An old notebook filled with Poetry…

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It’s Saturday, already. How did that happen? I haven’t posted much this week. My partner has been off work, for once, so I’ve been enjoying some family time.

We’ve been sorting out the house ready for Christmas. Although I’m not allowed to mention it yet.

While I was sorting out one of those boxes that was stuffed in the back of the closet I found some antique clockwork toys and an old note book filled with poetry I had written years ago.

I thought it would be cute to share them. I studied English Literature for A-level and joined a creative writing class that I used to attend twice a week. I met my dear friend Andrew there. Although that all seems like another life time ago.

After A levels I went onto to do a degree in Humanities with a creative writing pathway.

Unfortunately I dropped out after two years because the juggling of being a single mum, work part time and studying was too much for me but I’ve just always loved writing.

Poetry was ( and still is ) a creative outlet. I’d write a poem when I couldn’t think of anything to say.

For me poetry is a way of expressing emotions so that I don’t have to show them. I find emotions messy and complicated. I’d rather write a poem then talk about how I’m feeling… but maybe that’s just me.

I remember at the time going through a huge John Keats phase. I absolutely loved him. I like the sensual imagery he used and the way his poems sound musical, almost like songs. Perhaps this is why he mentions birds so often? His poems remind me of bird song.

William Blake was of course a big influence, I was also kind of fascinated by his life. He was an artist and print maker, predominantly and a misunderstood one. He started to have visions of God from the age of ten. His wife was illiterate and he taught her to read and write.

He produced his most detailed work later in life (including Chaucer’s Canterbury Pilgrims and Satan Calling Up His Legions), but these works were met with silence. A reviewer referred to Blake as ‘an unfortunate lunatic.’

He even had his own religion, rejecting Christianity. It comprised of more than a hundred figures. He called them ‘visionary heads.’ They had names such as ‘The man who built the Pyramids.’ He was indeed bonkers, but I guess that’s why I liked him.

Other poets that have inspired me are Charles Bukowski, I like the contrast between his gritty misogynist novels and his poetry. He was an incredible poet. I liked that he got to show his sensitive side. He wasn’t all male bravado.

I also like poets such as Amy King, Sujata Bhatt, Mary Angelou, T.S. Elliot and Charles Baudelaire. To name a few. They’ve all been some of my influences.

Anyway, here’s some of the poems I’d wrote all those years ago. They are full of imagery and undoubtedly romantic poetry.

Cleopatra

Across the emancipated lake,

Of past shadow serpents, that

Writhe freely, with hostility,

Her royalty restored with new order,

Snake charmer, you paradox, you,

Dishonour of the empire,

This drunken Roman soldier sips,

Upon these modern poison lips

SHADOW WOMAN

What is this? No ink from my pen does

Flow and bleeds ink onto this page,

And spent are funds which run dry.

An ebbing ache of unjust frustration,

Who am I? These feelings because

In my heart I dwell on frivolous thoughts,

Locked in a cage. Past is the enemy, cry

for us all, this all mighty temptation.

Of paisley pattern and deepest Auburn,

Extinguish this absurd trail, dear mind,

And create a fair woman of timely

wisdom, an age to suit this ageing mind.

With purest skin and rose splattered cheeks,

Monochrome poppy, what have you done?

Where have all your vibrant colours gone?

Anyway I hope you enjoyed. Romantic poetry isn’t every ones cup of tea. I guess I had a lot of deep emotions I found unfathomable at the time. I was still learning how to navigate my way through life.

Have an amazing weekend everyone, don’t forget to comment in the box below. Let me know what you thought. Do you write poetry? Post your blog below so I can read it.

Much Love,

Soph.

Published by Snophlion

“Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives them must lead.” Charles Bukowski

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