Find a poem for your life…
Here you will find poetry for life – every occasion. We all have times in our lives when love dies, self-doubt eats away at us, we question who we are, why we are…you know? There are also times of universal synchronicity – times when the sun lights up our steps and we dance across life’s rocky shores. I write about them all.
I retain copyright on all my work. Borrowing any for personal use is fine – alongside a small donation for a mug of tea to keep me going. A paypal button is around here somewhere. Bless you x Trudi.
On Whole Life Poetry you will also find
Funeral poems, for when you need to speak but cannot find the words.
Poetry for Child’s Funeral , one of the worst life experiences!
Sacred Tree and Holy Well poems, for supplications and gratitude prayers
Dementia poems along with an ebook which explains dementia to children using rhyme. Children are our future, their education need not end at the classroom door. Some of the most important life lessons are learned outside of school. Having said that, I would LOVE to get dementia onto the curriculum!
For the artistic amongst you, Poetic Photography
And for the roughest, toughest women – and the rest of us: Girls Talk!
The Dark Night of the Soul
I was drowning amidst a storm of self-doubt and hatred The sewage of my own thoughts flooding over my head, Choking me, Filling my lungs with vile filth until I could no longer breathe. I cried out with my final breath, a mournful, ghostly sound, The sound of a soul that was stuck between life and death. And the stars shivered amidst the darkness, For the death of a soul makes the whole universe weep The missing piece can never be replaced. And there, above it all, you stood - My knight, my hope, my saviour My love. With a dazzling smile you reached out your hand Holding it out towards me in a gesture of love And gently placed it atop my head and pushed… Down and down. And somewhere, in the fading light, a star screamed.
There comes a time…
There comes a time you do what you must do, Find a different track – no matter where to! When it’s time to drop the heavy load And drift along a less used road. There comes a time when you must hear The cry of the inevitable drawing near: When life demands you halt, take stock, Deafened by the ticking clock, And before the hours run out of sand Your spirit sighs and takes your hand. It leads you to a better place Where the rats have given up the race. A time when you see that life’s too short To count up all the wars you’ve fought – For which were loss and which were gain, Were any of them worth the pain? There comes a time your soul can’t forgive It’s gory death for the money to live; The smell of the rot - bleeding and raw, And you don’t know who you are any more. There comes a time when you see the lie And regret the hours you let fly by - So if you have an ounce of self-love There comes a time to quietly say “enough!” That time is now, the hour is nigh For you to move on with your head held high. The storm will pass, the screaming cease When all you seek in life is peace.
Who am I? Who do you see?
Who am I? Who do you see? What do you think of the person asking the question, Are you aware that your opinion is your own preconception, Falling for the deception of the carefully designed facade. Your perception of the outer shell, the mask, determines my reception. Who am I? Who do I see? Introspection illuminating the darkest of shadows, until I feel that all can see the fear. A core in meltdown. Are my eyes so intent on inside that I miss the strength of the character I play, Could I become the person I portray? For she is the foundation which keeps the inner sanctum sane... The walls, the windows I look out of as I act out life's game. Who am I? The conception of both...a child of my own making...for the core and the shell are mine- the same.
Pass The Parcel
We partied through life, pass the parcel, the prize my heart. And every time the music stopped another of my paper layers was removed. Another of my barriers gone: a shield, a sword, an emotional crutch. Each revolution bringing more revelation, more sacrifice. Leaving me vulnerable and exposed. The naked truth, the naked nightmare. All there for you to see. My gift to you was myself. We partied through life, pass the parcel, the prize your heart. And every time the music stopped another of your paper layers was removed. Carefully chosen by you, for you revealed little. And when the game ended, the music stopped forever, The parcel was not in my hands.
Inside my Head
The thunder rages, bruising my spirit with torments and insults and cruel truths. Lightning strikes fear deep, deep into my core, paralysing my very breath. Storm clouds block hope; Torrential rain floods my soul and I drown amidst the tempest of thoughts Inside my head. Yet sometimes there is summer evening peace, Blackbird song trilling doubts away. Gentle day's end soothes my spirit into carefree slumber, All is calm and warm, safe Inside my head. And sometimes a mist of insidious paranoia cloaks the sun, Unseen mouths criticise every move, Twitching curtains watch and judge and tell- And "they" spread every thought to the world- Inside my head. And sometimes I dream of you- Perfect love whilst the world goes by, Soul touching soul, Heart holding onto heart. Body- ah your body! With mine. Yet the dream hurts like a nightmare, as it is all just Inside my head.
Silhouette against a menacing sky, Winter dead tree with knarled fingers pointing an unveiled threat Towards the leaden grey backdrop of a coming storm. Atop the tallest branch sits corvid, Evil eyed. Black. Black. Black. Corvid, illuminated by the dying gasp of a low slung sun which struggles to flee the swallowing clouds- The thunder already sounding the death knell. The rain comes and still he sits- Black. Black. Black. Unfeeling. Uncaring. Unmoved. Master of the sky, devourer of the Earth, Malevolent statue charged with life, Stone still, a gargoyle watching the ruin beneath with his sharp stare, Mocking with his cry- Black. Black. Black.
I was fortunate enough to be given a copy of LETTERS TO A YOUNG POET, a collection of ten letters written by Rainer Maria Rilke to Franz Kappus. A delightful book which prompted me to read more of Rilke’s work. This was written in his style…I make no claims further than that! He was a poet, I am me.
Having lost it for too long, Do you find solitude harder to bear Or do you yearn for its company? Do you find yourself amongst the world and seek only to be rid of it, Or does the pace and false idolatry attract you And drag you into the common causes? Do you sit, alone, with just the wind and rain for bed-fellows And long for a lesser intelligence to chatter away the hours In a meaningless, emotion numbing diatribe, Or can you still hear the voices on the breeze? Voices of ancients- timeless echoes, ghostly whispers which scream "I live" . Can you still run your fingers through a laughing brook And know you are a rich man, Or is the water measured in coin and green. Does the morning sun on your face still remind you that you are But a grain of sand In a world of massive rocks? As meaningless as a single letter in a word, On a page of a monumental book.... Unnoticed. A tiny part of a huge whole, never essential, merely complimentary? Do you see with the same soul's eyes the magnificence of your life And the great value placed upon it? Do you see that a single grain of sand starts a landslide... And a single letter, misplaced, can change a word, which can alter the whole book. You are, in one breath, all and nothing. Nothing and all.
Raindrops on a Rock Pool
Like rain drops on a rock pool, dark thoughts shatter the calm surface of my mind, Crashing here....and there.....no apology, no warning, The ripples, so insidiously beautiful, send undulations across my spirit, Changing my mood with the merest touch. Concentric concerns grow, intertwine and intermingle, "What if" and "supposing" meet in a discordant sound wave of emotion, And the fear leaks its poison downwards, through my heart. Still comes the rain, filling my mind until it flows over, Bubbling turmoil, spilling my spirit and my sanity onto the cold ground.
Cinderella – for women who like a sparkly house
- The midnight bell tolled- Each strike a death knell to the day, Yet soon a vaguely recounted memory as the next took its place. Then just as it seemed that the sound would vibrate forever... nothing followed. The last chime hung expectantly in the air, then faded- The midnight bell tolled no more. And as its mournful tone died away to be forgotten into yesterday, She realised that she had missed the ball, Her thoughts had remained stuck on the mundane, Never looking beyond her self-imposed cage. And she had not seen her fairy Godmother waiting at the spotless sill tapping at the glass. Not now for her a dance with a Prince, Nor even a dalliance with a lesser dignitary, For the music had stopped, the glitter had faded- only the un-chipped slippers still sparkled, All else was silent and dark. Waking the next morning, she gave a cry of despair and ran from the house- Who had left finger prints on her precious glass? Bemoaning her fate to live amongst fools, She wiped the last remnants of hope from her life.
LIEDER OHNE WORTE – my style
This is a love song without any words, The notes of our time have been read. The harmony’s gone, the singing unheard, And all we can say has been said. And the song sings of lovers whose words do not rhyme, And music that just will not play. All that’s left is a rhythm that ran out of time And a lyric with nothing to say. So this is a love song without any words The fire in your eyes cooled and died. The passion we felt has flown south with the birds The insatiable lust satisfied. And the song sings of lovers with hearts out of beat Marking time in a separate way Each marching to bands on a different street but There's one thing I wanted to say.... There's just one thing I must tell you There's just one thing- I still care! There's just one thing- I still love you... and that love will always be there.
More Life Poetry:
A stranger’s face in the crowd
A face in the crowd. One of many, Yet one in a million. Passing faces merged into one- yours stood out and time stood still. Life changing. My thoughts racing ahead...an entire future planned in seconds. Filling in what I did not know with what I wanted to be there. Your smile enticed and encouraged - siren or angel? I had to know. Decision made, I looked up. Ready by the precipice. Ready to risk all for you in a leap of faith. Gone! You had gone. Gone to live your life without me. Slipped away, leaving nothing but a bitter sweet feeling. A longing for what might have been. Regretting what never was. Did you see my indecision as disinterest... Or did you not see me at all? Anonymous face in the crowd-I will not forget. Thank you for my moment. A moment in which we had a lifetime. Or nothing at all.
Wallpapered walls lined her cage, They watched her grow, they watched her age. The doors weren't locked, nor windows barred The garden was no prison yard. She had not offended, had seen no courts, And yet she stayed, chained by her thoughts. Each day the same, for someone else She toiled away, not for herself. One day she snapped, she cut the bond, And looked towards the great beyond. The roses red, the trees so green, She saw what her life should have been. And when she saw the sun outside... It was too late, she had already died.
The Snow Globe
Trapped in a snow globe Watching life pass; Perpetual winter Held in by the glass. Someone else starts the music That turns my world round, They shake up my life And the snow tumbles down. This safest of prisons Will keep me from harm, Gently falling snowflakes Soothe and calm. I will not see the sunshine Nor dance in the rain, But my little glass prison Will save me from pain.
You see a golden blaze of Autumn glory, I see rot and decay. You have "Happily Ever After" to end the story, I know my prince walked away. You see opportunity in difficult places, I see an ordeal to be borne. You see a smile on everyone's faces I see derision and scorn. You see troubles as chains to be broken Mine make me curl up and hide. Yours is a spirit awoken, I am corrupted inside
Ship Of Fools
The ship of humanity has run aground Steered by fools Onto the shores of relentless desire. We have disembarked, Pouring forth our filth, Shouting of our domination of nature And her land, Taking all that she can give us, Leaving her naked and sore. We roam, Seeking that which will truly make us happy, That which will bring us fulfilment, That which will bring us closer to God. But the vessel we smashed upon the rocks of consumerism Was our only way to the divine And the ship which could have carried us home Floats no more.
The stagnant red river of a city rush hour Ripe with choking pollution Sludges slowly along, And stops. And goes – And stops - Bumper to bumper. Rush hour? No rushes here! The toxic mix of fumes and seething resentment Gathers in each metal bubble increasing Hatred for the bubble in front And each in front of the other. The red light fades and the river edges forward, Hope surges, the open road calls fleetingly, The puddles in the kerb slop hopelessly Driven by sullen tyres Towards the pavement, Trickling back in a sparkling ruby stream. Then the red screams “Stop!” “Shit!” Frustration builds along with the static On the poorly tuned radio Vainly playing tinny happy songs To an audience ready to murder The guy in front simply for being there. Outside the poisonous vehicle Scenes of gentle family life Lit up in un-curtained rooms pass by all too slowly, Revealing more than just an abstract glimpse - The dusty bookcase just like mother’s, The child watching television over his homework, The roaring fire glistening from the plastic of a ready-meal. The little shops proclaiming their wares- The bright lights reflecting back in green hues From the eyes of a hunting brown town cat Who sniffs the malodorous air and slides into a side street Into the shadows that hide his prey. But the outboard entertainment is ignored As the only thought along the line of heated engines is “Move-move-move-move” Feet desperate to push the pedal, Hands clenching a static wheel As though it were about to spin Out of control. The tension tightening the muscles Of a tired body Combustion turning the mind to anger against his fellow captives. And on this night As on every other night, He drowns in the thick red filth of the rush hour river When he could have cruised. When he could have floated gently, Taking stock of his day, Of his life. Relaxing into the enforced imprisonment, Getting to know the man in the skin he is in, A pilgrim in the grim city Edging slowly towards the suburbs, Enlightenment guiding him home with a smile on his face. But on this night As on every other night His guardian angel sat in the back And read a book For he was not willing to listen Whilst his ears were deafened by the raging maelstrom Of a slow-motion whirlpool of his own making
The HOBO-READING-ROOM on ebay for antique and vintage hardback books, as well as quality paperbacks
Related content: The macabre poetry of horror and death – the 1953 floods