Rivers Of Consciousness

Don't worry, be happy. Who knows what may happen?

Archive for the tag “Nov 12”


There’s softly whispered rain on blanket grey,
And hinted forgiveness which you must try.
I told you I’ll be back for you someday.

Hold tight your hands and bow your head to pray.
When your eyes open you will see blue sky,
Not softly whispered rain on blanket grey.

Do not forget and so do not delay.
Who said sinners can only speak a lie?
I told you I’ll be back for you someday.

Don’t let your head give in or heart betray.
The wise worship sunlight but won’t deny
the softly whispered rain on blanket grey.

Finer flowers have fallen to decay,
the bittersweet memory of last July,
I told you I’ll be back for you someday.

You don’t believe me, as much as you say,
Turning cheeks again from your blinded eye.
In softly whispered rain on blanket grey,
I promised I’ll be back for you some day.



My first ever attempt at a Villanelle.
I’m not sure what to think. Maybe I concentrated too much on the structure and not enough on content.
Was fun to play around with though 😀


Image source:

Waiting by the Water

Winter is here and I’m still waiting there,
Teardrops falling down my face,
Cause I remember when we used to sit
Pleading to mankind.
You wouldn’t have to ask me,
But there is one question.
Is every little thing gonna be alright?
I’m still waiting.

In life I know there’s a lot of grief,
But I am happy inside, all of the time.
And now I’m by the still water,
And you’ll come with your heart and soul.
That’s all I want from you.
To me, it makes a lot of sense, and
you’ll satisfy my soul.

Life is one big road with lots of signs,
But my feet are my only carriage
In the valley of decision.
But who the heck do I think I am?
Let me tell you what I know now:
I know you’re out there somewhere.



A challenge I set myself, inspired by a friend  – creating a poem out of song lyrics.
(See my friend’s piece here , it’s very good)

All of these are Bob Marley song lyrics (some with the Wailers too of course) from the following list, directly taken or adapted for my own purpose.
I’ve included links to Youtube videos of the songs for those who want to jam out 😀

Waiting in Vain
I’m Still Waiting
One Love
Buffalo Soldier
No Woman No Cry
Misty Morning
All in One
Satisfy My Soul
Cry To Me
Punky Reggae Party
Three Little Birds
Want More
Wake Up and Live

I think that’s all the ones I used, apologies if I missed any… enjoy 😀



Who are you?
Your hair is loose and light while mine is fire,
The vixen’s bushy tail twisted around my waist.
Your face is open, young, pure as cotton,
While mine is wary beneath the war paint.
You sing and twirl and ruffle feathers,
While I stand stern. Unmoved.
Hackles raised.

Your sides are stuffed with luxurious love,
While mine are the keys to Lucifers’ lament,
The taunting lure of others’ temptation.
I am encased in wire and lace,
Satin thread woven to keep me in place.
Their eyes scan my silhouette, lingering,
But, respectfully, never for you.

Your features are familiar, but what is your name?
Cherubs envy you, and in turn stab my back.
My podium, my pedestal is too high to grasp,
I’ll fall with a gasp while you can fool in the grass.
I used to contain your childish laugh, but now,
I play prey to salacious hunters of the night,
my heels burning. But you, you are safe;
Life’s wheel turning has not tainted you yet.

I am enemy to my body, as it is to me,
But it remembers being ripe with youth,
it remembers the light hair, deluxe care,
the serene virtue that you have.
We have met before, haven’t we child?
In some far distant land of pasts and promises.
For the closer I look the more it is true,
Your eyes have I, mine too have You.


Experimental poetry piece for Uni, based on playing with a ‘you’ persona

Image source:

What’s the big deal with fireworks?

What is the big deal? What is the fascination with fireworks? Every year they are the same rockets, just a different order. No matter how much money they spend, the same outcome occurs. Standing around, freezing cold, staring at the sky as deafening blasts hit that uncomfortable pitch in your ears, the one which makes you wince a little before your face is illuminated by coloured lights.

But perhaps the fascination is more for the atmosphere of the event than the event itself. The mist rises from your mouth, peering over the edge of your tightly wound scarf to mingle with the smoke drifting lazily through the black, curling away from the mountain of flames devouring Guy’s doll. Then it clears to show the children staring wide-eyed at the sky, mouth’s encircling their wonder. Sliding lights shimmer across their irises as their pupils widen, occasionally breaking their reverie to tug on the sleeve of their parent, urging them to ‘Look! Look!’ and you can’t help but feel your inner child stirring from her slumber.

Of course, not every child is as enthralled by the symphonic explosions ringing through the night, but something hazy settles over you so that even their shrill shrieks of misplaced fear sounds distant and muffled. You tug your coat to envelope you closer, just as the numerous couples envelope each other, pressed tightly like penguins in the face of a blizzard. The old dear raises her crinkled smile as the youngsters revel, their parents cushioned in a moment of peace.  The last sizzle fades as applause rises, the unspoken thank you to the organisers of your event.

This is the fairground’s cue, whirring back to life to entice visitors to spin, drop, twirl, twist, soar and scream. Synthesized music pierces your eardrums once more, following a moment’s respite from the fireworks. The fairground workers, travelling men with stern eyes set in boredom, repeatedly hit the buttons to fire a booming voice over the people, calling for your ‘ATTENTION!’ in an accent that may or may not be French (who knows why?), and then ‘ARE-A-A-ARRRREEEE YOU READYYYY!!’ Well, are you?

A trail of sweet scents tease your nostrils, tantalizing aromas of doughnuts and crepes that smell even better than they look, with candy-floss disintegrating as the warmth of tongues dissolve the texture you can’t quite grasp. Once you eventually collect together the assortment of coins to buy these pleasures, you always realise that they definitely look better than they taste. The overkill of sugar and carbs tingle your mouth a little as you pass various lights and delights. Wandering the dusty path, adding your imprint to the many before yours, you find yourself perusing the stalls of stacked cans and polka-dotted dart boards. Your eyebrow is raised as challengers step up, lifting gun to shoulder or dart to eye line in order to win the lion with a distorted face which has swung from the rafters for weeks now. Who knows how many people have been conned on these travelling stalls, and you know that the probabilities are not in your favour, and yet you can’t help wanting to see if you will be champion today.

You’ve probably lost feeling in your fingertips by now, so you drag yourself away from temptation to find your friends, but they are lost in the sea of knitted hats and dark coats gliding by each other. Drifting into the slipstream, the current carries you deeper into the belly of the fair, spitting you out by the dodgems who’s music tramples over the rival rides own melodies. Your friends zip around the temporary arena in a flurry of blinking lights and collisions that make you wince, all except the one friend loaded like a packhorse on the side-lines, who you sidle up to with a smile. They murmur something about feeling nauseous after the last ride, their deely-boppers flashing while they munch on the pick-a-mix sweets which lure children into hyperactivity. You stuff your hands deeper into your pockets, settled in serene silence despite the crescendo of activity around you, and realise that maybe, this is what the big deal is.




Image source:

Copyright belongs to the original artist


Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,
And no rage may vanquish yours.
Your eye sees all,
Knows all,
Ends all.

At your feet we bow and caress with guilt,
Quarry to your lethal spears.
Weeping, we kneel,

Your splattered tears burn our faces,
While your smile scalds us harshly.
Divided we stand,
We fall.

You have been betrayed, dearest Mother,
Your stewards have failed you.
No excuse for
Futile pleas.

Exonerate those who dissatisfy you,
Or be bound to their shackles.
Cleanse us,
Save us,
I beg.


I am by no means a poet, but we have moved on to this form in our course now and I’m interested to see where it takes me.
This weeks writing task we simply had to write a poem, trying to be aware of sounds and imagery, and if possible use an extended simile.

I’m quite pleased with the result 🙂

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