https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWyNhUrLKVI WORDS (My Taste For Rain Has Changed): my taste for rain has changedI no longer cry storms.my taste for thunder begun,when my feet vowed to return. my taste for rain on arid soil,the dawn begunand with the weather I was overi vowed my storm will return. Under the faint sky,my taste for rain evolved.Grew … Continue reading My Taste For Rain Has Changed (Poetry)
WORDS:clearing out the truths in my closeti find another.amidst the chaos and the calm,there drapes the dark woollen coat.persistently promising to always be in vogue.its length smiles at my older selfits warmth laughs at my latter daysits style larks at the former selfits size beams in my early agetelling me its elegance is graspedat a … Continue reading Black Sheep (Poetry)
WORDS: she asks herself and asks again. as her voice breaks like floral porcelains, she picks up the pieces. it hurts, it takes time. for the little pieces perforates and sinks into the hands like the painful memories. there she pulls the shards and plaster the wound. silence reminds her that she has been here … Continue reading Ask (Poetry)
WORDS:at the dark red dusk, the monsoon flooded raining kerosene and paraffin trickles of oil lashed like lightning leaving imprint on wooden windowsthe flames upraising like an anthem and we asked our bloodshot eyes to stop chantingwith smoke engraved in our parched coughingwe watch the arid commodities burn with the heat.red spices and brown … Continue reading Arson (Poetry)
Poem When we two partedIn silence and tears,Half broken-heartedTo sever for years,Pale grew thy cheek and cold,Colder thy kiss;Truly that hour foretoldSorrow to this.The dew of the morningSunk chill on my brow –It felt like the warningOf what I feel now.Thy vows are all broken,And light is thy fame;I hear thy name spoken,And share in … Continue reading Poetry Analysis: When We Two Parted by Lord Bryon (1788–1824)
WORDS:Examine the flailing weeks fold itself like paper;as it cuts the days, tucks in the minutes and creases the seconds.cocooning into an origami of the things it strives fortill it calls into the calmest crane.forgetting a thousand cranes brings luckbut this one is troubled; creased by a thousandyet it doesn’t sink in its despondencebut … Continue reading Lesson From A Paper Crane (Poetry)
This blog post will provide you with a free Excel worksheet that allows you to organise your creative opportunities in one place. You can see the status, deadline, priority, level of progress, requirements and notes all in one place. This fully functional worksheet is a free download. Creative Writing Opportunities Tracker WorksheetDownload This worksheet has … Continue reading A Simple Tool To Track Creative Writing Opportunities
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHn1AZ1e0Xg A split in the soil. Drought across the Saharan. Silence the nomads. Please like, comment and subscribe to my YouTube Channel Thank you for watching!
****Trigger Warning: Contains themes of suicide**** We’ve been doing this for the past four years, ever since we read it in Goodbye magazine. It was the ‘7 Pacts You Should Make To Honour Your Friendship’ article which suggested that friends should allocate the time to see each other regularly. So, we decided that every last … Continue reading Prose/Short Story: Goodbye Magazine By Hannah Williams
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GpDt_-CObQ i. my word is a heron trying to swallow its fishbut the bare bones spike against the bitter bills. across the hill over the black lake drowns the words that i cannot say. ii. so i find solace in echoes of the skybut do not seek the lineage callfor the clouds swallow softlywhen they … Continue reading The Heron Across The Black Lake (Poetry)
WORDS: at 3.am the news wades on the white Calla- lily porcheach held breath praysprobing for the serenity of the things that yesterday cannot change. the opulent ivory door laments for the two pulsating hearts denying rational thoughts as silence slays the hopeof going back to sleep whole. no longer wadingits presence satiates the room … Continue reading 3 AM (Poetry)
Carrying maps we movethrough battlegrounds and trails,roadways, displays andmuseums built of alabasteron swamps in cities marked withEuropean names Following blue lines, red circlesstreet signs and highway markerscompass points and scalemeasuring distance between placesand distant constellationsthat will one day disappearSlipping into another formcatching glimpses of the futurecherished and held inour collective past, pressedbetween magnetic pagesreframed and … Continue reading An Analysis of Maps by Doug Hoekstra
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Four: A Land of Honey and Milk by Hannah Williams
Your boat is moored on the black canal and the woman is playing the cello for you, long low notes the colour of crows’ wings. You are a sound-box, air vibrates inside your bones as each note elongates, a dark expanse –are you under her protection, or is it a baffle she draws around you, … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘On the Black Canal’ by Helen Tookey
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Three-Journey 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Two-Lament 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. … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty One-Chandelier 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty- Daughter Of A Yellow Sun By Hannah Williams
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Eight- Why Did You Follow Me?
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Seven: Echoes 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Six: There Will Always Be A Rainbow By Hannah Williams
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYhrgh3GIvY Cherry Blossom (Haiku) A bold infusion, bleeds fuchsia deeply. A petal falls eastward. Please like, comment and subscribe to my YouTube Channel Thank you for watching!
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. … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Five: No Longer Collecting Thank You By Hannah Williams
When memories become distant, the mind strives to hold onto whatever remains. Yet, I was determined not to forget. Especially when I began to think and dream about her. I saw her frail, distant and almost elusive. But still, I was conflicted by the thought of how she could live a life without me. Why … Continue reading Prose/Short Story: Too Late By Hannah Williams (Microfiction)
Bitter Waters (Translated by Shash Trevett) See these lines on my upturned palm. They are the rivers of tears that have washed my face. They are the rivers of blood that have washed my land. Flowing first in trickles, then streams and then in torrents: they are the swells of voices that have cried out … Continue reading An Analysis of Bitter Waters Translated By Shash Trevett
Writing haikus has been a simple yet complex process because I am aware that the English form of haikus is very different to what constitutes as a haiku in Japan. This is because sentence structures and syllables are quite different in these two cultures. Yet, the universal essence of nature as the topic of an … Continue reading Why I Write Haikus?
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Four: Of Who We Are By Hannah Williams
The footpath leading to the lake where she walked barefoot with the red soil discolouring her bronze skin. As the dust rises, she hopes to emerge as its daughter waiting to be uplifted by the wind. She looked back at her footsteps imprinted in the sand wondering if her ancestors had embossed their footprints too. … Continue reading Prose/Short Story: Red Soil (Micro Fiction)
Solitary is bitter to starving souls searching for freedom but freedom is what I have always dreamt of. A world where I can sing with the wind and join the chorus of flocking birds singing in the dawn. A life far greater than being a caged bird. I am having the serenity to accept the … Continue reading Prose/Short Story: The Telling Gaze Of A Caged Bird
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Three: Imagine 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.
The Children's Society has launched a campaign known as Seriously Awkward.This competition seeks short stories inspired by the awkward stage most sixteen and seventeen years old experience. But what exactly does it mean to be awkward? When I searched for the synonyms of awkward, the dictionary gave definitions such as difficult, stubborn and obstinate. These … Continue reading The Children’s Society Writing Competition- What Does It Mean To Be Awkward?- (Character Ideas And Writing Prompts)
A Guest May Come by Vojka Djikic (Translated by Chris Agee) Hold on tight to me And we'll find the way home. There the fire's still burning And in the corners Book lie open That ought to be read And the garden's there to dig The roses to prune. Thus it was said When we … Continue reading An Analysis Of ‘A Guest May Come’ By Vojka Djikic
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty One- Broken Tears 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty- Peace Stood Still Like A Tree 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Nine- Dear You By Hannah Williams
A soft scent soothes us, Through healing in its aura. A therapy tale.
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.
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Five- Not So Toxic 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.
The White Book is a short collection of prose which exudes the writers meditation on the topic matter of all things white. Throughout the book, we get a consistent imagery of white such as paper, snow and flowers. Although the book is well written, I did not enjoy the book and developed a love-hate … Continue reading Book Review: The White Book by Han Kang
I've always loved quotes and find inspiration and wisdom in them. So this afternoon, I have decided to sit down and reflect on some of the quotes that I have written and would like to share with the readers of my blog. I hope you like them or find it thought-provoking. 1. There is no … Continue reading 5 Real and Honest Quotes Written By Me
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.
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty Two- The Glass House By Hannah Williams
One foot down, then hop! It's hot. Good things for the ones that's got. Another jump, now to the left. Everybody for hisself. In the air, now both feet down. Since you black, don't stick around. Food is gone, the rent is due. Curse and cry and then jump two. All the people out of … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘Harlem Hopscotch’ by Dr Maya Angelou
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirty One- I Am Abstract 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.
Helium is a short poetry collection written by Rudy Francisco. It explores various facets of life such as love, mental health, race, acceptance and people. Although I came across the book on the Button Poetry website through their mailing list, my attitude towards the collection was very blasé. I didn't give it a chance until … Continue reading Book Review: Helium By Rudy Francisco
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Nine- Limbo In A Promise 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Eight- The Financial Crisis By Hannah Williams
The reflected lamplight shone on. It shone directly on me. It provided a simple illumination in this dark hour. In my deep darkness, I waded by the lamplight wondering how far humans have strayed from God’s light. Yet, I wondered if this light will illuminate my path home. It did. In fact, several reflected lamplights … Continue reading Prose/Short Story: The Reflected Lamplight By Hannah Williams
Beatitude By Nick Makoha (2017) When a rebel leader promises you the world seen in commercials, he will hold a shotgun to the radio announcer's mouth, and use a quilt of bristling static to muffle the tears. When the bodies disappear, discarded like husks of mangos, he will weep with you in the hours of … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘Beatitude’ By Nick Makoha
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Seven: Consent by Hannah Williams
Iknew society was absorbed with beauty and I learnt that from a young age. On this youthful summer day, I learnt one detrimental life lesson. I discovered the bias in beauty. I remember it so vividly. I was sitting in the playground and Amelia knocked the lunchbox from my hands. My food dropped and I … Continue reading Prose/Short Story: I Bought Death Instead of Beauty By Hannah Williams
my mother moved out of her body decided it was no longer worthy it couldn't contain her laughter she couldn't obey the house rules of human her spirit that young & fresh fever wanted to call the night her dance club wanted to try new clothes stay out later my mother now wears the … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘Death Ain’t Nothing But A Song’ By Donte Collins
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Six- Name Power By Hannah Williams
Like the yesterday of creation morning she had imagined this new world to be bereft of fecundity No she wasn't prepared for the sea that lashed fire that seared solid earth that delivered her up birds that flew not wanting to see the utter rawness of life everywhere and the men who seed the children … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘One Continent to Another’By Grace Nichols
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Five- Take Me By Hannah Williams
What The Dead Know By Donte Collins (2017) lately, when asked how are you, i respond with a name no longer living Rekia, Jamal, Sandra, Philando i am alive by luck at this point, i wonder often: if the gun will unmake me is yet made, what white birth will bury me, how many bullets, like … Continue reading An Analysis Of ‘What The Dead Know By Heart’ By Donte Collins
What Were They Like By Denise Levertov 1. Did the people of Viet Nam use lanterns of stone? 2. Did they hold ceremonies to reverence the opening of buds? 3.Were they inclined to quiet laughter? 4.Did they use bone and ivory jade and silver, for ornament? 5.Had they an epic poem? 6.Did they distinguish between … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘What Were They Like?’ By Denise Levertov
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Three- The Great Silence 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty Two- The Stages of Negativity 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty One- The Dreamers Song By Hannah Williams
Heavy with child belly an arc of black moon I squat over dry plantain leaves and command the earth to receive you in my name in my blood to receive you my curled bean my tainted perfect child my bastard fruit my seedling my sea grape my strange mullato my little bloodling Let the snake … Continue reading An Analysis Of ‘In My Name’ By Grace Nichols
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twenty- What The Dream Taught Me By Hannah Williams
I walked a mile with Pleasure; She chattered all the way, But left me none the wiser For all she had to say. I walked a mile with Sorrow And ne'er a word said she; But oh, the things I learned from her When Sorrow walked with me! Robert Browning Hamilton In the first stanza, … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘Along The Road’ By Robert Browning Hamilton
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Nineteen- Stages Of Denial By Hannah Williams
Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush. I am the swift uplifting … Continue reading An Analysis Of ‘Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep’ By Anon
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Eighteen- Why Live 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Seventeen- Dreaming In Denial 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Sixteen– Community Observations By Hannah Williams
Some time when the river is ice ask me mistakes I have made. Ask me whether what I have done is my life. Others have come in their slow way into my thought, and some have tried to help or to hurt: ask me what difference their strongest love or hate has made. I will … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘Ask Me’ By William Stafford
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifteen- I Know Even Though I Don’t Live On The Estate By Hannah Williams
This blog post will analyse the poem 'On My First Sonne' by Ben Jonson which is written below: On My First Sonne Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy; My sinne was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy. Seven yeeres tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay, Exacted by thy … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘On My First Sonne’ By Ben Jonson
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Fourteen– No Job For Jack By Hannah Williams
In this blog post, an analysis of the poem 'My Father Is A Retired Magician' will be made. The poem commence with this: my father is a retired magician which accounts for my irregular behavior everythin comes outta magic hats or bottles wit no bottoms & parakeets are as easy to get as a couple a rabbits … Continue reading An Analysis of ‘My Father Is A Retired Magician’ By Dr. Ntozake Shange
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Thirteen – If The Community Had Spoken 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. This was my important nothings. … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Twelve- Important Nothings 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. The journey was tough but the waves saw me through. I sank beneath the depths of the sea. Till the waves brought me back to the shore and re-branded me.
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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Ten- The Elements 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? Men are from Mars. Women are from Venus. But who … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Nine-Mars and Venus 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. For importance lies in each grain of the Sahara Desert sandstorm. Collectively, we radiate the … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Eight-Small But Mighty 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Seven- Empire State Of London (An Interlude To Society) 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. The … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Six- The English Dream 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. You sliced it with silence. Without remorse you walked away. Though … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Five- Until We Killed Me 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Four- Moodiness (I Wore It As A Dress) 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 … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem Three- Love (Within Me) 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. I'm a lonely ocean. Crashing against solitude. Moving in slow motion. No longer a lonely ocean if I can change my attitude.
My Guilt By Dr. Maya Angelou My guilt is “slavery’s chains,” too long the clang of iron falls down the years. This brother’s sold, this sister’s gone, is bitter wax, lining my ears. My guilt made music with the tears. My crime is “heroes, dead and gone,” dead Vesey, Turner, Gabriel, dead Malcolm, Marcus, Martin … Continue reading A Critique Of ‘My Guilt’ Poem By Dr. Maya Angelou
The emptiness absorbed and trickled down my window pane. The floor accommodates her in times of loneliness and despair. To gather the broken dreams in which I hurry to repair. Wiping away tears that synchronises with the rain. A bare and empty me. Who is she? I, myself and me. Could easily turn to three? … Continue reading Sunday Stanza: Poem One- A Trail Of Someone By Hannah Williams