Cliche

Cliches are so,
For a reason .
And really, babe
When the light
Catches you right
You shine
Are sublime
Like a,
What shall we call it?
Like a,
Supernova.
So that's a cliche
Yes or no?
Castle tops
Are cliches too.
Let's do it anyway
Or maybe
Because of it
Rain is cliche
But this was
A mere drizzle.
Tree list
A bit much
To the left
Lean up
Against them,
Just so.
That's cliche
Too.
But it's
The kind
I'm awfully
Partial too.
Cliches come
Riding down
In hordes
And one cliche
That's all about
How we crash and burn.
Let's shred that one
To tiny bits
And kiss
On the remains.
In a very
Cliched
Sort of a way.

"Seize!"

You've got me spoiled,
Far too much.
Days and days
Of waking
Surfacing,
Grumbling,
All of that,
To your
Pretty, pretty face
And your
Dancing, dancing eyes.
Tis getting a bit difficult
To kick Morpheus away
Without you
As my personal alarm clock.
Everyone else gets seduced
Into my bed
And the land of sleep
Or just ups and leaves.
You are the singular
Singularity
That stayed,
Reclining
On my couch.
Coaxing,
Threatening,
Laughing,
Me
Out of bed.
You are sitting,
Creeping subtly
Into my brain,
Telling me,
I must
'Seize the day'
Flinging open
Shutters,
Proclaiming
The weather today.
You are all about the
'Seizing'
I am all about the
'Maybes'
And between the tewo
I arise
Compromise
All because
Of your smiling/scowling face
And try
To seize the day. 

Autumn Dresses

Autumn will come again
And I will see it

Amble by

Unlike the Summer Sprint

That broke my heart

The tiniest bit.

I will look forward

To wind and clouds and manic laughs

Thick woolly scarves

Hot Chocolate with marshmallows

With a side of Essays

At the Library café.

I’ll pick a bench

At the Meadows

And freeze

Yet determinedly

Sniff the grass and trees.

I’ll discover

That dresses look good

On me.

I’ll discover

Looking in the mirror

And thinking,

‘Pretty’.

I’ll discover

The world is bigger

And smaller

Than I perceived.

I’ll learn to live

With wanting someone

I’ll never allow myself to have.

I’ll learn to love

Myself more than
I already do,

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

Be damned.

I’ll learn to be me
More completely

Less apologetically.

All this and more

I’ll take from autumn

As recompense

For what Summer

Took from me. 

That Dress Looks Nice on You (Part 2) - NaPoWriMo Poem 7

The final three parts of this two part poem. Continuing on the them of dresses and such.


"Tomatoes and Dappled Streams"

You blush so well
I could lay a trail
Up your neck
Across your face
Of you turning
The same shade
As that hoodie
You say is a jumper.
Your dappled stream eyes
Flutter far too close
And fill me and the world
With laughter and 'youness'
A special brand of jubilance.


"Bumblebees and Butterflies"

You are like the bumblebees
The songwriters of 1960s Bollywood
Compared their heroines too.
Cheerful and bright
And essential
To any romantic song.
You are the butterfly
I chased in childhood
Seeing you cloaked in a yellow sari
I am wonder-struck at how you personify home.
The second line I ever said to you
'You know how it feels like!'
Still does and will always hold true.


"Cuddly, Fuzzy and Grey"

You don't let me in
To your warm
And cozy room.
You say I'll steal
Your blankets and clothes.
But you always
Have the fuzziest, warmest
Hug to cuddle into.
Especially that grey jumper
That will be mine one day.
I used to think it was the clothes
But it is the deep warmth of you
That beats the Edinburgh chill, any day.

That Dress Looks Nice on You(Part 1) ( I stole the title from a Song) NaPoWriMo Poem 6

This group of poems- both Part 1 & 2 are written for some of the most special people in the world, who made University life what it actually is. This blog was started for them and its about time I introduced them to this blog and the world. They are my Sunshine and Skies and Happiness and World in Edinburgh. So, in no particular order, here goes.


"Queen of Hearts"

You have always been
A vision.
And you suit
Silver shimmer
And brocade.
The quickness of your temper.
And the flashing of your eyes
Are all combined
In the pout
Of your smiles
Of your guiles
And your
Oh so organized Files.


"Cornfields and Blue Skies"

'Your hair are
 Like a cornfield',
 When you wear
 The sky so blue
 About your
 Popping shoulders
 You are
 So very much you
 Now when
 I think of Sunshine
 And cloudless skies
 And summer days
 I think of you.


"Cream and Peaches"

You must think
Me; Full of odd notions
When I declare
You a fairytale.
But I once read of
A princess
With kind eyes
And a heart that
Overflowed love
Like a frothy cream jug.
Like you, she too would flush
When complimented too much-
- Twirling her fairytale skirt.

Edinburgh Castle and the Sky So Blue- NaPoWriMo Poem 3

I did forget to mention, I am travelling all over the Irish countryside at the minute- so my posts might not be on time. I realize I may be late, but the poems are there. Just didn't have a chance to put them here. On a side note, Ireland is a poets paradise.



It takes a special
Sort of knack
To disregard
Fact
For poesy.
Take a thumping
Big castle
For example
And place
A poet
On a bench
Facing
It's buxom backside.
And what will
She say?


             "The sky is blue
 The sun is shining
 There is dinner
 To be had
 With a punctual friend
 And I am going
 To be late.
 As always.
 The castle is there
 It always
 Will be
 But the sky is blue
 And there is dinner
 To be had
 With a punctual friend
 Compared to taht
 The castle
           Means nothing."  

Shall We Begin?

Too little sleep, too much nagging, a lingering sense of guilt and a vague feeling of discontent- perfect recipe for a witching hour blog.

I don't really expect any one to read this- except perhaps the people I am going to write about. I have been a self proclaimed 'writer' from the wise old age of 10.  But this, here and now is the first time I have ever felt the tug to write about something- for an extended period of time, that is. To keep a chronicle as it were. Maybe it's the city, maybe it's the people around me and maybe it is a painfully cliche coming of age at Uni kind of a thing. I just feel, that if we ever to live to be old and bald - there should be a memory of us. Who we were and the wonder that was us. Or at least the wonder we thought we were.

I am writing about them, you see. And maybe I am writing about you. And maybe about me. Maybe I am writing to reconcile the maybes in my head.

This. Here. Now.

I am writing about some awfully big adventures. What else matters, but that?