The Moon #2

Poetry
The Moon #2

We can only see
What the light shows us.
 
A slither you now are
To our eyes;
A small piece of the puzzle,
A slice of the cake.

Not the full picture
Nor the whole sponge.
 
A slither of light arched
Into a darkening void
Back bent, fading
From our sight-

Until the earth turns
And more is revealed.
 
More pieces of the puzzle placed
For us to see your rounded face
With its curious expression: 
(Shocked or shouting?

mocked or missing?)
Up to interpretation.
 
For we can only see
What we are shown. 

- Accalia Smith

This is my second poem on the moon, a follow up to the first which I titled ‘The many faces of the moon’. This one focuses less on the literal attributes of the moon but to what its story means to our lives. Are we the moon with only part of ourselves revealed to the onlookers? Are we only interpreting part of things because we’ve not been shown the full picture?

It’s also a commentary on poetry in this way – that everything is up to our own individual interpretation. Only you reading this now will have the experiences you have, have the childhood you had, have the life you have – we can only attempt to try and be in each others shoes and see different perspectives but we can’t fully live them all. It’s those experiences that make you have the interpretation you have depending on what matters most to you. Poetry is a ‘slice’ of what you want it to mean in a way, directed a little by its writer and the words they chose to use.

Similarly we are the writers of our own image but people will interpret what you ‘show’ them differently. Journalists can write what they want you to know, interpreting what is important for you. Marketeers decide for you what they think you’ll want in your lives, interpreting you. Politicians show you what they want you to interpret and they interpret you too.

Sometimes we misinterpret – although perhaps there isn’t a wrong way to interpret?

Perhaps there is if all the facts and opinions are not given to us. How can we make up our own minds about anything without the full picture of it.


POETRY COLLECTION: The Window #2

Poetry

In these times of rapid change, uncertainty and unprecedented crises people have united and divided. Today, in England, shops will begin reopening again and with them a moment in time comes to a close. With this in mind, I have been releasing a poem a day, each one my responses to the times as they unfolded- beginning right back to March as lockdown was about to begin to the present moments of anger and injustice.

This is the eighth poem in the ‘In This Time’ collection and the second half of the poems titled ‘The Window’ as my feelings toward this time change – each one marking a beginning and an ending.

The Window #2

I look out
The Window;
the portal
to the outside world.

A temptation.
And a reminder that
out of these four walls

Light spurts out
of the dark and heavy cloud,
warming the yearning face.

                                      Open.

Cold.         Fresh.        Free.

The aftermath falls,
releasing their clutches
from the leaves and branches.

Collapsing on the floor
with their comrades.
Exploding together

with the splash
like a record scratch,
bouncing like the needle

with a breath,
an expansion,
into music.

I look
outside my window
And the storm
calms down.

POETRY COLLECTION: Protest #2

Poetry

In these times of rapid change, uncertainty and unprecedented crises people have united and divided. Tomorrow (15th) in England shops will begin reopening again and with them a moment in time comes to a close. With this in mind, I am releasing a poem a day, each one my responses to the times as they unfolded- beginning right back to March as lockdown was about to begin to the present moments of anger and injustice.

This is the seventh poem in the ‘In This Time Collection’ and the second half of the poems about protest. Written at the beginning of this new wave of activism, this is important over this weekend as protests continue in London.

Protest #2
Anger
into hate
Anger
into Love

People stood in opposition
People stood together
Championing what is right.

Stood with a sign
Do you know the full story
Stood with a sign
What is the history
Stood with a sign
This isn't a trend

No excuse for fire with fire
Set the example you wish to lead
for others to follow

Prejudice is age old
Prejudgement.
Stereotype.

Lets break it down.
Set a new one.
Take down the wall.

Brick by brick.
Love by Love.
Change by Change.

POETRY COLLECTION: Normality

Poetry
Normality

Its all too much
                And yet
There is nothing.

Life
        And its freedoms
Struck still.

And I do not know when
                 the play button
will be pressed again.

When will normal resume?
            Or will it forever be buried,
put away in a tomb?

And new 'normals' be born
                at the break of dawn
when are shackles are broken

when we feel safe and free
                 in a fearful yet hopeful
divided yet united

angry yet liberated
                  distant yet closer
new normal world.

POETRY COLLECTION: Protest #1

Poetry

Protest #1

What matters
to you?

and

Most importantly,
Why?

Can you back up
what you believe?

Can you look in yourself
and see them-

A reflection of your beliefs
in your vast ocean

Crashing against
the shore

or

Lapping against
the sand

POETRY COLLECTION: The Window #1

Poetry
The Window #1

I look 
Outside my window
And there
Is no change
 
I look
At the images blaring
On the screen
In the corner
 
It tells me of panic.
Of a crisis.
Of death lurking
In the corner
 
But outside
My window
The sun smiles down
And there are twittering gatherings
 
In the trees.
A chorus 
of sound 
and silence. 

POETRY COLLECTION: Positively a Crisis

Poetry
Positively a Crisis
 
On my screen the headlines blare,
glaring out to the world that 50 more are dead.

Who knows how many have it?
This silent deadly killer that creeps around our spaces

invisible,
holding out its weapon to our chests without us knowing.

Stay inside, save lives is what we are told.
Isolated and separated we are more united than ever.

Clapping for those on the frontline,
our soldiers

dressed in blue, forced and volunteered to fight
the invisible, tiny enemy that infiltrates our bodies.

They march into the unknown for us
because our Country needs them. 

There are People around the world
dying, and yet I feel so much loss.

Loss for my normal life, I guess.
Loss for the ability to go out,

loss for a time gone by
that may never be the same –

will we still shake hands once this is all over?
The germs!

Will we live like hermits tucked away
facing our computer screens for communication still?

Much safer I suppose
but it’s not for me.

I crave to see my fellow humans face to face again.
I crave not to see everyone in their own homes again –

what was that they had on their bookshelf?
I like my home

to be my own sometimes.
And for others’ homes to be their own too.

Outside these four walls is a killer
on the loose and yet

the sun beams down,
soaking my skin with no danger to be seen.

No bombs dropped;
no gun shots fired

no alarm bells raging.
Its silent. Its peaceful.

The birds chirp, singing their songs of peace.
They cluster together still.

Our homes have become our prisons.
We have become the harbourers of the enemy.

In us it could lie waiting to pounce on us or on others.
So, we stay locked up in our own comfort but never cowering.

We stand all together this way to face it
head on when our eyes are opened.

Outside the sun still rises and sets each day,
the moon glides over the sky,

thousands of stars overhead shine
in the darkness –

from here only dots in a pool of black
but up there they are hot, powerful and burning.

Perspective is a funny thing.
Then they fade from our view and the next day begins.

We will get through this says the Queen.
And I believe we will somehow

because side by side
we stand ready to pounce back.