Poetry

Friendships…

/ pinkcobweb1 / Leave a comment

We have this low maintenance friendship,

It feels natural, it feels fine.

The distance means you have your life,

And I continue living mine.

We see each other occasionally

And no matter how long it’s been,

It feels like only yesterday,

Just five minutes in between.

Friendships come and friendships go.

That’s life to be quite fair.

But you’re a constant factor

And I know you’re always there.

Distant friends can mean so much.

Make an effort to hold on.

Virtual hugs and words of love

Are bricks to build upon.

And when you get together

Catch up on all the times.

What’s been happening in your life?

Whilst I’ve been busy living mine.

Water Your Own Grass…

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No matter what you see,
No matter what you think.
I can assure you that not all my cobwebs are pink.
I sigh like you, cry like you
Can’t get to sleep like you
And so many times I have teetered at the brink.
But as you get older, gather wisdom,
You learn
The simple things come cheap
When you’ve no money to burn.
Always have dreams, the biggest are best.
But keeping your feet on the ground
Is the hardest of tests.
Keep looking for joy in the smallest of things.
Hold on to the friends with no obvious strings.
Take a walk, get fresh air
If you’ve nowhere to go.
Notice the birds and the trees
Feel your well being grow.
If your Instagram feed
Is full of luxury cars
Tropical holidays and cocktails and bars.
Remember these are highlights they want you to see.
They have bad days and sad days
Just like you and me.
Water your own grass to make it get greener.
Making plans of your own
So you’re not just a dreamer.

Your Bus…

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The journey starts, the bus is full
The destination is hazy.
I’m not sure where I want to go
But I’ll go the way it takes me.

Passengers get on and then get off
With so many things to teach.
I now know where I want to go
But it’s completely out of reach.

Then I realise it’s getting close
But I can’t convince the driver.
I ask for help but unfortunately
They don’t want to go there either.

A new passenger sits beside me
And says “no ifs, no buts!”
“To get to where you want to be
You just have to drive the bus!”

And suddenly it seems so simple
This is the pathway to my goal.
I can’t let others lead me there
I have to take control.

Sit myself in the driving seat
And grab the wheel so tight.
Set the Sat Nav, change my course
And drive with all my might.

Don’t leave another person
To map out your hot pursuit.
This is your bus, you are in charge
And you decide the route.

February…

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It’s February now and there’s so much to do
Pancakes and love hearts
And slow cooking stew.
Those who did dry January
Counting the days.
Are having whisky for breakfast
And lunch in a haze.
Valentines cards pop up in the shops.
Easter eggs appear
Wrapped in foil in the box.
The weather feels better,
The home straight to Spring.
Buds in the garden,
When the flowers begin.
Christmas seems distant,
The first month so long.
But you’ve done really well,
Your resolutions stay strong.
Blue skies are close now,
It’s going to get warmer.
So brush out the leaves
From your best sun trap corner.
Sit tight and be patient
Dream of the sun.
You’ll be complaining about the heatwave,
When the Summer’s begun.

Nothing To Lose…

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This year I’m going to stop thinking I’m rubbish
Because actually I’m not.
I’m absolutely fabulous
But somewhere down the line
I think I forgot
That the best friend I have
Should in fact be myself
I can’t expect to be last
Or sadly left on the shelf.
The only competition to beat
Is my last personal best.
Being better than others
Is no fair way to test.
I will do what my mind
Sometimes tells me I shouldn’t.
I will take unknown paths
Which previously I wouldn’t.
Life is short, so find courage
Think hard and then choose
Grab it and live it
You’ve nothing to lose.

The Old Market…

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The hustle and the bustle.
Of the Saturday market place.
It has a kind of charm that
Online shopping can’t replace.

Seeing living breathing people
In real time and in the flesh
Making conversations
Out where the air is fresh.

Stopping for hot chocolate
In the square with vintage chairs.
Listening to the chatter
As the traders sell their wares.

Bags and socks and fabrics.
Crafts and toys and cakes.
Shoes and fruits and vegetables
In all sizes and all shapes.

At Christmas time it’s magical
And smells of spiced mulled wine.
Fairy lights and carols
Children queued up in a line
To see Santa in his grotto
Where they’ll say that they’ve been nice.
Then back to shopping stalls again
To sample more delights.

Then home again with aching feet,
Cold noses and red faces.
Bags of humbugs for the grownups
And for the children strawberry laces.

Next day the market has all gone
It’s a normal empty street.
Life goes on as normal
Until it’s back again next week.

Beautiful artwork from @tamsyn_gregory

Carry…

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Sometimes we need to be carried.
Sometimes we all need a hand.
Swallow your pride
You don’t have to hide
These grey days are always unplanned.

Sometimes we need to help others
Sometimes we need to ease pain.
Give them some hope
Throw them that rope
Show them life can be fruitful again.

We should all look out for each other
Unconditionally, whenever we need.
I’m here for you
You’re here for me too.
Together we have to succeed.

Artist @pietgrobler.illustrator

Dream…

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I love to go to sleep at night
In my comfy bed.
I close my eyes to activate
The adventures in my head.

Sometimes it’s going back in time
To all the places I have been.
Often it’s pretty random
When my mind begins to dream.

I chat to people I once knew
Who have already gone.
We spend the night reminiscing
Before I wake and life goes on.

Sometimes I’m doing breast stroke
But I’m flying through the clouds.
I’m performing like Beyonce
Adored by screaming crowds.

I’m running like an athlete
I’m beating Usain Bolt.
I’m writing a literary masterpiece
Like the ones that Shakespeare wrote.

I’m falling and it scares me
I’m dating Donald Trump
But it’s OK this is the time
I make myself wake up.

It’s morning now, a brand new day
Yawn, stretch, then toast and tea.
I’m off to face the real world
And the adventures it has for me.

Gorgeous artwork by @emilouartanddesign

Home Alone…

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We all have days just chilling
In sloppy jumpers, fluffy socks,
We hide behind the sofa
When the postman rings or knocks.
We don’t brush our hair or moisturise,
We don’t bother with foundation.
The lipstick stays inside the bag,
There’s no make up application.
We light the fire, we get a book,
The cosiest crochet blanket.
Kettle on and biscuits out,
Cat snoring in her basket.
These home alone days must be grabbed,
And cherished, loved and planned.
It’s our guilty pleasure, ladies,
Most men don’t understand.
Recharge those tired batteries,
Give your skin a rest.
Snuggle down and read and snooze
Until your brain has been refreshed.
Order take away delivery
Then settle with your book
It’s not often that they all go out
And you don’t have to cook.
You can’t under estimate these special days
Don’t miss them, don’t you dare!!
Snatch them up and wring them out,
The occurrence is so rare.

Artist : @bdelpesco

Late Again…

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The alarm goes off, you hit the snooze
Like you always do.
Quick shower, teeth and spray your hair
With your favourite dry shampoo.

No time to eat, you grab some cash
Your bag, your keys, your phone.
But you miss the bus, third time this week,
So you sprint in heels back home.

You get in the car, the battery’s flat
So it won’t start again.
A neighbour comes to help you
In your Get to Work campaign.

All the lights along the way
Seem permanently fixed to red.
Then unexpected traffic queues
There are roadworks up ahead.

This is the moment you give up
There is no point in trying.
You swear out loud, you hit the wheel
To stop yourself from crying.

It’s time to call and say you’re sick
You’ve had to stay in bed.
But no one answers, you hang up,
Tired, grumpy and unfed.

You get home an hour later,
Cursing that it’s Monday.
You check your phone, then double take,
As you realise it’s still Sunday.

You go back to bed feeling pretty daft
And listen to the rain.
Tomorrow is another day
When you’ll oversleep again.

Artist Morgan Weistling