a poet.. and you didn't know it..

Ok so maybe some of you knew I am a bit of a poet, but I am sure there are quite a few that don't. Although I must admit I haven't written much poetry of late, well not much in the last 7 years, I guess I've been busy being 'loved up' with my hubby and kids *cue corny "aaaah" sound from audience*. I started writing poetry when I was in primary school and was an avid writer of poetry for all my school years and into my uni era. I have kept a large majority of these poems and once in a blue moon I pull a few out to read, sometimes I get a giggle out of them, sometimes a tear from memories brought to the forefront. Anyway I thought I'd open up my heart a bit more to you all with some sharing of intimate pieces of prose. Maybe it will inspire some of you to start writing your own poetry, or reignite the passion in those who haven't written prose in a very long time, and others may want to share the musings and rhyme they create on a regular basis (but family and friends may not know this about them).
So here is a few poems (some attached with when they were written) for your Sunday evening  read...

19th June 2001:
"to...miss...you"
For this moment I no longer see,
your eyes, your reflections of truth,
of affection, of comfort and warmth.
Feeling alone and empty,
I hold my breath, feel my heart
begin to ache, to swell up
in my tiny chest and a
pregant tear rolls gently over
and down my cheek.
The movement of my blood
through my veins becomes
apparent, I feel so very
alive and dead at the same
juncture.
Filling with all the emotions
a human will experience in a lifetime,
I can barely take it,
I struggle for my next breath,
my lungs strain to contain the air.
Will I breathe properly again?
Surely I will, you tell me I will....

7th August 2001:
untitled #2
The sky was blue this day,
or so those around me said,
but clouds were everywhere
darkened almost charcoal blur.
Can't see far, if there is,
if there's a distance.
Only my last steps remain
the footsteps of pain.
Draining colour, draining zest,
there is nothing, no peace, no rest.
Death, no not near,
pure torture eternal,
no possible change in the weather,
whether I will live through the rain
and see the sun again.

Ok so those were pretty depressing hahaha. I was a bit emo right? It's funny that I experienced much less traumatic things back then, but I was a 'tortured soul' and now that I have had the life experiences which I have outlined to you in previous posts I am less inclined to feel so 'tortured' and angry... maybe it's an age thing? Maybe it's how you grow and develop after dealing with so many intense experiences...

and the last poem entry for tonight that I will share is one I wrote over 2 years ago, that some of you may have already read. I'm thinking of adding another verse about the journeys with Jack. By no means does this poem say "I am amazing" and I don't put myself on a pedestal. It is simply saying that we are all strong and we just have to find that strength in those times when we most need it.

2nd June 2009:
The Strongest Person I Know
The strongest person I know,
well she comes and goes.
She could be here on a sunday in May,
kneeling beside her mummy,
grasping her frail hand tight,
in a calm voice, reassuring
her mum that she will be safe,
that she will be free of pain,
and that we love her dearly.
The strongest person I know,
was able to witness the last breath
of her protector, her bestest friend ever,
and accept the spirit slipping,
slipping before her eyes.

The strongest person I know,
came back one summer night,
when she knew the life she carried
was not able to keep up the fight.
Standing in the labour ward,
hearing the cry of healthy newborns,
knowing she'd never hear her own that night.
Embracing her husband,
asking for a positive experience.
I now can't comprehend how she did it.
Why was she not hysterical at the time?
All she could say afterward was:
"I'm sorry bub, I'm so sorry"
as she held her angel baby tight.

The strongest person I know,
well she comes and she goes.
The person who sees her the most
is my beautiful, amazing son Liam,
the most observant little man,
so perceptive as he peers over his glasses,
giving me that knowing look,
saying with his eyes:
"you can do this mum, you've done it before"
and thats when I can hold my head up high
as we head out the door...

Well there you have it.. a bit of my soul layed bare for you all to see. It's quite scary to be so vulnerable but exhilirating and liberating at the same time. I was thinking I may even blog later about my 'Dear Diary' era (from age 13 to 25). I am so glad I kept all these writings, it is just as good, if not better, than photographs and video. It's a snapshot of your soul. For all those who have or had kept a diary or journal I urge you to have a read through this evening and see how you've grown in so many ways.