Undone

Molten lead
heavy and hot as hurt
swirls beneath my calm
facade
slowly filling each hole
til i am whole.
But not.
Harsh words
intended for no ear to hear
but mine
threaten to slide through
the walls
out the hairline cracks
that cannot be filled.
Spinning slowly
a world all alone on its axis
the only thing
visible
is a distant star
to far to be
any use.
The heat
leaches from the lead
drawn by the force of
the tears
streaming
down my face.

Writing won't work anymore.

Outside looking in

Hands clasped around my knees,

I watch.

The air,

cool and sweet as water,

still as a small pond

as the sky

slowly darkens to a

soft azul

and the streetlights flicker to life.

People pass, unhurried.

Here

in the twilight dark,

the pace is as slow

as sipping a

glass of sweet tea.

Birds call softly,

their sleepy cries fading

with the sun.

A family passes,

blissfully together.

"No trashcan!" warns the man as

the little boy sneaks close.

The chirp of a cricket, like

the quiet creak

of my grandmother's rocking chair,

begins.

Quits.

I sit,

still in my spreading

pool of soft illumination,

taking it all in.

Arthur

Betrayal

Hate

A dagger in the dark

And all is destruction.

But

A flash of gold

Molten

Hot

Long live the king!

Equals

Friends

Fight by my side

Hope from the ashes

(Written after watching the season finale of S4 of BBC's Merlin. I can't wait for S5!!!)

TV

Disappointment,
not the most pleasant of emotions.
They were here
to spend time with us.
Quality family time,
so I thought.
So why
why
why
why
does family time consist of
sitting on the couch,
watching TV?
Or sitting in separate rooms
watching TV?
I'm not sure that counts.
None of them saw
anything wrong,
only me.
Sure, they spent the day together.
But I didn't.
They had fun
while I sat through class
after class
after class.
And then I went home
to have fun with them,
spend "quality family time"
with them,
and all they wanted was the damn TV.



Written two years ago. And this concludes the portion of my blog where I post old poetry in addition to new poetry (Refrain, The Power of Words, Fall, Dust, and Haiku for Spring are all relatively new; the rest are two years old or older). As of now, if you'd like to read any of my old poetry, go here: http://www.fictionpress.com/u/589779/saoirse09. Thanks for reading the poems I consider the most salvageable of the old junk. Now onto the new!

River

A nuisance,
a burden, a bother,
a hassle,
that's really,
truly
all I am.
Always causing problems,
never fixing them.
Always the embarrassment,
never the pride.
I'm stuck with the outcome
when
all
I
really
want
is the expectation.
Disappointment and scorn,
a river between us.

(written two years ago)

Ode to My Mom Cooking

I watch her cook,

My mother, my mom,

The conductor of the kitchen

As I perch on the (forbidden) counter,

A bird,

Chittering,

Chattering,

Chirping away,

Filling her in on my life.

The butter, as she

Slides

It into the pan,

Sizzles, hisses, snaps,

Then dances with

spins and twirls,

A ballerina on a stovetop stage.

"I need your height,"

She says.

So I slide down to her aid

Before resuming

My perch by

The sink

Where the warmth of her domain

Sinks deep into me

Like the scents

Of the spices she uses,

Garlic, oregano, and thyme.

Her laugh,

When I say something silly,

Common occurrence,

Is the bubble of boiling water.

My mom, at one with the kitchen.

She's been working her magic

All day, the

Mrs. Weasley of my muggle world.

I can tell

Because the butterscotch pie

Sitting so sweetly on the counter,

Already has airy castles

Of white meringue,

Floating on the brown butterscotch

Like her voice around the room.

The music of my mom

Cooking.

Homesick

Tears stream down my face, hot and wet.

Leaving,
it shouldn't be this hard.
Independent, growing up, maturing,
they're just words
and comfortless ones at that.

What can I do?
I can't go back,
I've had a taste of freedom.
But I can't go forward,
I yearn for what's behind.

Stuck,
lost,
confused,
helpless,
hopeless.

Yanked from the world I know,
Thrust into one I've never seen,
My life, pulled in different directions.

Where I should go.
Where I need to go.
Where I want to go.
Why do they have to be different?

Things have to change.

(a slightly updated version of a poem I wrote three years ago)