"gillian" poems
Along the banks of Lake Shelbyville
That’s what I think of when it’s your birthday
A camp fire burning on a cool April night
We two drinking hot mauled cider
Or better yet “Hornsby’s Draft Cider”
Talking and laughing
Making up parodies
Parodies of Zeppelin and Floyd songs
Listening to the nightingales and the crickets
And watching fire light
That almost appears to be living
Watching slow rolling clouds, and feeling the whispering wind
Rolling in and out and over and under
The engaging light of the moon and stars
And maybe some of our friends were there
And maybe it was only us
Brother and sister
Best friends forever
Retelling stories of our past
Creating memories for our future
Waxing religion and philosophy
Such philistines, think my parents
And your parents don’t get it
And yes we have separate parents
And yes we have the same parents
(Adoption is a funny thing you see)
You are my funny BIG, BIG, BIG brother
Santa Claus, Sasquatch, Cave Man, and Viking
And I am your little crazy sister
Flower Child and Sacagawea
And it is your birthday
And I love you always
Love, Sarah Jane Gillian Tiffany Michelle Whispering Wind Grider Minks Summers Jonathan George Washington Francis Fleming Greenlee Whiter Liston Hall
Aka Awesome Pagan Goddess
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
White violets in the window
Scarlett leaves tumble across
the mossy hidden stones
mound beneath a chilly winter's dawn
A cold wind bares the dogwood tree
where puffed out plumaged woodpecker
gleans on creations' plump red bounties,
beheld subsistence beget for feral wings
Bright crimson fattened rose hips season,
lingering in the frigid morning dew;
stirring warm memories of fruitlet tea's
steeped from gathered garden magic spells
A spoonful of love and raw honey mellowed
a life once so lovingly endeared
Hot Blueberry dutch-oven scratch biscuits
imbue the wafting fragrant air —
life's cherished moments tarry
in the head and heart;
sipped by ruby lips still tasting
the untamable passion
of a breathless goodnight kiss
White violets blossom in the window
the morning fire's crackle echoes
a pining memories' gentle whisper
awakened by the incoming wintertide
A dulcet breeze not soon forgotten
— melancholy traces linger
like a passing season's swan song
as your memory — leads me on...
harlon rivers ... December 5th, 2018
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
Two years on, the bank bought the house
Your mother tried but couldn't make the payments
I tried as I could but couldn't keep it going
So many memories just left to fade
No trace of life, no trace of a body
You just went clear off the edge of the earth
Didn't bring a map, didn't plan to come back
Did you suffer, Gillian?
There'll always be part of me that remembers
But I know that there's always something missing
I'll try to move forward from this loss
But how could I make sense of it all?
I've been holding it all together for too long now
So much so I've forgotten myself
Been trying to be stronger than I used to be
Rebuilding to learn to love someone else
Where does love go?
Where does it bleed out?
What can be done to stem the flow
What can quell the hurt, what can ebb the tide?
Where does love go?
Where does love lost get found again
When does it stop hurting so much?
Oh, does it ever really stop?
Can I try to make connections new
With the ghost of you
Still lingering 'round all I know?
Can I try to keep my heart aligned
And try to pretend I'm alright
With you still missing from my life?
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 2:49 AM UTC
You are my Thanatophobia.
I fear to lose you.
My love.
Best friend.
The one who fills that empty void in my soul.
The one who fixed my heart.
You are my Thanatophobia.
-Gillian Askeland
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 1:50 AM UTC
Life is like a guitar.
You can't play on broken strings
You can't be happy when you're broken.
You have to fix it before you're able to play.
-Gillian Askeland
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC
I attended the Poetry Live event at Leeds Town Hall on Wednesday 5th February (this week) and it was a spectacular event.
I witnessed readings from Carol Ann Duffy, Gillian Clarke, Simon Armitage, Jackie Kay, Imtiaz Dharker and John Agard. Each of these poets are a true inspiration for me and their work is absolutely amazing. My favourite reading was from John Agard, who is an incredible individual and great entertainer!
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Cold as Hell,
as paradoxical as that seems,
I know I might seem humble it’s true,
even though on the down low I’ve got high self esteem,
watching Indiana Jones on the big screen,
got little time for nonsense,
even though we seem to make a big scene,
it seems,
that nothing is as it seems,
feeling like Indian Jones,
is it a *** of gold or a hill of beans,
more Jack than Jill,
more Mulder than Gillian,
and things are getting word like the X-Files,
some of the Lizard People are Chameleons,
or better yet Camillions,
money is their sun they bask in it,
on a rock in an ocean call it a continent,
not content at all with the poetic tragicness,
feeling repelled as 2 negatives,
yet as attracted as a magnet is,
anyways what’s my point,
I don’t know I suppose it depends on what your perspective is,
I just call it like I see it,
no filter unedited,
no hashtags just a hash bag,
actually I don’t even smoke that sh!t,
not even a little bit,
that’s not my favorite intoxicant,
anyways I should probably get off my soapbox,
because I seems I am on a rant,
so that’s it I’m done,
heading back to my house in the clouds,
where I can write in silence,
and let me words be as loud as Hell,
cold as Hell,
as paradoxical as that seems,
I know I might seem humble it’s true,
even though on the down low I’ve got high self esteem,
watching Indian Jones on the big screen,
got little time for nonsense,
even though we seem to make a big scene,
it seems,
that nothing is as it seems,
feeling like Indian Jones,
is it a *** of gold or a hill of beans…
∆ LaLux ∆
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
As she lies on the bathroom floor with a pill bottle in her hand. She doesn’t realize so many people adore her, love her, and look up to her.
She felt so alone and so unwanted. She was fighting this battle no one knew about.
She never understood why it happened to her out of all people.
She was tired, so she took her mothers pills and locked herself in the bathroom. She ran a hot bath and washed her face and hair. When she got out she decided to do her makeup and put on her mother’s favorite dress. She made sure she unlocked the door for when her parents came home. She took a piece of paper and a pen,
“Dear momma and poppa,
I love you both so very much. But this world is just not my place. My wings are already here waiting to come out. I’m sorry I hurt you oh so very much. But I’ll be looking down on you. I’ll always be here. Just hug your pillow tighter and you’ll make it through the night. Watch for a white dove. Because every time you see a white dove that’ll be me checking up on you. This was not your fault. I love you oh so very much.
Sincerely,
Your beloved child.”
Little did her parents know that their only child was gone. She was gone… She took the pain away.
“Jocelyn, honey where are you?”
“Jocelyn”
“911, whats your emergency?”
-Gillian Askeland
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
Come Irene!
Get that racquet from the side of the tank.
Your mother brought a shuttlecock from Kitale.
I love this one, its heavy and a bit crooked ... just to my strength,
You see, your late grandmother used the one you are holding and she played off with your grandfather on this compound years ago.
What is this game called?
Badminton.
You just hit this conical shaped ball called a shuttlecock towards me and I hit it back your side
Just make sure this ball doesn't touch the ground,
It's not hard like Table-Tennis.
Here goes...hit it back.
You're getting it... you're doing it right...
I remember it like it was yesterday,
Uncle Michael and I run down the street to play,
We could just run from your aunty,Gillian ...what a fast runner she is!
She wrote to me last week about her cat running around the house,
See, my dear Irene ,even after all these years we still keep in touch,
So keep in touch with Dad wherever you go, remember your brothers and sisters,
I'd love to see you go far, travel the world, Do what you love.
You got a voice in there,
I've heard you sing from the kitchen window,
Write those songs down in your diary,
Sing to me, sing to Mama, sing to everyone, sing to the world.
Hey Walker, I didn't see you there...
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 2:30 AM UTC
"The face you give the world tells the world how to treat you."
-Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
You were supposed to stay.
You were supposed to be at my graduation and my dance recitals.
I was supposed to tell you everything!
You would have been my Maid of Honor.
Helping me get ready on my wedding day or graduation day.
But none of that will happen because you told me.
"Were too different to be friends"
-Gillian Askeland
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 1:34 AM UTC
I put on my makeup and I’ll put on my clothes.
I’ll paint on my smile and dress to expose.
I’ll laugh to keep the tears down and drown in my own soul.
I’ll twirl my hair and act like my life is amazing.
I’ll be extra nice to those who need it.
I’ll get called names but I’ll push them aside.
I’ll go home and wipe off my smile and cry in the shower.
I’ll take the razor to my thigh and watch the blood mix into the water.
I’ll finally be me and not the girl everyone sees.
-Gillian Askeland
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 10:53 AM UTC
2.24.14
Today we didn't talk.
We never do, though.
I kept glancing at you because something seemed different.
Are you friends with Marina again?
What about Gillian?
You have a whole array to choose from.
I was just one in the deck of cards you hold.
I made eye contact with you on accident in the hallway.
I smiled real quick but I could feel that it didn't reach my eyes.
Did you notice?
I don't fully blame you for not paying attention to me.
I'm not even a **** in a flower garden.
I'm a dust particle really.
There are far more wondrous orbs to behold out in the cast gallery of time an space.
Remember the day late in the afternoon when I bared myself to you?
I remember.
You did it before I could even stop you.
But I didn't feel completely wrong because I loved you, I think.
I let you see me in ways no one had seen me before.
My feelings were in your hands from day one, I want you to know.
Everything I had was yours the moment I confessed love.
I never told you that Josh helped me get you to say that you loved me.
Did you mean it?
Or were you in love with the idea of being in love?
I think I love you.
But we are only teenagers, dear.
We can't possibly know the meaning of the word.
Do you know the true definition?
Because not even the dictionary does.
I think I was in love with your hair or your ice blue eyes.
I loved your laugh, the slow tentative kind that would interrupt you when you spoke.
Your personality was a bit grey, though.
I can only imagine how bad I was.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
I wish you knew
I wish you’d realize I’d never hurt you…
Hurt me because your gonna go off to college soon and you were scared I’d hurt you when your gone…
I wouldn’t hurt you.. you mean so ******* much to me.
You were the light at the end of the tunnel.
But now that light is gone.
I’m trying so hard to get over what we had.
I told you things I’ve never told anyone before.
You knew I was suicidal and hated myself.
I’d never hurt you. I won’t try to **** myself anymore because I can’t hurt you.
I wish you knew your the only one I’ve ever wanted.
-Gillian Askeland
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 3:46 PM UTC
The human mind is truly the scariest thing of all. Because sometimes we don’t control ourselves. Our voices and demons do. And we have no way to be in control.
It truly is the scariest thing
-Gillian Askeland
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:30 PM UTC
I was heartbroken once. It wasn’t by a boy as you would imagine. It was by my so-called best friend. She woke up one day and told me she didn’t want me in her life anymore. I wanted to take the pain out on myself. I wanted to cut, not eat, and sleep forever. But I did all these things besides cut because I couldn’t go back into my home habits so I scratched myself. So bad I’d bleed. But little did I know I was heartbroken.
-Gillian Askeland
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 1:25 AM UTC
It’s my funeral today. I’m scared to go.
After a couple hours, I’ll be on the ground with dirt on top of me. People will walk over me again.
I’m scared to go to the afterlife. I’m showing up today and I want to give everyone hugs and tell them I’m still here! But I can’t.
I’m gone. I’m pale with my makeup done and in my mother’s favorite dress that I owned. (I didn’t really like that dress) but that’s the dress I died in.
I overdosed in that dress. I wanted my mom to see me one more time while I was still able to be held in her warm loving arms.
I feel bad for passing the pain onto my parents.
But they are strong. Whenever they see a white dove they will know it’s me.
Time to go and see all the crying faces that made me do it.
There are so many people. Even the mean girls are crying. The jocks who used me and called me a **** is crying.
I miss them actually. I want to give everyone in the room a hug and tell them I’m still here!
But I can’t because it’s too late.
-Gillian Askeland
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
It’s been 17 years since your birth
Yet there isn’t a number to describe what your worth
It is more than the count of curls on your head
More than the amount of books that you’ve read
You could count all the stars and they wouldn’t compare
To the kindness you give and the love that you share
I’ll wish you much luck when you travel around
And when your head’s in the clouds don’t forget to look down
Because we’ll lose our smiles
But we’ll see yours for miles
What’s special about you, Gillian, my love
Well it’s just that, it’s your love
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
Gillian came into
the laundry room
of the old folks home.
She leaned
against the door
and looked at you.
Why are they
talking about us
having an affair?
she said.
Are they?
you said.
Yes I heard
a rumour
and one
of the old dears
said she'd heard
from one of the carers
Gillian said
with an angry tone.
You emptied
the tumble-dry
of some of
the old men's clothes
and folded them up neat.
Why would
they say that?
she said.
No idea
you said.
She gazed at you.
You looked at her
tall slim frame
and dark long hair
tied in a ponytail.
If my husband
found out
it could
mean trouble
she said.
Well it is nothing
to do with me
you said.
But it is
Gillian said
moving towards you
it is you and me
they are talking about
us having an affair.
It's a lie
you said.
I know that
you know that
but my husband
will think there is
and he will be moody
thinking it true
and he'll say
there is no smoke
without fire.
She fiddled
with her
thin fingers.
What are we
going to do?
You looked at her
do?
what can we do?
you said.
Well you tell them
there is nothing
going on
she said.
You sighed
will they
believe me?
you said.
They have to
she said.
The door opened
and Winnie came in
she smiled.
Busy?
she said.
A bit
you said
George wants a bath
and I have to bath
Sidney too.
I can help
with Sidney
if you want
Winnie said.
They'd be good
you said.
Winnie looked at Gillian
who was emptying
the washing machine.
You all right Gillian?
Winnie said.
Yes I suppose so
Gillian said
and went red.
She took
the basket of washing
out the back door
to the washing line.
What's up with her?
Winnie said.
No idea
must be
a woman thing
you said
wondering
what Gillian
would be like
in bed.
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 5:54 AM UTC
Dance Takes The Pain Away
She dances to take the pain away.
She leaps across the floor; kicks her leg high up in the air.
after warm-ups, she laces her pointe shoes.
On full pointe; chaînés the floor. Spotting every step of the way.
Warmth in her heart, happiness across her face.
The pain is gone.
By Gillian Askeland
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 2:27 AM UTC
These voices and thoughts just won’t go away.
Am I really what you say?
Just tell me its okay.
Tell me they don’t want to play
“They just want to see you grey,
and decay”
-Gillian Askeland
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
White walls, white gowns, white everything.
Cries of ****** ******
The voices and pain.
The nurses trying to calm down those who are yelling cause the voices won’t stop.
The new girl crying in her room while reading a book.
The girl sitting in the corner rocking back and forth, counting the days.
The boy playing chess with his imaginary friend.
The mom crying because they took her child away so she wouldn’t hurt the infant.
The grandma just visiting her blind, mute, and deaf grandchild while tears roll down her cheek.
Do you hear the voices like I do?
Do you see things that aren’t there?
Are you just like the rest of us?
-Gillian Askeland
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
His smile and smirk bring light to my eyes. The way his head falls back when he laughs.
His grin so manipulative he took the beam of light out of my eyes because he hurt me so bad
His dimples and lips were no longer a delight
And his jokes were no longer a amusement.
-Gillian Askeland
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC
She was broken and hurt
trying to survive through the pain
she danced until her feet went numb
and her thoughts were gone
She let the music take control
her lifeless body was now alive
and her empty mind was full
-Gillian Askeland
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC