My Poetry
Please do NOT take any of the text you see on this page, they where all written by me, and have alot of feeling in them (well to me they do).If you want to use any..(yeah right) then Email me, but do not take them without my say so.
The Garden
The Garden
Careful breathing and loving words, scatter in to a scarlet light sky,
Gently down the river winds,
Whilst two soothing hands entwine,
Eyes open lazily,
As the sun streams down steadily ,
Flickering light from beneath the Weeping-Willow,
Sharing Torsos for a Loved-ones pillow,
Careful breathing and loving words, scatter in to a scarlet light sky,
An English blood red Rose,
She is motionless, with a rub of her on his nose,
Bonfire burns into the sky and fills the air,
As they carry on, they only have themselves to care,
Careful breathing and loving words, scatter in to a scarlet light sky,
Breathing....Murmuring....
By Clare Williams,'Tearing the doll'
Pathway of Anger
The Pathway of Anger
I can’t swallow....Can’t breath,
I feel the Coke hit the roof of my mouth,
And drowned sorrows from a far-away history, Hits me. I’m helpless...
I can’t cry but these tears scold my pupils like tiny paper cuts...
And the warmth has flown like a thousand knives,
Goosebumps stabbing bluntly like lost souls with angry voices,
Bleed-This pain is no more, it does not bleed inside this wound,
I can’t imagine, I can’t believe....
Every gulp brings more of the Bile of life...
Every movement torments and angers my contracting, mutilated limbs,
Limbs the bleed, and beg to be freed. To feel no pain and for these years to be a distant dream,
Trust is no long a figment of my imagination....
Trust is chewed and spat out by patronising demons -who carry on spitting out facileness psychosis
Who filled me with fear...
Now..I can’t swallow...can’t breath
By Clare Williams,'Tearing the doll'
Little Miss Adolesnt/Still Waiting
Still waiting
Waiting, She sits, A box full of angry thoughts
Still waiting, there’s morbid presents that haunts
The house full of chilled, evening air
Still waiting, the tangled-ness of adolesnt who doesn’t care
Carefully opening the latch on the door
Still waiting, twisting passed apple trees and their rotten cores
Walking in night, down the end of the path
Still waiting, hearing people from the pub laugh
Through the field across the grass
Still waiting, her bare feet hit the earth like jagged glass
Over the fence, snagging her night shirt
Still waiting, carrying on, feeling the hurt
Now on the track, the ground begins to shake
Still waiting, her hard face begins to break
And now the breaks begin to squeal at last,
And her Mother, who’s drunk, sees her little girl on a special broadcast
...No longer waiting
By Clare Williams,'Tearing the Doll'
Aduction to the flies
Abduction to the flies
A Miniature world goes buzzing by,
More little people with effortless lies,
And dangerous dreams, unfulfilled,
And rockers with guitars, of the unskilled,
Following the lives, of music’s rage,
They are bitter, and luck courage,
Leaving these fears, out on the street,
Unaware of the sickness at our feet,
Everybody buzzing by, unequal, to easy to die,
Now, that its broken, it shouldn’t be me you cry.
By Clare Williams,'Tearing the doll'