Thread: Collected Poems
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Old March 2nd, 2013 (6:12 PM).
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Daydream Daydream is offline
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Join Date: Aug 2009
Location: That thar Kingdom. The United one.
Age: 23
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I wrote these few poems for a University assignment, and I'm pretty happy with them, so I thought I would share them here.


Fall Out

If I were to try,
Could I get it right?
Or would I have to lie?

I just find that I,
Might come across as trite,
If I were to try.

Would I make you cry?
Would you find I’m right?
Or would I have to lie?

And as I write, I sigh,
As out loud, I might,
If I were to try.

Could I tell you my,
Reason for seeing light,
Or would I have to lie?

If I were to try,
To tell you love has gone, and why,
Could I say outright,
Or would I have to lie?

Fall Out is written in the style of a villanelle.


Now You’re Not Mine

You’re not years away from standing on that corner.
Waiting for ‘clients’, avoiding getting up the duff
with the child of some stranger, who has you bent at the waist.
He won’t hold you, but you’ll hold your knees and shriek at the sky –
your skirt halfway down your hips, my dear.

And I won’t be there, but thought of me always will be.
Thousands of eyes pass you by and all you have are real’ fuzzy tomorrows.
The wrong way home could end them. Who knows if you’ll chance it?
Now you’re not mine, no one’s waiting for you to get home.
No one to worry if you’re late once. You reckon it’s worth it?

You’re free of my noise and my jealousy. A better life, yeah?
You’ll shove on those bloody heels, and hope whoever stumbles towards you isn’t
a relic.

And maybe I’ll see you, like a faded blossom, grown in a tree’s shade.
Stuck in the shadows. Probably any number of bites on your neck.
Ha ha ha, maybe that’ll teach you, if I laugh as I step away.
You’d stamp your feet and cry on the pavement, even then.

You’re not that bold girl I wanted, winking even when I bellowed.
You waited until she was born, then decided our love wasn’t
You’re dulled, still, sighing and now you’re not mine.

This poem was adapted as a 'negative image' of Carol Ann Duffy's Before You Were Mine


From the Desk of a Muse

Wanted: Poet.
If I have to mind
one more hopeless
teen who cannot find
a decent adjective,
one not describing someone’s eyes
(and emerald pools seriously?),
I’ll relinquish all earthly ties.

Give me your passions,
or weird distractions,
(intimate discussions on why
you wore that outfit aside, thanks),
and I’ll enthuse you and
impel you to the highest ranks.

Write through your love,
or maybe your hate –
tell everyone why
you opened that gate.

Humanity is amazing,
in all of its colours,
let me inspire to inspire,
kindle that spark
and show them your fire.
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