Pray for Paris
Poorly
One minute, I'm frolicking in the meadows,
You
Like a flowing river or a drop of rain,
Not one piece of you is ever the same.
Like the roar of a lion or the call of a cuckoo,
Nobody could ever say that you
Had only one purpose.
People's love for you is infinite,
You bring such joy to the little bit we get
Of life. And those of us who embrace you in full,
Are probably the ones who see the world for how beautiful
It really is.
There is an abundance, a plethora
It would be impossible to count you in number.
And yet, people will keep insisting
On listening, playing and composing
You.
Music.
Another Reader's Poem
I received this poem from a reader which I'm sure you can relate to. It is about the time in life when there are so many happy memories in your head and yet all you can think of is that one hurtful remark somebody once made. Although you may feel saddened by this fact, know that you are in control of your own mind. You can choose to think pleasant thoughts. Try looking in a photo album of past holidays, listening to a song from your childhood or even reading some of the happy stories and poems which I post!
Here is the reader's poem:
Be careful what you say to others.
Like an email it cannot be retrieved once uttered.
A remark, once made, pops out of the deepest recess of the memory of the recipient at the most unlikely moment.
It is never diminished by the passage of time.
Why must the memory, so useful and essential for everyday life, have this wicked side to it?
A remark is just as hurtful fifty years later as it was on the day when it was first received.
The mind seems to wait until one is at rest from everyday occupation, and then from nowhere out slips this wicked barb.
The question for me that remains unanswered is: for what purpose does this happen?
Is the old person with dementia still subjected to the regurgitation of a past remark?
The mystery of life may be in the Universe, but what manipulating force controls the memory?
What happened to all those short lived memories of the young killed in their prime?
Is there something similar to The Cloud where all memory is collected and stored for ever?
Will we ever be able to
tap into this source? If it even exists ...
If you would like to write something for the blog, just send me an email at rapunzeltheblogger@gmail.com
Seasons
I never used to notice you,
Until one day I opened my eyes and saw,
That the world was starting anew.
So many lives just beginning,
It seems impossible that anything could end,
For the world will keep on spinning.
But people forget the new starts,
They want an end to work and school.
Much celebration for the joyous times ahead,
Planning, booking, travelling, relaxing.
No time at all to rest your sleepy head.
But play has to stop some day,
And work must continue.
A time for preparation,
Everyone must think ahead for what is inevitable,
Waiting with anticipation.
But time has run out,
Woe betide the unprepared.
Harsh times are to come,
Yet they are blinded by the light of festivities,
Deafened by merriment to which all will succumb.
#itsaGirlThing
I heard about the campaign to promote girls' rights when watching one of Hazel Haye's videos on the channel ChewingSand.
In the run up to International Day of the Girl on the 11th of October, Plan International have started a campaign to "highlight injustices and challenge the world to make changes to ensure all girls access their rights".
I felt that I should do my bit by writing a poem about girl's rights. After you've finished reading, why not play your part?
Are you proud to be a girl?
You should be.
Do you feel equal with boys?
You should do.
Has anyone ever told you how lucky you are?
They should have.
Are you in school?
You should be.
Do you have freedom of speech?
You should do.
Has anyone ever reassured you that you're safe?
They should have.
But what if you're not proud, equal or lucky?
What if you don't go to school, aren't allowed to say what you think or don't feel safe?
Then something has to be done.
Until all girls are proud, equal and lucky to be who they are, we cannot rest.
Stand up.
Shout out.
Make a difference.
I hope this poem has made you realise how important equality is and if all you do is go onto the Plan International website, that is enough to raise awareness and start making a change.
#itsaGirlThing
Watch Hazel's video
A Reader's Poem
I received an email from a reader who had seen my poems and been inspired to write one of their own. I found it very touching and think you will too.
It's a worrying thought when you become invisible.
I'm not sure when it happened, and it's now a new lifestyle.
I now smile at everyone that I pass, but few respond.
More often it's the infants in their mother's arms,
who still possess the magic senses of the new-born.
The youthfulness of life never dies.
It remains inside, hidden by the aged exterior.
Which like the bark of the tree, few notice or examine.
The thought that all that past never really happened,
is too terrible to accept.
The consequence that the end can only be a lesser experience
of what we may have imagined has gone before, leaves one request:
Please smile back.
If you would like to write something for the blog, just send me an email at rapunzeltheblogger@gmail.com
Acting out the hairdressers in my pretty pink bedroom,
My heart goes out
To the many in doubt
About what their future may hold.
Nobody knows
Whether the awful blow
To this city's heart will heal.
Helpless people
Injured by the shrapnel
We must extend a loving hand.
Give out your heart
Pray for Paris
Pray for the children
Pray for the families
Pray for the injured
Pray for the deceased
Pray that one day, this whole world will be at peace.
Poorly
One minute, I'm frolicking in the meadows,
The next I'm huddled in bed watching YouTube videos.
Sneezing and coughing into a mountain of tissues,
I will have missed so many issues
Of my favourite magazine.
Time seems to warp when I have a cold,
One day from another cannot be told.
"It's time for lunch!" I hear my mum call,
It takes too much energy to get up, so instead I fall
Out of bed.
Being ill is really no fun when I still have homework to do,
Yet I cannot escape - it must not be overdue.
I have exhausted the programmes on the telly,
And I have been lying on my belly
All day long.
The only consolation for being poorly is that everyone at school will have missed you sorely.
(Or so you like to think.)
You
Like a flowing river or a drop of rain,Not one piece of you is ever the same.
Like the roar of a lion or the call of a cuckoo,
Nobody could ever say that you
Had only one purpose.
People's love for you is infinite,
You bring such joy to the little bit we get
Of life. And those of us who embrace you in full,
Are probably the ones who see the world for how beautiful
It really is.
There is an abundance, a plethora
It would be impossible to count you in number.
And yet, people will keep insisting
On listening, playing and composing
You.
Music.
Another Reader's Poem
Here is the reader's poem:
Be careful what you say to others.
Like an email it cannot be retrieved once uttered.
A remark, once made, pops out of the deepest recess of the memory of the recipient at the most unlikely moment.
It is never diminished by the passage of time.
Why must the memory, so useful and essential for everyday life, have this wicked side to it?
A remark is just as hurtful fifty years later as it was on the day when it was first received.The mind seems to wait until one is at rest from everyday occupation, and then from nowhere out slips this wicked barb.
The question for me that remains unanswered is: for what purpose does this happen?
Is the old person with dementia still subjected to the regurgitation of a past remark?
The mystery of life may be in the Universe, but what manipulating force controls the memory?
What happened to all those short lived memories of the young killed in their prime?
Is there something similar to The Cloud where all memory is collected and stored for ever?
Will we ever be able to
tap into this source? If it even exists ...
If you would like to write something for the blog, just send me an email at rapunzeltheblogger@gmail.com
Seasons
I never used to notice you,Until one day I opened my eyes and saw,
That the world was starting anew.
So many lives just beginning,
It seems impossible that anything could end,
For the world will keep on spinning.
But people forget the new starts,
They want an end to work and school.
Much celebration for the joyous times ahead,
Planning, booking, travelling, relaxing.
No time at all to rest your sleepy head.
But play has to stop some day,
And work must continue.
A time for preparation,
Everyone must think ahead for what is inevitable,
Waiting with anticipation.
But time has run out,
Woe betide the unprepared.
Harsh times are to come,
Yet they are blinded by the light of festivities,
Deafened by merriment to which all will succumb.
#itsaGirlThing
I heard about the campaign to promote girls' rights when watching one of Hazel Haye's videos on the channel ChewingSand.In the run up to International Day of the Girl on the 11th of October, Plan International have started a campaign to "highlight injustices and challenge the world to make changes to ensure all girls access their rights".
I felt that I should do my bit by writing a poem about girl's rights. After you've finished reading, why not play your part?
Are you proud to be a girl?
You should be.
Do you feel equal with boys?
You should do.
Has anyone ever told you how lucky you are?
They should have.
Are you in school?
You should be.
Do you have freedom of speech?
You should do.
Has anyone ever reassured you that you're safe?
They should have.
But what if you're not proud, equal or lucky?
What if you don't go to school, aren't allowed to say what you think or don't feel safe?
Then something has to be done.
Until all girls are proud, equal and lucky to be who they are, we cannot rest.
Stand up.
Shout out.
Make a difference.
I hope this poem has made you realise how important equality is and if all you do is go onto the Plan International website, that is enough to raise awareness and start making a change.
#itsaGirlThing
Watch Hazel's video
A Reader's Poem
I received an email from a reader who had seen my poems and been inspired to write one of their own. I found it very touching and think you will too.
It's a worrying thought when you become invisible.
I'm not sure when it happened, and it's now a new lifestyle.
I now smile at everyone that I pass, but few respond.
More often it's the infants in their mother's arms,
who still possess the magic senses of the new-born.
The youthfulness of life never dies.
It remains inside, hidden by the aged exterior.
Which like the bark of the tree, few notice or examine.
The thought that all that past never really happened,
is too terrible to accept.
The consequence that the end can only be a lesser experience
of what we may have imagined has gone before, leaves one request:
Please smile back.
If you would like to write something for the blog, just send me an email at rapunzeltheblogger@gmail.com
A Rose-Tinted Childhood
Acting out the hairdressers in my pretty pink bedroom,
Asking my customers, “Are you going on holiday soon?”
Playing this marvellous game I would beam,
When it came to the real thing, I wasn’t so keen.
Baking with Grandma to make lemon cakes,
Baking with Grandma to make lemon cakes,
How much longer is it going to take?
For that cake to be ready and cooked right the way through,
So that we can eat it together, just me and you.
Shoes shining, not a hair out of place,
Running across the playground as if a tiger was after me,
Then drawing a picture, what on earth could it be?
Trying to catch a glimpse of the tooth fairy,
To her I would probably seem very scary.
Maybe if I lie still and pretend to be asleep,
She might come in through the window and then I could take a peep.
I expect there will be countless more on the path up ahead.
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