I’ve been writing poetry more frequently for about seven years but only recently taking it more seriously with a couple of poems in publications out later this year. I found for me, generally poetry isn’t difficult to write, it’s can just sometimes be difficult to share.
Generally poetry is personal. Poems can be so personal that it’s difficult to get objective perspective on them. Is the last line cheesy and predictable or poignant? Are the verses so swamped in figurative language that the message is lost to sea, unreachable to anyone? Or so literal that it becomes a shopping list that bores people away? Is it a “good” poem….
A few years ago I shared a version of the poem below with a couple of friends to try and get some objective opinions. The feedback was positive (my friends are lovely) but came with the advice that I should only share it when I was “Ready to have people all up in your business…” This was a fair point with everything that was going on at the time. Even though all poems are written with poetic licence, judgements and assumptions of the author are always made and I had no desire to invite people in to spectate and speculate. I had become so concerned about who might read my poems that I had misunderstood poetry and why people share poems.
But times change. Since then I’ve shared my poems with friends, family, publishers, editors and on social media. I’ve realised that with vulnerability comes with freedom. A freedom of expression and creativity that surpasses any fear or concern of judgement. A freedom and joy that cannot be taken by negative comments or even no comments or likes at all 😉 A freedom that is fulled by self love and absolute comfort in my own skin, choices, experience and expression. My poetry is my voice, my poetry is for me.
Thank you to all of my friends who have supported and encouraged me to write Xx
TBH
After the Ashes
The Phoenix gazed at her reflection
the warmth of the blaze felt like an old friend
a familiar embrace.
She had known it was time but
She had been afraid to ignite the flame
She knew she had needed to
But she was afraid that she would scorch in the heat
She had forgotten her nature.
Time passes
sparks dance in the air
the Phoenix finds her perfect Match
Who poked and kindled her insecurities and fears
With deceit and hope
to the point of combustion
Insatiable, they consumed her
abusive fires rage
Toxic smoke
clouds her brain
strangles her throat
and blinds her eyes
Isolated
The Phoenix cannot see her own reflection
Or light her transformation.
The wind changes
Sparks dance in the air
ember wings glimmer
heat fires her heart and clears her head
The Phoenix fights for survival.
She tastes the pain.
Drinks the humiliation,
and feeds from the silent whispers that had combined into chains to shakle her to the ground.
She releases her feathers of fire
The warmth from the blaze feels like an old flame
a familiar embrace
She is now strong enough to die
be reborn
She is now ready to live
Ready to fly
The Phoenix gazed lovingly at her glow and thanked the Match.
The Brixton Housewife 