Florence Meade

Things I Make and Do

Tag: Poetry

The Wasp

I wandered lonely as a wasp, who cannot find her feet
For every time she tries to land upon a tasty treat,
Waving hands and tempers flared, thwart her simple plan;
She only wants to settle down and feast upon some jam.

Talk

I really wish people could stop
Popping their own clogs
Or trying to pop their own clogs
By jumping from things or under things or into the sea
Or by other means

Things must feel terribly bad
Far and away beyond sad
With really no fun left to have
To End yourself quietly but violently; then finally
Be silent.

Third suicide in a year
I should put in a line about tears
For the sake of a rhyme?
No, the tears are not mine
They are shed by those closest, most dear

 

 

 

 

 

He Said

“I don’t know what else I can say,
I could hang on the ‘phone anyway
And just listen to your static.”

I’m ecstatic

Let me know if you’d like to just sit back and watch the occurrence in silence…

 

Town

Engines groan, urging and streets sigh
Fight and win or lose and die
White frames and harsh lights for the new under glass
Dirty mouths and dark shadows for the old in the underpass
Bodies sat in chairs, chattels hanging, wired in
No-one knows the future but they keep on spinning
Vigilant faces scan the melee
Empty hearts that make their way
Check in on themselves once in a blue moon
How do you feel? Who are you?

Lovely

Today my heart feels full, like a comb full of honey
Swollen like a harvest moon it presses on my chest
Making my breaths short and my temperament cross
Anxiety looms

 

Hope that is slightly less bad now?

Time, May 2014

IMAG3208

I have trouble with the concept of time
Time is relative, but the clock in my consciousness doesn’t tell me the time
It shows and plays me sensations, experiences, memories and dreams of textures, colours, sounds and moods
My thoughts drift back and forth, up and down; dividing, linking, growing
If I take time, my mind is free and perhaps I’ll make something beautiful
If I sell my time, I’m bound
Music and poetry free my mind in time, measuring and celebrating the moments like blessed water