Half Agony, Half Hope

My first idea for my final portfolio of ten poems:

Looking at my poetry, I feel that the most prominent theme is the forest. I think this theme works well for my portfolio as it is very broad, and can be used in interesting ways, for example, I have played on the idea of branches a lot and connected this with the idea of reaching out, getting caught etc.. I use a lot of natural imagery in my poetry as I often feel inspired by nature, and think it works as a good allegory for other elements of life. For example, I have also used the forest to represent the mind in several poems, such as A Forest of Red and Blue, which I think works well as it can represent the idea of being trapped, overwhelmed and lost, but also free? The forest for me is a place that is freeing, lonely, and sometimes terrifying, and that’s why I think that it is a good overarching theme for my poetry. – 11/11/20

Wasps 

Wasps with barbed-wire stings

       Huddle in their comb,

              Waiting out Winter.

• I like the idea of having a haiku in my compilation as it varies the length of the poetry considerably, and could have more impact than a longer poem.

Rose 

She stands out from other flowers,

Pale primroses with crisping brown edges,

Dandelions, weeds, withered by the sun,

---

The brightest red in a monochrome field.

And she’s the one you frame;

Her petals are the softest.

---

Those luscious red velvet petals,

Soft like a sable-hair brush,

Stretching out seductively…

---

But when you touch her,

Sharp thorns prick your finger.

Then you realise why she’s red. 

---

She’s not the crimson of royalty, 

The blush of innocent romance,

She is pain, anger,

---

A redcap goblin,

soaked in the blood of her enemies.

She’s stained by the pain she causes. 

---

And suddenly she’s not beauty anymore,

She’s the old hag, black and wrinkled,

Who clings to her beautiful façade,

Because on the inside, she’s riddled with maggots.

• I need to edit Rose more still to give it a better rhythm, I think it fits well with Branches, though, and varies the themes in my poetry more as it focusses more on the idea of beauty and self-reflection/self-hatred

Branches

Branches

Clawing at me,

Ripping at my dress,

Piercing skin with wicked witch-like nails

On knuckled fingers. 

They interlock, weave together, block the path.

The field of daisies on the other side

Sun-kissed, 

Restrained by the black like a candle-flame to a snuffer. 

I peek through a chink

In the bushier and bushier hedge;

 A keyhole, a looking glass:

Asking myself,

“Can I jump?”

And as I go,

I wonder,

Will the black consume me, or can I reach the daisy field? 

• This poem has a different format, mirroring branches stretching out, however I wasn’t able to mimic this on this platform. I will post a screenshot of the actual format of the poem.

The Forest

I want to go to the forest,

Where silence encompasses me,

Where chirping drains dirt from my ears

Where I know that I can be free.

I want to go to the forest, 

And hide in the whispering trees,

Embrace the darkness, the tears,

Inhale the cool of the breeze.  *maybe ‘calm’ instead of ‘cool’

I want to go to the forest,

And screech out the dread from my past,

Exhale the black mist of fears,

Then run from the forest so fast.

I want to go to the forest,

And dance in the light of the moon, 

I’ve wanted to go there for years

I’ve always felt it’s too soon. 

• Use caesura and enjambment etc. to make end rhyme less clunky 

Storm

Clouds that are thick and dusty,

Roll down the weathered mountain,

And fill the valley below. 

---

A metallic tang quivers in the air,

Zeus is clenching his fists.

---

The weathered mountain quakes,

The valley cracks and grumbles,

Wasps with barbed-wire stings huddle in their comb,

As a burnt leaf flakes to the ground.

---

Winter, sits at the mouth of the cave,

Waiting to wash away Summer’s sticky heat.

• Make more forest related, more story-line and less-cliched

Winter – maybe make a sequence poem of this, Storm, and Wasps (and maybe even Locked)

Sits at the mouth of the cave,

Spinning a web,

Waiting,

To catch a wandering grass-seed,

Coaxed on by Autumn’s wind.

A Forest of Red and Blue

The forest is red, not autumnal

The branches run round, entertwine,

So fragile, so necessary.

When I think about the forest I go deeper and deeper,

Stuck in the thickets when I try and get out,

The Royal Blue and the oxygenated red

Red, red

Flashing in my mind

The crimson trees growing up around me,

Trapped in a fairy ring,

Spinning in the blurred blood room,

Yellow now, spotting up in the 

Red lorry yellow lorry red lolly

Black. 

Locked

My thumbed novel lays abandoned

On the crocheted blanket;

My teabag over-stews in my favourite mug.

I freeze my hands to chilblains on ice-cube glass,

Wipe a gap in the condensation and stare through

At the Lewis forests and Tolkien hills.

No wasps with barbed wire-stings to hurt me,

No gaggles of girls to laugh at me,

Just me, the inside, and the outside. 

I grab my tatty raincoat, 

My clear umbrella with the flowers on,

And my little pink shoes that match.

I race to the front door;

It’s locked. 

So is the back. So are the windows.

‘Mum!’ I scream, but she just cackles from the back room.

I sit down, as I’m told, drink my stewed tea

And knit a scarf, so I’ll be warm when I go.

• Improve rhythm! – maybe more detailed images? (make more interesting/striking)

Family tree

The root is strong and grounded in the earth,

Stretching up in straight and narrow lines.

Starting thick and strong, they spread out far

Thinning as they go, further further.

I try to climb across to where you are

But is the branch a strong and sturdy one?

Or does it weaken the more I try to climb?

The trunk is a phone pole now,

Branches thin cables that wobble like my voice.

So scared that they will snap at your request.

Parents, brother, sister, all, then me.

Call too much and the cable snaps,

Not enough, will the branch collapse?

I want it to be green and young like us,

When we used to hide in wicker tubs 

Or under beds with grinning faces wide.

To you, a role you had to play. To me,

A world of fairy monster games. *I’m not keen on this line

The wardrobe was a portal to the wood,

The garden was the goblin battleground,

And you were my best friends. Yet now

We only speak through wavy lines.

A pixel face, when you’re free from work

Glitching on a cracked black screen.

Your words are sparse and awkward. But I still

Cling     to    every    one.