubbles shaped
like balloons, rising
in the air,
cut open, she
precludes the secret nature
of her love,

he loved, her
every ballet she danced
pink fur, a butterfly moving,
on tips of toes,
tripping the light, en pointe
painted pale lips,
winged eyeliner, corset
silk, golden embellished,
feathered tutu, romantic
Tchaikovsky's compositions,
faery tale ballets,
Swan Lake, Paris Opéra
Odette, a sorcerer's curse
falling to her fate, black
later, taxi rides home, kissing
moonlight, bedroom laughter,


not here, here, here

the bathroom door,
she kisses away,
her melancholy madness,
his voice; *Laurier...

her soul, punctured
by her lover...

not here, here, here

© Sia Jane
Another twenty word challenge! So much fun!

"Wanderlust" by Sia Jane Lloyd available via all Amazon stores;=1392582925&sr;=8-1&keywords;=sia+jane+lloyd

Also visit:
1.7k · Jan 2014
Axis 1: Anorexia Nervosa
Sia Jane Jan 2014
Diagnosis: Anorexia Nervosa
Status: Recovered.

So my point in writing... am I doing this for myself? Maybe... or to inspire others? Maybe...
Or to simply just show and say, that I am through this. Through what? Through all that growth that you encounter when you truly engage yourself in recovery.
This does not mean I will not grow further, learn more. Develop and engage. It doesn’t mean I have been able to shut the door once and for all on my mental health struggles (I was trying to be as politically correct towards myself using that term).
It means, I trust, I believe, and not naively, that I have done the hard work.
I have stepped outside of the mirror.
I no longer believe I can only live half way, a half life, between sickness and wellness.
It means, I know, I will never, get sick again.
Many may laugh, or shake their heads at that. And yet, what I am writing here is filled with so much faith and trust, that I can be sure of myself. Even if no one else in the world believes it, I do. And I know it, because I have made a choice.
There were some backwards and forwards, to relapses and re-growths, but each and every fall, I chose to learn. I chose to take to therapy. I chose.
I choose life.  And so that means, the commitment to life, to myself, that I will always take the route that leads to more life, or to more hope...

And so getting well. What happened there? Well, after years of self abuse, of anger turned inwards, after trying to destroy myself in every single way possible... I wondered, inquisitively, what would happen if I used all I had learnt in hospital, all the positive energy directed at me, the words my therapist would say to me... I wondered, what if?
That if, turned out to be the most amazing curiosity. It is why I am safe, well, “recovered.” I don’t use the term recovered lightly. I recognise that my whole life will mean being mindful, it will mean self awareness, it will mean vulnerability. But what I am certain of, is that each year that passes, I grow and gain strength in ways I never realised I could.
I use “recovered” because I don’t believe I am “in recovery.” I have done the recovery. I have done the putting food in my mouth, consulting a nutritionist, the ridiculous amount of weight gain that allowed me to be healthy. I am done with the depression, the endless anxiety, the self harm.
I say “recovered” because as Marya Hornbacher writes: “I mean flat-out eat-normally stay-healthy get-comfortable-with-your-body-and-actually-like-it recovery.”
Few believe it exists. In fact, I was told my numerous doctors I would never recover. I would always be chronic. Sick. In need of hospital.
It exists. I know that. Because it exists for me.
Recovering has meant finding a voice, and using it. It means putting food in my mouth, it means seeing friends, engaging in life, seeking out healthy ways of coping when I feel overwhelmed, scared, anxious...

I live.

© Sia Jane
I wrote this 4 years ago, for EDAW (Eating Disorder Awareness Week) It is heavily edited, in that I have chopped two pieces which felt the most important from the rest of the story. Other than that it remains untouched. I hope this can help carry us into February and continue to raise awareness.
1.7k · Feb 2014
depression (life)
Sia Jane Feb 2014
tidal waves

starting from the bottom,
    a life time
                     ago, inside backstabbers feeling the aftermath.
raising in anger

                  the sky above, gone so long.
lifted to

a journey of endless time, skies as dark as,
a blackened out knight.

a thief, not realising the fight,
                                                  that you daily gave flight.

academia loses me, swamping my left side,
my brain is crawling.

a right sided force to be reckoned with,
a release from the monotony of one
                                                             ­    three, safety in numbers.

war of the world ensues, it's a game of thrones.

red versus blue, black versus white,
knowing I always saw,
the creativity in,

© Sia Jane
Probably one of the oddest poem I have ever written!
Sia Jane Jan 2014
I look up to pastel blue skies
that fade into pink clouds
I look to what becomes
a clear black night
a full moon in the sky
stars alight like a four carat ring
a canary diamond so bright
catching all the light from the stars
that surround this Northern star
I picture your face
the ring on your left finger
your smile my saving grace
my only comfort knowing
that as much as I miss you
we both look to the same sky
clinging to your smiles
the feel of your embrace
as we make love through the night
my nails are chipped again
bitten through anxiety
wrapped in the same cashmere
swamped in your scent
I smile.*

© Sia Jane

I am always so so inspired by the beauty of the sun setting outside my bedroom widow & as the sun is hidden, I sit on the ledge & a dark night, that is lit by stars, fills my whole room, & I smile, I remember.
1.7k · Apr 2014
Sia Jane Apr 2014
Sandman, Sandman
Disallow the haunting
Of dreams so

Sandman, Sandman
Insomnia lives within
Of Hans Christian Anderson tales

Sandman, Sandman
Gently falling asleep
Of Ole Lukøje folk

Sandman, Sandman
Mythic creature allow
Of fearlessly opened

Sandman, Sandman
Sprinkle thy sand
Beneath the colored

Sandman, Sandman
Children dream deeply
Of magical stories

© Sia Jane
1.7k · Sep 2014
Black Orchid
Sia Jane Sep 2014
She was always a chameleon soul
Black Orchid
Eyes, shadows, vulnerabilities
Of heroine chic,
Juxtaposed with an embracing
Of mutual
Meshing voices from
The past
Nostalgic memories for
Behind the camera
A lady photographed
A younger self,
Mirrored reflections of
The lady she had graced
Into through the
Where contemplative deliberations
Iconic wonders, flashed through
Her mind
With each click the metamorphosis
                     ­   three
Twiggy, Edie, Kate
Transformations; a sorcerers magic,
           ­                       mind
                                   ­         soul
Mirages amidst reincarnations
Never a remnant of the same
For, the lady behind the lens
A ghost veiled in black;
The Black Orchid.

© Sia Jane

Dedicated & written for my darling friend Cara <3
For she shall know love <3
I am sorry I am so slow on the up keep. I am trying. Love you all <3
1.7k · Mar 2014
Sia Jane Mar 2014
She came into her life
A mere stranger of coincidence
Alexander McQueen ivory silk tulle
Empire line gown.
All senses heightened;
She was waiting amidst
The exotic smell of burning
Candle wax.
The scent of a woman clinging
To lustful air, white roses ribboned
Thorns tinting porcelain skin.
She hears the patter, not dislike
A small child coming toward you.
All senses are broken; just a voice
So much power in the echo
Of words spoken with such
****, he ******* knew that
She was awake, Louboutin steps
Scaring the devil itself; what sin.
Walking through flames,
Burning, hot coals; presence.
Ophelia approaches, a creature
Secure, arms wrapped tight
And smiles at her.
Ophelia speaks to her; lifting her arms
To wrap around her instead.
A gentle hand, to the thigh
A soft caress across silver scars.
The girl feels; inadequate
And yet, forgiven for all she has
Committed; sins of the flesh.
It was only now that, this goddess
Of desire, lust and eternity
Could mark a soul, for she was an
Angel, winged feathers a glow.
She reaches to the empty soul
Challenges her resoluteness
"What can I do to help?"
Eyes welling, the sound of a
Tear, akin to a pin drop
In silence.
In that silence, words formed
Like cloud patterns, shifting
Graceful elegance.
Nothing was heard, all was spoken.
Ophelia stole her heart,
The girl will always be attached
By symbolic resurrections
Of strength,
The heart and mind.

© Sia Jane
It's 03.33am
1.7k · Jan 2014
Kiss me (& see)
Sia Jane Jan 2014
With you I couldn't offer much
I couldn't give you the life
you're so accustomed to
or the valuables
those material gifts
that so suit your lifestyle
the Haute Couture
that clasps to your body
the perfect fit to your
beautiful frame
oh the body of a goddess
one of mythical dreams
I'm far from any Monroe or Taylor
or any of the glamorous stars you so
mirror with such etiquette
I'm the girl sat in a cashmere cardigan
with chipped red nails, bitten to the skin
no make up and bed head hair
and I know that you are true
to all these things too
you're a person about personality
not mere possessions
you beauty is internal it glows
like the diamonds you sing of
stars in a sky of love
grandma Dolly's leather backed bible
hand written notes that carry your true worth
family values knowing without them
you'd be no where
and here am I, as poor as a church mouse
no worldly possessions
just me, myself and I
a heart
my loyalty
my love
a love for you more vast than all
land and oceans combined
each dollar in your pocket couldn't account
for the price of this love
a chance for love is all I crave
to love only you in every way I know how
a tight hug, a light embrace
a smile, a sparkle, a tickle of your thigh
oh what a distant obsession you have become
like a mist of Chanel Eau de Parfum
so intense
then fading into the background
my sheets, soul and skin
are still soaked in your scent
but you've gone, and taken part of me with you
leaving me broken, split in two
but as one,
not one with you.*

© Sia Jane


“Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.”
Sylvia Plath
1.6k · Apr 2016
Sia Jane Apr 2016
When you've lived between the shadows
Only awakening the true self
When the sky casts a dark net
Shielding any visibility
When you've not switched a light
On to the colour of your soul
Terrified of knowing
The vicissitudes of the seasons
Within your own heart
It takes a mighty girl to rise
To look herself in the eye
No longer whispering those lies
To face her own truth*

© Sia Jane
Day 15 of a "Poem a Day" for April 2016
1.6k · Oct 2013
watch me burn
Sia Jane Oct 2013
Hitting me, anger assuming it's
common place, during such
arguments of hate and jealousy
it can be seen in your eyes and
through every vein, that pulsates
through your body, back at me
red and igniting, your body it's
own temple of fire and petrol gas
thrown on by my ever answering
back voice, later silenced.

My only means of pacifying
you, is to pull you close as
rough as you drag me,
to the floor, kiss you and
allow you to **** me, forcing
all your weight upon, this now
fragile pale skinned girl, as no
light has crossed her bruised
face in so many days, food is
a weakness, her work her, salvation.

Submissive, I divide you in to
two separate entities, the good of
you, shows affection like no other
passion and commitment, flowers
show up at work, rings, bracelets,
gifts to appease my beaten self
making me, again, yours, again
**** me, it keeps the monster in
you, at bay, controlled I beg for
more, you liked it that way.

The power, it curbed the anger, curbed my, anxiety and fear of the
unknown, never able to control
the relentless moods demons that
raged through you each and every
moment, you looked me in the eyes
hatred or love, baby blue eyes you
would smile, baby blue eyes you
would swear, voice getting louder
walls broken, face smashed in.

How I left you, I will never know
only now do I see, nothing I did
or could have done, would change
what you did to me those days and
nights, of pain and torture, ****
me, maybe it was deserved or
maybe I made it that way to appease
him, even myself, but I ask what
would a real man have done?
answer, not that, right?

© Sia Jane
I uploaded this as "**** me" a couple of nights ago and freaked and took it down. But I have to not feel ashamed so here it is again ***
1.6k · Jun 2015
Sia Jane Jun 2015
I would not recommend Madness

                 distrust runs riot
dissecting myself with wings clipped deemed a flight risk
and I'm naked lay face down on the bed
and I trace tramlines
                                     of forgiveness
because my mauled body pays
penance and I am my own
whipping boy who sees me as
a war zone of self-destruction
an addict to my own sickness
bat **** crazy
                         like those female poets
and their creative madness
                                                 Sexton, Plath, Bishop, Woolf
and Merini and Kane

and I prayed: Lord
forgive me for my sins
I would not recommend

© Sia Jane
See Harold Norse “I would not recommend Love”
1.6k · May 2015
Celestial Body
Sia Jane May 2015
Wake up.
  The moons reflection beckons
    for me to tilt my head
She smiles glancing at me.
      I search the sky for
A zodiac amidst twelve
       across a celestial
The Enlightened children
        seek solace below
I am her daughter. A spec
          of dust wishing to
this Earthly realm.
I am a child of the moon
          & she is
            Earth Mother.

© Sia Jane
Finally just sat down to write <3
1.5k · Apr 2014
Magnetic Spirit
Sia Jane Apr 2014
Karen Carpenter, bridged sued cap d'hiver,
(which I hear will be very en vogue this summer)
fringe falling, as gracefully as music flowing through her veins,
(a Pucci jumpsuit, a throwback to times, of rock and roll)

Pinned hair, taped face to secure a wig cap,
(a daily communion bonding her soul to her self)
those Miu Mui boots, leather wrapped sewn to her body
(to which is laying amid candle light gypsy retreat)

A left thigh, glance of the subtly disguised tattoos inscribing her body,
(do we mark our body, to impress others or to claim our own bodies)
silk Chloé gown, gypsy princess of Parisian quarters,
(Jakarta may someday be a resting place for an unsettled soul)

Placing pencil to paper, poetry writes me as lyrics write her,
(do the ivory keys of the Grand Piano fuse inspiration)
piercing red nails, grasping left handed she writes writes writes,
(maybe notes of her future travels dreams aspirations)

A 70's heroine, born to the wrong era standing in the past,
(Yoko Ono Led Zep Stevie Nicks, mahatma's of a lost scene)
innocence purity porcelain *******, torn from a womb too soon,
(not at once a smile, reflective nostalgia unwavering past future)

A fallen tear drop, a hopelessness of peace in her eyes,
(one can see both tattoos of present; ARTPOP, of past; peace symbol)
a fallen angel, legacy leaving her mark on a generation of those lost,

Her left wrist shows a peace sign as a commitment to such peace

Will this ever be a possibility on a planet we call earth?

© Sia Jane
See "Porter Magazine" - "Gaga The Lady interview photographed by Inez & Vinoodh.
1.5k · Nov 2014
Sia Jane Nov 2014
It was in wander
for not lost was she.
It was in wonder
for without sin

she walked towards
the tree bearing
sweet fruit
enticing her forward

lust sent a lumber puncture
through her spine
upwards it shot to the
brain; cerebral forms

into a beating heart.
It excited her there was
such freedom found
in such innocence.

Pulsating quivers she waited
Adam to her Eve
daisy chains falling from her neck
framing a prepubescent chest

hooks temperately fastening
white knotted cotton hand sewn dress
virginal white
no womanhood in sight

Annabelle’s life, a melody of
melancholic cacophonic raspers
from asylums, former patients
of Briarcliff Manor

residing in her; only misery
innocent running’s from
grave dangers of
stark raving madness.

For, today
she wasn’t embroiled
as Arden’s pet
instead she was the little girl

so born to be before the woman
was stolen, bound by
a physicians sick
nightmarish re-enactments.

For, today
she was free
a starling, passionate

© Sia Jane
Briarcliff Manor is in Massachusetts and derelict.
In the 60's it was taken on by the church as an asylum.
In American Horror Show there is a season called Asylum.
In some cases the physician   -Arden, would carry out experiments.
Raspers were the zombie like "monsters."
Often innocence were committed and in the poem I am either talking about the girl who was before the Asylum or a dream/nightmare state she was in during the experiments.
Which is real?
Her being free and innocent or her being committed?
1.5k · Oct 2014
Cindy Lou
Sia Jane Oct 2014
Of course it was never her fault.
So many misgivings, so much insanity
Capacity to care floundered

Dispersed white powder fragments
Blow on broken glass tables
A surrendered white Christmas

Drawn matted curtains keep
Crystal blue skies and
Bright sunshine hidden

In darkness Dr Seus’
“How The Grinch Stole Christmas”
The stealing of innocence

A childhood
A prevalence greater than
Any Christmas

Her imagination only fuelled by
The blinkering television set
Thurl Ravenscroft’s voice penetrating her silenced soul

In a climate of disdain
Christmas spirit in shortage
How she lived alongside Cindy Lou

Her scarred heart, willing and eager
For just one taste
Of a day so sacred.

© Sia Jane
I have not written in so long. To think I was writing a poem a day!!! I am currently studying an MA in Creative Writing at MMU Writing School. It is crazy and I barely get chance to breathe along with other commitments.
I want to take time to read here, and I plan on this weekend.
I miss you guys and I miss sharing here.

This is my first "re work" of a poem I wrote a while ago.
I don't know if it is better or worse than the original as I have no clue how editing works. I am learning.
It is taken from the original;

Love you guys xxxxx
1.5k · Feb 2014
L'Heure Bleue
Sia Jane Feb 2014
The fall of the
      L'Heure Bleue,
the sweet lights, Brandenburg Gate,
awaiting human kisses,
a Midas touch,
kiss & tell
lipstick stains,
good girl gone bad,
heart & soul,
in a silver,
of embellished ink
Each morning, crossing
dawn to sunrise,
the photographers
'sweet light'
sunset to dusk
No full daylight, or
sunlight only illuminating,
scattering skies
Paris, & Rome
the Colosseum, & the Eiffel Tower,
strike fire & flowers
This blue hour, shapeshifters
black Alexander ****, &
Saint Laurent's elaphe snakeskin,
tainted pumps
The darker side, of
feminine mystique,
fire wood skies fade
ghost remains
travels her own mind.

© Sia Jane
Happy Birthday dear friend Robyn <3

"Wanderlust" by Sia Jane Lloyd available via all Amazon stores;=1392582925&sr;=8-1&keywords;=sia+jane+lloyd

Also visit:
1.5k · Feb 2015
Sia Jane Feb 2015
"Who am I, mother?
Who am I and what do I do?"

–Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel"

And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as
Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a
Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death.

Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the
"Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness.

Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother
Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness.

Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man
Incarcerated; locked & bolted
Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured."

Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as
Loving anyone meant destroying them also.

Multiple personalities dominate him
Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin
Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair

Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un
Quiet mind
Reasons pertaining to mental insanity
Sectioned to institutions

Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind
Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even
Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept.

Xenos to himself; who, am I mother?
Youth denied, cried away
Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984.

© Sia Jane
Class challenge of an Abecedarius poem <3
1.4k · Mar 2016
Sia Jane Mar 2016
For hours, I tried to sleep.
The rain drums down on the tin roof;
the demons are knocking.
I see their tears stream down the window;
a cleverly designed artifice to distract
from their true intent.
I ignore their subtle attacks, but they always
find a way back in.
I watch their shadows drift in through
the windows;
morphing from one shape into another,
hovering around me,
their whispered breaths cloud the air –
there is barely a space unfilled by their presence.
I can’t seem to chase them away, and I’m
wrapped up into their world.
Empty, cold and alone,
my reality remains stranger than any dream.

© Sia Jane
1.4k · May 2014
edie & warhol
Sia Jane May 2014
encased with passion & desire,
love & lust he waits for her still,
a muse

he's restless & listless, his heart beats,
& bleeds, catch up, catch up,
a muse

leaking lover lost through, a dripping soul,
red raw, vulnerable, closed,
a muse

a fragility so unknown to her, a naivety,
oblivious, at risk from all men,
a muse

he couldn't have her, so he destroyed her,
she disallowed all men in,
a muse

denial & unfazed, she's dazed, confused,
he watches from the sidelines,
a muse

this obsession won't hit him,
or maybe the day she is gone, he will,
a muse

drugs were a power, greater than her,
releasing caged birds, an angel above,
a muse.

© Sia Jane
1.4k · Jan 2014
Midsummer Fair
Sia Jane Jan 2014
I found you, cast away in the shadows,
hiding from the laughter, of those
painted clown faces

I found you, on the rooftop
sat with your arms, clasped
to you, wrapped around

Searching through the crowd
blinded, the lights of this
crazy, maddening fairground

Colours forming, moving
the Northern lights, blazing
blues, green, pinks, yellows

Kids and lovers, screaming
the Matterhorn spinning,
a frisbee gondola swinging

Midsummer Fair, a fresh green common
distracted, I turn, the Midnight Express
decorated, loosely dressed women and men

Axles rattling in and out
Ferris wheels, bumper cars, waltzes
Ray Davies playing, side stalls and games

Rubber ducks hooked, fathers shadowing
***** misplacing baskets, a high strike to the bell
in among mirrors, I now find myself reflecting

A cacophony of sounds, noise
music of Bob Bradley penetrating
these convex mirrors, movers and shakers

I pace past drag queens, circus freaks
footsteps moving in timely accord
the Helter Skelter, confused, disorderly haste

I am the whirlwind, climbing outside
the spiral tower, to the top
stars and constellations above

At its peak, I see you
you've climbed onto the rooftop

I always found you here
hide and seek, morphed into
children's games of sardines

I find you, you have hidden
I stay with you,
until we are found


© Sia Jane
"Helter Skelter" takes its name from the much older adverb meaning "in confused, disorderly haste"
1.4k · Sep 2015
Pink Peonies
Sia Jane Sep 2015
Something always sends me back to that town.
I never know what I'm looking for
or why I always take the same road.

There's something in the journey
in seeing the same path ahead of me
only changing for the seasons
it's continuity, it's endurance,
it teaches me great strength.

She died in the fall. Now autumn leaves
cover the gravestone.
That October I planted seeds in the grass
surrounding you
pink peonies brought themselves to live life
two years later
it is as though they knew a grieving period
could only bring me acceptance.

I too, had to develop rooting in my new home
grow my own foliage, of sorts-
to find a way to protect me from the frost.

In those days of cold darkness, where my body
is frozen ice incapable of moving,
waiting to wake up, I would listen
to the last voicemail you left me.

You were by the sea on your morning run,
telling me again, as only you could,
how you loved the winter months closing in on us;
"There's a bright blue sky, the sun so low & hazy
the migrating swallows look like they're chasing its rays,"
you say.

It is those snap shots carrying me
through the days I'm victorious over,
which bring me into blossom.
I remember, nature trusts its processes.
It trusts the seasons bringing change.
It teaches me, again, great strength.

© Sia Jane #76
1.4k · Jul 2014
Broken China
Sia Jane Jul 2014
Maybe those afternoons,
were meant for,
that simple meeting,
amidst the quiet,
breviloquent chatter,
raw, uncompromising,
blissful uninhibited emotion.

Resounding cups,
mismatched china,
jasmine, rose, lavender tea,
celestial gardens,
plants; leaf-bearing
chinking lipped tea cups,
saucers pooling.

Immaculately intricate,
of Hadrian Denaruis silver,
an eighteenth century delight,
for ladies; un salon de thé,
sound waves wander as tea diffusers,
ritual & routine,
friendship & freedom.

© Sia Jane
I miss reading poems here so so so so much. I am so busy and too busy to even write at the moment. BUT I will be back around soon once things slow down. Miss you guys xxxx
1.4k · Feb 2014
Meet me in Paris
Sia Jane Feb 2014
Tell me your secrets tell me a tale of centuries passed where you recall meeting at what we called the wrong time what if maybe years from now I lift my head tilted towards the sound of a barista clearing the table where you then sit where you are only focused on a poodle called Gaillard who is chocolate brown groomed to perfection with a winter coat matching the faux fur wrapped around your neck as winter has fallen no bleakness just crystal skies iced cobbled pavements too cold for the puppy with big brown eyes whimpering for a seat on a warm lap of an owner feeding treats comfort provided by the attentive barista returning from the inside of a busy café serving hot fresh expresso drifting smells across untouched air toward me who orders another chocolat chaud arriving with a macaroon an unmarked napkin to which I write "Tu me manque" standing I walk to her table Gaillard remembering my scent lifts himself to my chest as I lay the note down where the one who'd be gone so long whispered back sweeping her hair to the side, "Tu me manque plus"
simultaneously they say; "I knew I'd meet you again someday..." a smile from both, "in Paris," with a giggle a caress a simple holding of the hand.

© Sia Jane
"Wanderlust" by Sia Jane Lloyd is available via Amazon
My new poetry anthology :))))
"Wanderlust" by Sia Jane Lloyd available via all Amazon stores;=1392582925&sr;=8-1&keywords;=sia+jane+lloyd

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1.4k · Dec 2013
The promise (she tried)
Sia Jane Dec 2013
Everywhere I go, each step I take
it is only your face, your laugh
that I ever see
closing my eyes to rest
the ripping and shredding
of my heart, I only see
How I fell and how safe it felt
cursing myself for believing
once more that my heart
guarded as it is
my wellspring of all life
choosing to say
Be gone the protection
weaponry, armoury and
letting her smile, generosity
of heart, comfort and ******
my naive self, love is blind
as we spoke whispers of
Calling myself a crazy girl
in love, maybe I imagined
the realness of the encounter
trying to believe she's just
another girl who I love
no different than lovers
But she'll never be just another
my love for her deeper than
all those others who reached
inside my body grasping
my soul, always forgotten
drifting away, like all the others
I really am the forgotten girl.

© Sia Jane

"For the moment I can think of nothing— except that I am a sentient being stabbed by the miracle of these waters that reflect a forgotten world."

Henry Miller
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