Creative Works - Poetry

On a beach;.
Looking down, focused on a perfect shell
It’s contours curved, smooth;
Surrounded by tiny fragments: shell, stone, salt.
The limits of vision laced with seaweed and feather.

My mind stretching eastwards and westwards;
Curving round the earth.
Panning outwards to the poles;
Sensing areas of population;
Mountains, beaches, the sea spray;
A still hot place, a cool breeze.

Then skywards, up between the stars;
Sensing infinity;
Then returning, zooming back beside the ocean;
On the beach.
The perfect shell.

Poem by Margaret Booth

Who's been seen crouching in the old oak tree?
I'm told his name's Dick Dastardly;
Sometimes his spirit comes a-haunting;
That's certainly not what I am wanting;
on this moonless night as I lie in bed;
his morbid thoughts they fill my head.

He fills my nightmares with vicious attacks;
and whispers of ghosts and almanacs;
and tells me that when I'm out walking;
to glance behind me he'll be stalking.

"Get out of my poem, you nasty man.
I'll get rid of you the best I can!"

"I'll slip into your sheets and into your dream;
causing you havoc and making you scream.
I'll brush against you in your hall;
and cast black shadows on your bedroom wall."

"Stop, I don't want you here at all;
flinching at your beck and call!"

"It was nice of you to rhyme with me.
I'll fill you with fear it's your destiny."

"I'll pull you like strange puppetry;
to capture your soul fills me with glee;
dragging you and your entrails away with me.
I'll see you on the slab in the mortuary."

"You're grotesque plans can't frighten me;
I've found a magic torch, you see.
One click and that will set me free,
It's light will scatter your entity!"

And why's Dick been hiding in the old oak tree?
Well, because he was hanged there in 1863.


Drawing and poem by Margaret Booth

Forever friends that’s what we are;
No matter how close or far we are;
We’re there for each other;
Through happy times and sad;
No matter how hard the problem is;
Or if we go down separate lanes;
Our friendship will always remain;
You’re the star that shines so bright;
I’m always happy when your in my sight;
You’re my north, south, east and west;
You’re the friend that I have;
That I love the best.

by Anon

Looked in the mirror at 22;
Looked at myself and said you’ll do;
Looked at myself in the mirror at 32;
Looked in the mirror and felt very blue;
Grey hair was showing and cheeks weren’t glowing;
Lines appearing on me forehead;
God, I’ll reach for the night cream before I go to bed;
Dying here a nice brown;
I looked in the mirror, it just made me frown;
I forgot to die the bit at my crown;
I won’t die my hair to get colour back;
Why you’re getting older grey hair you don’t lack;
I just continue to put on my boring night cream;
I may wake tomorrow and find it was a dream.

by Anon

People are more than straight, good and bad, not just that.

Beyond surface feelings of happy and sad there’s more to a soul;
You can see in their eyes the ones who look straight into your being;
You’ve been beyond and then returned;
With values not material or taught;
Returned feeling only the spiritual pain of knowing nothing matters;
Nothing but love and goodness all that they lost when they broke;
And could not return to the land of colour;
From a hell so so black it curdled blood;
Trying had to not live the downer through an upper;
In the zombie-minded reality of a psychiatric promise;
Now they walk stiltedly with eyes so fixed;
Staring out the needlers and the sly deceivers;
Lost in their own self made torment;
And fall in love too easy with others of their own kind;
Burning each other with flames because they can’t receive;
Still they need it so much that it hurts like knives inside;
Every night recurring and racking, in the echoes of the past;
They forget the facts but the feelings so strong hang on;
(like the time they poisoned you in a locked room like back in;
the times of crucifixion);
yes, that is why they hurt so easy;
and bite when pushed, you understand?;
And cry like babies, and fly like angels,;
Fight like tigers and remain self martyrs,;
Not just good and bad, happy and sad;
A little more complex, the ruler and the measure;
Of each moments value is what its worth to each individual;
In the full knowledge of the worst pain.

by Steven Spalding

Living in the past won’t work;
Now I find ways to close the door;
To look closer at myself;
See me in ways I haven’t before;
Putting me first and not others.

Breaking the chains that bound me;
Nothing will stand in my way;
Breaking the chains that bound me;
Tied me to the ground;
Breaking the chains that locked me up;
Hid me from the world.

The past won’t keep me down;
It is not the rest of my life;
Lifting myself off the ground;
One step at a time;
I have so much to offer;
So much I have to give;
Life is so precious;
So much to learn.

by Linda Conway

“Whit’s wrang wi ye”, is aw ye can say;
“yer beginnin’ tae grighten me”;
Stop behavin’ this way;
Wan minute yet up, the next yer doon;
Then yer snappin’ at aw the folks before;
Styin’ up aw night;
Ye won’t answer the phone or even the door;
Did ye no pick up the weans it’s way efter four;
Don’t tell me you just forgot;
I’m beginning to think ye’ve lost the plot;
Ah I’ve had enough ah cannae take anymair;
Ah’m getting quite frightened and ma heid’s offy sair.

Whit’s wrang wi me?

“Whit’s wrang we me”, is aw ye can say;
Dae ye now realise I’m frightened tae;
Ah don’t know why I’m behavin’ this way;
It’s confusin’ for me, ah don’t understand really;
Can you no see, it’s this thing that I’ve got?;
It’s true ah stay up aw night;
Things in ma heid, it’s just no right;
People ah just canny face;
Ah canny get out o’ this horrible place;
Dae ye no think ma heid’s hurtin’ tae;
Why are things happening this way?;
God, take this thing away;
Is aw ah can pray;
Please understand it’s no really me;
Behaving this way.

by Rab McNamara

Lying here on my bed;
Thinking of when I’ll be dead;
Who is my maker? Who is my God?;
To ask him why I am so odd;
Why have I been made this way?;
But none can answer, today;
I lie here wondering about the lie in the sky;
Which was miles too high;
I wonder who can understand;
As my mind begins to expand;
I think about the drugs and drink;
And both of them make me sit and think;
A lot of people do drink and drugs;
But some of them don’t sit like a class ‘A’ mug;
Just now I sit and stare at the wall;
Does anyone care? A little at all?;
At 4 am, I still hear them talk;
As the bomb in my head goes tick, tick, tock;
Sometimes I think of the other fools;
Who try everyday to break the rules;
But those other fools are the voices in my head;
Which is why I’d rather be dead;
Sometimes when I’m happy, I’ll still be sad;
Because now, I’m classed as a loony or mad;
A loony or mad, is just the same but I do not know who to blame.

Sometimes I sit and stare at my beer;
Listening to the whispers in my ear;
Asking questions within my head;
What will I say? Or what have I said?;
Saying things I don’t really mean;
Gets me thinking is this all a dream;
Being like this is so hard to believe;
When there are so many things I wanted to achieve;
Some say my hope is gone;
And they will think they have won;
But I’ll get back and fight again;
And everyone thinks “yes sure, but when?”;
But I will come close, you will see;
When I stand aware and proud;
I’ll see you all within that crowd;
The crowd that all tried to get me down;
Is the same crowd that I will beat;
Once I start to find my feet;
Now I must go away and say goodbye;
Just to sleep and not to die;
You may say it’s only a sin;
But now I won’t give in…;
In the middle I know.

by Brendan Mullen