Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Five: For Me by Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Five: For Me by Hannah Williams

if i could change a thought
and have clarity transparent like a brook
i would think for me.

if i could contemplate a dream
and have a labour that dawns it into reality
i would dream for me.

if i could say a word
and have courage that never relents
i would speak for me.

if i could sing a song
and have a melody etched on the echoes of my voice
i would sing for me.

if i could plea a prayer
and have a request rise high above the mountains that faith could move
i would pray for me.

if i could walk a path
and have steps that wisdom coordinated
i would walk for me.

if i could change the world
and have a solution serenading the problems
i would change for me.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Four: A Land of Honey and Milk by Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Four: A Land of Honey and Milk by Hannah Williams

a silhouette
shawled in titanium
with footsteps soft as silk.
a graceless poise
pierces the back
promising a land of
honey and milk

a shadow
tattered in light
with sight dark as void
a sinister compassionate
misled the feet
promising a land
of honey and milk

a shape
stirred in sorrow
with tears dripping as rain
a cheerful gloom
clasped the heart
promising a land
of honey and milk,
again.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Three-Journey By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Three-Journey By Hannah Williams

When the sight glazed across the journey, the lips let out a prayer so swift like the years of the youth.

The feet walks casually imprinting its mark.

Yet, no one remembers the hand that adorned the feet  nor the language that taught it how to walk.

An inscription stronger than titanium and more permanent than destiny.

Even when it detours to a space more temporary, the wind cannot lift away lift its particles.

May the footsteps be revered as much as where it stands.

Wherever the mind leads the feet, may it say it knew where it wanted to go.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Two-Lament By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Two-Lament By Hannah Williams

building hands bristled and bruised turns heaviness into light
and the ugly tears streaming from the broken but beautiful hearts
ask the fragmented hope to forget thy not and rejoice to remember thee
not as a song, not as prayer but it rises in that similitude
above the firmament and encircling the sky
it asks the clouds to lament but not weep.
because our tears rise high and the pain never numbs
this is how it feels to lose the one we thought would overcome.

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty One-Chandelier By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty One-Chandelier By Hannah Williams

When emotions are excessive and the mind cannot cope.  Close the eyes and imagine each strand. Dangling like chandelier pieces. A glistening ray of hope beacons. A festivity of light dances in the mind. Hold the light. Hold the hope. Let it fizzle the fear. Can you hear the crystals chorus and the diamond note. Each time you feel the fear, close your eyes and hang each feeling on the chandelier.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty- Daughter Of A Yellow Sun By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty- Daughter Of A Yellow Sun By Hannah Williams

The shards of bottles and debris on the road sinks into the bare feet. The crimson liquid trickles upward. The scarlet paints on the clear canvas of the skin, forming across the ankle a cerise daisy chain. When the red soil sticks to skin, the potency of the sun burns the cut deep within. With the rhythm of discomfort, the steps begin to synchronise. To adjust the afflictions, carry the shadow on your back throughout the journey. With seven songs away from surrender, find the reservoir for eight and learn the wind’s symphony. Amidst this, find a vitality so vivacious that the fragmented mountains makes way for the sunlight. Then find simplicity so easy that causes the river to mirror the silhouette of every sunset and sunrise. Above it all, the horizon over the lily-white sky promises to soak in the splendour of the shine.  You are no longer the wanderlust light, you are the daughter of a yellow sun.

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Nine- Frown Lines

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Nine- Frown Lines

When the voice was stolen and she could sing no more, the frown formed and the lines found solace on her face. In her silence, it defended her. A world where hostility determines if you’re victimised and she’d rather be the victor. So she put it on each morning. After all, you cannot report expressions but you can recall words. Yet we all know that frowning is not precaution and smiling is not softness. If only she didn’t hold onto yesterday’s worries which are drawing the outline of tomorrow. The scowl she wears wouldn’t be a testament of her sorrow.

 

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Eight- Why Did You Follow Me?

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Eight- Why Did You Follow Me?

Before deciding to walk in her shoes let her show you her feet. The callous blisters tarnished by the stones who decided to dance on her soles. Yet she walking barefoot across the equator with the red soil tarnishing the pigments of her skin. When she crossed the ocean, borders poured cold water which began to sting. The earth became her shroud covering her in the dust. Like the temperature of the desert, she was scorching like the sun. When her tired eyes saw peace, she ran to towards the mirage only to find illusions are the mirrors to the mind. When the fisherman boat waded by the shore, she became the destiny that wanted more. For herself and for her dreams. A damsel determined to stay afloat. A journey across her dreams beyond what she ever wrote. Yet dreams capsize on that solemn day. Her spirit left her essence and it soared far away. When the morning swallow danced over the scene, her body asked the earth why did you follow me?

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Seven: Echoes By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Seven: Echoes By Hannah Williams

As the television transmits the news unable to peel the callous layers of her mind.
She owns a seared conscience which no longer flinch at the vivid violent paintings on her screen.

When the hunger of little children hums- she no longer feels guilty.
When the injustice harmonises with the defenceless- it no longer warrants her pity.
When death sings over nations- she no longer feels sadness.
When corruption chants dishonestly- she no longer calls it madness.

Echoes whispers
the equator set the precedence

As the smartphone announces itself by vibrating to alert her of the notifications.
She owns a conscience willing to bloom on social media where she becomes an
advocate for the ones she cared not.

Echoes whisper
the tweets set the precedence.

How do you tell her she owes the world nothing?
In silence or in deed, the world goes on.

Echoes whisper
the discontentment set the precedence.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Six: There Will Always Be A Rainbow By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Six: There Will Always Be A Rainbow By Hannah Williams

A rainbow formed after the raindrops and the sunlight kissed the vapour.

Melting the chaos and illuminating the future.

A reminder that when the storm becomes frightening and the sky thunders with lightning and the rays no longer shining and my fears become frightening.

There will always be a rainbow.

A rainbow formed after the raindrops  where the sunlight kissed the vapour.

Melting the chaos and illuminating the future.

There will always be a rainbow.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Five: No Longer Collecting Thank You By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Five: No Longer Collecting Thank You By Hannah Williams

I am collecting all the thank you I have ever received. I’m gathering them up to burn it and have it cremated. From here on hence, I don’t use them anymore. Or rather I’m not allowing people to use it on me.  I have crossed the ocean for you and seared my feet amongst volcanoes. If the extra mile was required, I have traveled to space. Should you require a coat, I have bought you the winter collection. Yet, all I earned was your thank you. If you bought me a card, even worse, you took the time to reflect on everything I did for you and condense the worth into a fragment of the trees. Now you’re just taking oxygen away from me. I have too much thank you from being passive when I thought I was kind. If thank you was a sword, I have been stabbed in the back too many a-time. Its just words you pluck and you don’t mean it true. Your thank you are formalities and not because of what I do. Or rather what I did. I’m leaving you alone to wallow in your so-called politeness. When you’re done with the eyeservice take the ‘you are not welcome’ as my kind-heartedness .

 

 

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Four: Of Who We Are By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Four: Of Who We Are By Hannah Williams

What do you say to me?
When you’re done selling broken dreams?
Whilst tears fall down my cheeks like bitter streams.
In my search to redeem what could not be fixed.
Instead of the tepid truth,
You make promises on rainbows that didn’t form after the rain.
Your deception got me dancing on clouds.
It got me wishing on stars.
My reality reaching towards some distant planet- perhaps mars.
Your deception took us that far.
Instead of revelling on the authenticity of who we are.

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Three: Imagine By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Three: Imagine By Hannah Williams

Imagine a garden
An elusive garden.

You walk past the willow tree
It reflects your silenced state.
Yet you do not cry nor smile.
You did that on your first visit.
I did both on my second.
This is together is our third.
The wind knows our names.
Yet it dares not trouble.
Petals fall beneath your feet.
With no reverence of them
You step solemnly.
With the shroud of your voice stripped.

Solemn sounds are now stolen.
I have seared your silence.

Across the wooden bridge
With an effervescent lake beneath.
I saw the bilingual beauty
Of flora and fauna coexisting.
So, I walked across,
Wading by the waters.
You could have warned me.
Yet I know, in a world with no words.
Actions design the fate.
I died in that lake.
Why did you take the bridge?

Imagine this open space
An elusive place.

Where the Bird of Elegance walks
Asking you to take one of its feathers.
Promising you it will give you a voice.
A voice that makes you speak up.
It is not about your accent or pace.
Nor about dialects and sociolects.
Rather a voice of your own.
Articulated in speech and tone.
Fanning out its feathers
Take one for your shroud.
Let your words walk like the Bird of Elegance.
Parade the prose like a peacock.

Which feather did you pluck?
What did it mean to you?

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Two- The Seed By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Two- The Seed By Hannah Williams

A seed              seeking sunlight
swells and sweats. 
Through its seed coat. 
Shooting
taproot in the soil. 
Submerged    it pokes its head through 
the earth.
Until it blooms,
Soothed by the serene song of photosynthesis.  

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty One- Broken Tears By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty One- Broken Tears By Hannah Williams

A droplet of despair
Dripping from once-dried tear ducts.
Flowing frequently
A flimsy attempt to hold them
Piece it together
Patchwork the pain.
Sew it silently.
With the excess crochet it
Turn it into a commodity
Then sell the once broken tears to the tradesmen at the stall.
Tell them you’ve got an ocean you’ll be bringing in the fall.

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty- Peace Stood Still Like A Tree By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty- Peace Stood Still Like A Tree By Hannah Williams

Peace stood still like a tree
Asking the wind to call all nations both bond and free. 

A valley of freedom we use to know
Now drenched in yesterdays cold crimson conflict which overflows
Blood became thicker than the lake’s water.
Nobody is their brother’s keeper.

Peace stood still like a tree
Asking the wind to call the nations both bond and free.

Above the sorrowful sky
Lies vultures circling the hemisphere like flies.
Reaping from genocides harvest.
The silent hour at its darkest.

Peace stood still like a tree
Asking the wind to call all nations both bond and free.

She stood silent wailing like a willow tree.
Around her the nations gathered to make a decree.
Taking her leaves, they stripped her bare.
Clothed her with flags and burnt each tear.

Peace use to stand there like a tree,
Asking the wind to call the nations both bond and free.
Do not tell anyone what you hear nor what you see.
They are now looking for liberty and so she flee. 

 

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Nine- Dear You By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Nine- Dear You By Hannah Williams

Sunset and sunrise can be as beautiful as hellos and goodbyes.
At each instance, it doesn’t matter if your heart skips a beat or your stomach gets butterflies.
Each sleepless nights invites days which will bring you closer to the sweetest lullabies.
You may have been chained but know your ankles have power to break shackles.
You may have carried the weight of the world on your shoulders.
Tilt your neck and it will fall off.
You may have lifted your eyes to the mountains and saw giants.
Fix your eyes on the valley and pick three stones.
Amidst it all keep going.
For your feelings and fears are not your reality.
Dear you,
All you have been through makes you true.
So rise above it like a sunrise.
Let the fears dim like a fading sunset.

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Six- Illusions By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Six- Illusions  By Hannah Williams

When the moonlight reflects a mirage
Wait for the sun to say it’s an illusion.
Don’t rely on the mind which makes a faint figure
Yet sight and sound tells us its called perception.
Once materialised where do illusions go?
Maybe above and beyond the fading rainbow.

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Five- Not So Toxic By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Five- Not So Toxic By Hannah Williams

A song of poison spewed on the silent lips.
She gathered it and let it salsa on her tongue.
Then she showed her fangs slyly.
To ignite fear in me.
A warning sign that she is ready to sink deep within,
Deep into my skin, she bites.
The bite is not the worst,
As she disguised it as a kiss
Then she watched and waited
For the venom to overshadow me.
Yet she didn’t know before this,
I made her venomoid in her sleep.
I had to let her know that my precaution isn’t weak.

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Four- The Kiss By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Four- The Kiss By Hannah Williams

I expected the earth to shift
And oceans to be set adrift.
At the spark of our lips
Under this lunar eclipse.
A soft song fluttered in my tongue
Which birthed a love so young.
It still makes my heart skip.
To think of how your mouth danced on my lips.

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Three- Acceptance Will Be My Duty By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Three- Acceptance Will Be My Duty By Hannah Williams

Like a peacock spreading its feathers,
I span out my feelings.
Like hands holding each other,
I long for this meaning.
Like petals to a flower,
I seek my purpose and beauty.
In this very hour,
Acceptance will be by duty.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Two- The Glass House By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Two- The Glass House By Hannah Williams

Look at my glass house but don’t throw stones
For sticks and stones may break my home.
This fragile abode with a transparent gaze,
Often leaves people amazed.
So you see my in’s and out.
A glass house is like a vase.
Prized.
Fragile.
Ornamented.
Look deeper and you’ll see my fears.
For I was a fool to build my years on a house so easy to break.
This is my mistake.

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty One- I Am Abstract By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty One- I Am Abstract By Hannah Williams

I am abstract.
So you’d need to extract,
What I mean with songs, paintings, words and emotions.
My mind works in creative notions.

Some days I ask- Am I a circle or a square?
Or am I a shape that’s not even there?
Could I be right and wrong at the same time?
Black and White has become a grey line.

I am abstract.
So you’d need to extract,
What facets of my identity are intact?
Which part of me is a falsifiable fact?

Some days I ask- Am I bounded or free?
Or do I even know what it takes to be me?
Could I be anything I set my mind to?
And achieve and succeed at all I do.

I am abstract.
So you’d need to extract
The difference between my future and my past.
And would I be able to say I made it at last.

Some days I ask- is the problem with me or society?
Or am I the change I hope to see quietly.
Could I be a world changer?
Or are my aspirations full of danger.

I am abstract.
So you’d need to extract,
The balance of optimism and pessimism.
Don’t make me live in realism.

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty- Dear Daughter By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty- Dear Daughter By Hannah Williams

I will not be able to calm the storm
Nor promise you that I’d walk on water.
Yet if you find yourself sinking.
Remember like mother like daughter.
I have had my share of drowning
But you will not suffer.
I have made my sacrifices for you,
Because I want to be your mother.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Nine- Limbo In A Promise By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Nine- Limbo In A Promise By Hannah Williams

At a cross way with a cold chorus,
Promise was left to be pious.
On the right hand of promise was the infallible good.
On the left hand of promise was the infallible bad.
For Promise has the power to snap your decisions into two.
So be benign when you,
Cross your heart and hope to die.
Cross your heart and hope to live.
Cross your body and hope health will restore the derelict.
Cross your mind and hope to believe.
Cross your spirit and hope to breathe
Cross your soul and hope to resurrect.
Do not tarry.
Do not wait.
Do not limbo in a Promise.
For when you lay six feet forever,
Your choices, decisions and promises will lie on too.

 

 

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Eight- The Financial Crisis By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Eight- The Financial Crisis By Hannah Williams


The world has felt your wrath before.
We felt your violent shake and your ravenous storm.
We give new names to old gods.
You were once the Latin American Sovereign debt.
Then you reincarnated as the Asian crisis.
Before you plagued us in all hemispheres and revealed your self as the Global Financial Crisis.
We know your nature.
We know your will.
We saw your guise.
Nonetheless we were none the wise.
You came bearing presents.
Your gifts were derivatives.
To change the narrative of risk.
We accepted it with open arms and flooded the market with your benevolence.
We didn’t know you were lingering in the air.
Junk bonds became butterflies.
And if only credit rating agencies clipped its wings.
Maybe they wouldn’t fly.
Nor flutter beautifully.
Or maybe they saw butterflies and called it moths.
These moths ate the garnishing garments that hid the secrets of finance.
Then the academics saw beauty in ashes.
Formulas which will change the dynamics of how to price.
Then they called it gold.
And the bankers were completely sold.
If only they saw its journey with hindsight.
But you did. And you were lurking, waiting and hungered for this disaster.
Amidst it all, you cheered them all.
On. On. On.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Seven: Consent by Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Seven: Consent by Hannah Williams


I say it with her.
I say it for her.
Then I let her say it with and for herself.
We both learnt to say it.
Before we are reduced.
For you saw her innocence.
What was it made of?
It was laced with naivety
Intricately woven with virtue.
Hemmed with impeccability.
You took each stitch off.
With your seam ripper.
We could call it patriarchy.
We could call it male dominance.
We could call it chauvinistic.
We could call it a power bias.
It need not matter the new names we give to old gods.
For the crimes you committed against her, I will ask God not to spare the rod.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Six- Name Power By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Six- Name Power By Hannah Williams

An unjustifiable criteria
Determined by a crooked line
Spewed out to split the equator into two.
I’ve heard the names one half calls the other.
To make it better the cunning half changed the terms.
Less economically developed replaced poor.
Regulation replaced corruption
Grass root movements replaced unemployment.
Parallels living in contradiction.
So the oppressed South asks the oppressing North.
Why do you give the same inconceivable acts new names?
Call the rose by its name.
For in the power of names,
Hides your solution to each change.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Five- Take Me By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Five- Take Me By Hannah Williams

Take me to the river
To wade by the water in the winter moonlight.
In the depths of the river reflects a woman who drowned trying to grasp freedom.
A man whose hopes of emancipation dangles around his neck.
At the river bank lies children whose bodies are rooted in the ground as if they’re flowers.

Take me to the path
The long golden road
Where scars are healed and derogatory terms are seized.
Rising with the sunrise
Seeing Dr King’s dreams for the nation living in me.

Take me to the classroom
Absorbing the Golden Rules
The new testaments of what to say
The commandments on how to say it.
The Grace on when to say it

Take me to the kitchen
Where the word blares loudly
And you said it proudly
Stabbed the woman, the man and the children by the river.
Stole the living dream in me
Moved me away from the equilibrium of my understanding.

So answer me this?
Who did you oppress more?
When you said the word
Was it me? Or Was It You?

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Four- The State Of Mind By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Four- The State Of Mind By Hannah Williams

I looked into her eyes and smiled.
But what could smiling prove.
When I could see me in her eyes.
So my smiles were just lucid lies.
Even though I could recognise her in me.
My misconceptions were flying free.
The hums of her cry is my lullaby,
that wakes me up at night.
But not because of my power and might.
For the pain travels in space and time.
Only to discover that weeping is for the night.
So just like her, we have the same fight.
For the state of mind is our very plight.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Three- The Great Silence By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Three- The Great Silence By Hannah Williams

My mind is awake
My mouth is numb.
My soul a lake,
I’m deaf and dumb.

My mind is awake.
My ears are dead.
My senses fake,
The great silence is fed.

My mind is awake.
My voice is gone.
My soul a lake,
Silence within me is done.

My mind is awake.
But I cannot speak
Nor can I critique,
But the great silence leaks.

 

 

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Two- The Stages of Negativity By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Two- The Stages of Negativity By Hannah Williams

Lost. 
In the deep sea of my own desire.
In the fortitude of peace my soul longs to retire.
Hope is the song my voice wants to acquire.
Inhaling the laziness of my acts as I respire.

Toxic
To the progression around me.
The doubtful thoughts of my mind roam free.
Let my thoughts just be.

Doubt
Can I really do what I say I can?
What happened to actions? What happened to plans?
Hope my dreams does not have a life span?
I did what I could – I ran!

Action
I’ll just do whatever it is
Slowly but surely and I certainly will win.
The bubble of negativity is starting to fizz.
Discarding my thoughts of failure into the mind’s bin.

 

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty One- The Dreamers Song By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty One- The Dreamers Song By Hannah Williams

Dreams soar high on the mountain top.
Holding onto hope so it never drops.
Liberty flowing in harmony with the river bed.
Calling courage to forget what the valley said.

This is the hopes and dreams of men.
Forever, now and even then.
Waiting for the fortitude of the unspoken.
Healing the sorrows of the broken.

Dreams soar high on the mountain top.
Holding onto hope so it never drops.
Liberty flowing in harmony with the river bed.
Calling courage to forget what the valley said.

This is the chorus and symphony of the weary.
Those unfixable in theory.
Whose spirit knows hurt and melancholies?
But their soul knows endless melodies.

Dreams soar high on the mountain top.
Holding onto hope so it never drops.
Liberty flowing in harmony with the river bed.
Calling courage to forget what the valley said.

Whisper to the wind your worries.
Let the elements thrust it through its flurries.
The pain you once knew is shattered
Soon none of it will have mattered.

Still, dreams soar high on the mountain top.
Holding onto hope so it never drops.
Liberty flowing in harmony with the river bed.
Calling courage to forget what the valley said.

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty- What The Dream Taught Me By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty- What The Dream Taught Me By Hannah Williams

A dream is a living legacy which cannot be killed by death.
Transcends emancipation.
It transcends liberty.
In fact, it transcend freedom.
That I can hope for freedom within my constraints.
He taught me.
In the content of your character lies the change.
That after death your legacy can live on.
The man with a dream taught me this.

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Nineteen- Stages Of Denial By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Nineteen- Stages Of Denial By Hannah Williams

Stage one is characterised by fear.
The entity that floats to a mind.
Inviting itself in and out like a comfortable family friend.
It tells you what cripples you.
Debilitating your ability to trust yourself.
Once fear has marinated in your mind.
Then you can progress to the next stage.
Welcome to projecting your fear through bitterness.
You start telling others, you cannot do that.
The well- crafted response drown in ‘venomness’.
As fear told you, you decide to tell others.
Once you wallowed in your bitterness, progress in your denial.
Welcome to hatred.
For you can see a glimpse of their hope.
Flickering like flames on a candle.
Love is the light.
Hate is in your eyes.
Yet you know one is stronger.
And it’s not yours.
The hate eats every tissue, sinews and bones in your body.
Never finding the serenity in change.
You lie down each day telling yourself that life will always be this way.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Eighteen- Why Live In Denial By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Eighteen- Why Live In Denial By Hannah Williams

Why live in denial?
When you could be free.
Why live in denial?
When you could just let situations be.
Why live in denial?
When you could focus your attention on more.
Why live in denial?
When you could see what the world has in store.
Why live in denial?
When you could transcend?
Why live in denial?
When what is broken can be mend.
Why live in denial?
When it is easier to persevere.
Denial is looking back with a heart full of fear.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Seventeen- Dreaming In Denial By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Seventeen- Dreaming In Denial By Hannah Williams

Denial is saying yes when you mean no.
Whilst the choice rests with you.
The choice lies peacefully as you watch it sleep.
You dare not wake it up.
You dare not make a noise.
You leave it as it is.
Even though you know what to do.
Even though the power lies in your hand to make a change.
Even though it tears you up.
You let choice sleep on.
You let choice wake up on its own.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Sixteen– Community Observations By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Sixteen– Community Observations By Hannah Williams

 

We sit on benches
As the words in my throat clenches
Some on the field.
Where daisies and dandelions have yield.

We inhale the breeze
Our problems we release
Gone with the wind.
Because we sat on a field.

Music blaring loudly
Birds singing proudly.
Not that they know all the words
But their noise is not void.

Nature greets us well.
With lavenders, daisies and cherry blossom trees.
On this landscape no one is free.

In the year 2017
I have lost all that could have been.
My eyes have seen pain
But I hope it is not in vain.

In a community of labels,
Where its deemed no one is stable
I know in my heart I am able.

Tales of each person unknown
But our hearts cannot be made of stone.
Sinews, flesh, body, mind and bones.
Maybe in time tranquillity will lead us home.
For we cannot do this alone.

 

 

 

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifteen- I Know Even Though I Don’t Live On The Estate By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifteen- I Know Even Though I Don’t Live On The Estate By Hannah Williams

I know even though I don’t live on the estate.
Devolution is the politician’s word for recreate…
Rebrand and make the surrounding more upstate.
The only thing they’ll do is paint the gate.

I know even though I don’t live on the estate
Crime usually rises when it’s late
You’ve been hearing the sirens since you were eight
Hope it’s not for your best mate.

I know even though I don’t live on the estate
No one knows what each day awaits
Post code conflicts may give you a high heart rate
And you street sense reactions must be innate

I know even though I am not from the estate
So I don’t mean to berate
Most have resigned to their fate
They cannot do much but settle for this state.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fourteen– No Job For Jack By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Fourteen– No Job For Jack By Hannah Williams

Defying the estate stereotype,
Jack decided to be the perfect prototype.
He went to university.
Just to face employment adversity.

He worked too hard.
But the economy is bad.
He gave education all he had.
First class university grad.
Unemployment makes him sad.
Whilst Brad just asked his dad.

A myriad of applications sent.
Interviews came and went.
On interview attires all his money he spent.
These rejection are becoming too frequent.

So what’s poor Jack got to do?
Lost in life, he hasn’t got a clue.
The corporate dream he had outgrew,
Corporate companies don’t want people like you.
For your life, experiences and struggles make you true.

Three years wasted and nothing to show
Life has dealt him a hard blow
He took the modules for all he needed to know
Meritocracy kept telling him to go
Looking back now you can’t change the status quo
He should have given up ages ago.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirteen – If The Community Had Spoken By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirteen – If The Community Had Spoken By Hannah Williams

Our people are broken;
But what would happen if the community had spoken?
If it had said we are here for the mental,
Our hearts won’t be judgemental.

Our people are broken;
But what would happen if the community had spoken?
And said we are here for single mums.
We saw your journey we know where you’re coming from.

Our people are broken
But what would happen if the community had spoken?
We are here for those with criminal records.
We’ll help you achieve all the good you work towards.

Our people are broken
But what would happen if the community had spoken?
To those who face unemployment issues
And just offered them a shoulder to cry and a box of tissues.

Our people are broken;
But what would happen if the community had spoken?
For the small children who face hunger day to day
And spoke to the government to have their say.

Our people are broken;
But what would happen if the community had spoken?
For our elderly whose water bill run high
And asked the electricity companies why.

Our people are broken;
But what would happen if the community had spoken?
Maybe our people will be less heartbroken
And unity will be our token.

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twelve- Important Nothings By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Twelve- Important Nothings By Hannah Williams

I remember putting so much effort into childhood and youth.
For I perceived it as the core of my root.
Especially if I wanted to live a life worth remembering.
My efforts had to be enduring.
I needed to stand the test of time.
So that adulthood would turn out fine.

Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Twelve- Important Nothings By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Eleven- Stones By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Eleven- Stones By Hannah Williams

 

I rested calmly by the sea shore.
Content with where I am I dare not ask for more.
Until the day I was picked up from the beach floor.
To skid upon the water like one, two, three  and four.
So I discovered life anew.
Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Eleven- Stones By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Ten- The Elements By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Ten- The Elements By Hannah Williams

The Elements

By Hannah Williams©

 

What is beneath the soil?
Is it gold? Is it minerals? Is it oil?
To which the locals under the sun toil.
For the rich man to gather his spoil.

What is above the air?
Is it justice? Is it equity? Is it fair?
Does everybody get an equal share?
Can everyone thrive here?

What is the fire that spurs out flame?
Is it hot? Is it bright? Is it burning with an aim?
Does it burn down the bridges called blame?
Can we know it by its name?

Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Ten- The Elements By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Nine-Mars and Venus By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Nine-Mars and Venus By Hannah Williams

Men are from Mars.
Women are from Venus.
So who lives on earth?

Men are from Mars.
Women are from Venus.
So tell me, who or what lives in Uranus?

Men are from Mars.
Women are from Venus.
When will all the planet relieve us?

Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Nine-Mars and Venus By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Eight-Small But Mighty By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Eight-Small But Mighty By Hannah Williams

A grain in the Sahara is me.
Take a handful to see.
That I am distinct.
But me and the sand dune are linked.
For a heap of sand forms the sand dune.
Ready to dance to the wind’s tune. Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Eight-Small But Mighty By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Seven- Empire State Of London (An Interlude To Society) By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Seven- Empire State Of London (An Interlude To Society) By Hannah Williams

A city where dreams can be snatched.
Even when your ambition is matched.
Your dreams mean nothing in the city.
And from the people don’t expect pity.

Knife crime and teen violence are on the rise.
When will we learn to stop acting surprise.
For the kids imitate role models from the street.
Because they rap about violence to a good beat. Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Seven- Empire State Of London (An Interlude To Society) By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Six- The English Dream By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Six- The English Dream By Hannah Williams

I walk by Aylestone meadow.
Where birds sing and the tree’s follow.
The woodland’s air I breathe
The canal bed walks like me.

I meander with each bend
For the crevasses and cracks on the path like me need a mend.
Me and nature are at one.
Till the trail is dead and gone. Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Six- The English Dream By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Five- Until We Killed Me By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Five- Until We Killed Me By Hannah Williams

At this hour I learnt to weep silently.
Sitting in the silence.
Speaking with my darkness.
My remedy for a broken heart.
A heart that had nothing but love to give.
It bleeds… now.
Has a rhythm of your rejection.
A symptom of neglection. Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Five- Until We Killed Me By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Four- Moodiness (I Wore It As A Dress) By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Four- Moodiness (I Wore It As A Dress) By Hannah Williams

I wore moodiness as a dress.
With a matching headband called stress,
My handbag conceals my emotions which are a mess.
But my shoes point me to a road which reads confess.

You’d be surprised to hear what the world sell.
And how many people fell
For buying this dress called moodiness is expensive.
The after effects are not euphoria but apathetic and apprehensive.

So what led me to buy these things?
Well I brought it because my emotions stings
The dress I brought did cling to my hip.
But the tag did say it may cause me to flip. Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Four- Moodiness (I Wore It As A Dress) By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Three- Love (Within Me) By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Three- Love (Within Me) By Hannah Williams

 

I know there is love within me.
I know its there but others cannot see.
For this love is an entity.
That transforms my identity.

I know there is love within me.
I know it’s there but others cannot see.
For this love knows my history.
So it knows how to silence my minds endless philosophy.

I know there is love within me.
I know it’s there but others cannot see.
It is a love that accepts my biology
But its constrained by time and space so I guess it knows my geography. Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Three- Love (Within Me) By Hannah Williams”

Sunday Stanza: Poem Two- Lonely Ocean By Hannah Williams

Sunday Stanza: Poem Two- Lonely Ocean By Hannah Williams

I’m a lonely ocean.
Kissing the shore.
Moving with its motions.
Longing for more.

I’m a lonely ocean.
Looking for the sea.
To carry away my emotion.
Till I discover me. Continue reading “Sunday Stanza: Poem Two- Lonely Ocean By Hannah Williams”