Bloated – dVerse

Sealed, no, stitched closed,
cotton-mouthed, tongue
sand-papered and glued,
I am bereft of words.
Inside, a war wages
and I am polarised.

A hollow resides in between.

Unable to communicate
the disembowelled,
inarticulate me is silenced.

All I want, all I need,
is to tell you how –
how I gave my all,
fell for you,
and in falling I have
hit the chasm walls,
torn fingernails free
as I reached out to you,
even as you turned away,
and now I am invisible.

I swallow words
– enough to fill a country –
I am obese with all that is unsaid.


This week, on dVerse Meeting the Bar, Brian wants us to write about words – when they fail us, or when they say just what we wanted of them.

I like to think of myself as articulate – in work I am the wordsmith, crafting legal documents, creating something out of nothing, drafting, editing, reviewing, commenting… you get the picture. What I am not so good at (in fact, I am terrible), is expressing my emotions one to one. When it comes to matters of the heart, I am pretty much incapable in that way. If I could resort to communicating by writing things down that would be fine, but in conversation, when it comes to being vulnerable and actually saying ‘I want’ or ‘I need’, then I become mute. The words are there, inside my head, bumping up against one another until they turn to dust. I’m working on it. It’s hard.

This poem attempts to convey this tongue-tied state. I hope it works.

Please pop over to dVerse to read some excellent poems. Join in – we don’t bite!



Columbine – dVerse


Image Source

They scatter, these unwanted words

dripping with sarcasm and vitriol.


Tendrils of spite germinate and flourish

entwining whispers and hisses behind hands,


as if the very lowering of voice and timbre

will cloak their malfeasance in honey,


reduce the bone-grazing cut to a mere abrasion.

Secrets are sprinkled with an eye to inflict


damage so deep that recovery requires

strength that Atlas himself would admire


even as he carries the world on his shoulders;

this is as nothing to the downward-looking.


Wounds of word war-craft cannot be seen,

cannot be photographed, do not reveal themselves


as visible evidence in Court No. 1. Yet this abuse too

resonates – and whilst mental scarring also heals


much like a bruise, or a bone broken in anger,

it is carried, leaden, inert, hidden:


hidden, that is

until the point of no return is reached.


This week, on dVerse Poetics, Shanyn  has asked us to write as if words are seeds. What an interesting idea, not to mention, imaginative!

I’m not quite sure if I have travelled down the right (weed-strewn) path with this one, however, I was keeping plant life in mind as I wrote and, as you can tell, looked at word-seeds sown that really should be kept to themselves. Whilst weeds, I think, are beautiful plants and flowers growing in a place that we humans did not choose, word-seeds of the nasty sort should never be sown at all! Bullying is wrong, irrespective of whether it is physical or mental.

Please pop over to dVerse to see how others have risen to the word-seed challenge – I will be linking up later!

*Columbine, or aquilegia is actually my favourite flower – how ironic that it is poisonous!



In which nobody is satisfied – VisDare 63

4a68062ee2c258ecd67a401cb6b5e7fa-2Photo Source

worker ants are we

carrying our load

that over the years

has become leaden, unwieldy

and grown knife-sharp

burrs digging into skin and necrotising flesh

eroding and abrading

laden with expectation

wants have transformed into needs

more urgent than water

than the very air we breathe

infinite possibilities are subsumed

in unrelenting grey dolour

as unstoppable as time itself


it takes strength to resist

to walk away from the pressure

and those who say ‘just do it’

and those who say ‘it’s not that easy’

are both right

each from their own perspective

each from their own prison

each hearing, but not listening –

empathy is necessary

more so these days than ever, perhaps

and yet the white noise deafens

we are hoodwinked and blinded

and through wilful isolation

we choose to fail to realise –

we are not alone.


Here’s my latest entry into VisDare this week, the prompt run by the lovely Angela. I have chosen to write in poetic form this time, but of course, I have met the guide of using 150 words or less! Please feel free to read, comment, critique or just enjoy, whatever you prefer.

I am going through a bit of a political phase on my blog at the moment, as you will see from here  and here. Of course, all of life is political and politics invites people to disagree with your opinions. Wouldn’t life be dull (or horrific) if we all had the same viewpoint? I’m not great at arguments, they do put me in turmoil. But life requires you to be brave, right?