Care

If I could colour my words

Folder: 
Human

 

 

 

 

If I could color my words

I would paint them when I send it to you

 

If you were sad, I would send them in gray

you can stay in the mist as long as you want  

 

If you feel in chaos, I would send them in green

The only anser is in a garden

 

If you were happy, I would send them in yellow

It would give you wings

 

If you were in tense, I would send them in black

It would absorb your fear

 

If you were relaxed, I would send them in blue

You would remember the night at the ocean and moon in the sky

 

If you were fragile, I would send them in violet

It would remind you that calm in silence

 

If you feel free, I would send them in rainbow.

You would realize that you are not alone

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

All the feelings has some clours but we can not see.

But you see it in your heart.

So I tried to discribe them in words.


 

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Care

Care

By jfarrell

 

At noon my ‘parents’ went on strike;

Children’s home, NALGO union…

National strike…

Nothing to do with us…

The children in care.

 

They walked out at noon.

The ‘Suits’ came round;

Council officials…

“We have to move you.”

 

My younger sister…

Boarding school in Wales….

Me… only space we got is borstal…

“SORRY! NO! NOT MOVING!”

 

Throughout the afternoon - police amassed;

Helmets, riot shields, batons….

That ONE police van….

Rocking, with muffled barking…

 

A dark grey freezing cold afternoon quickly became….

Dark, overcast, scary….

I saw that van open and all I saw was…

Teeth, hungry teeth, million dogs gonna eat me, bite me, hurt me….

 

I ran…..

Didn’t know where to, just away from here…

My breath misting in the air….

So cold….

Smell of burning….

It’s nearly guy fawlkes night….

What do you expect?……

 

The ashes floating past me

Were my CSE ‘A’ s …..

My education, my future,

Racing ahead of me in the freezing cold night.

 

I didn’t know….

And if I did,

Was there anything I could do?

15 years old, my children’s home going up in flames.

 

this is CARE!

For a political dispute….

I cut myself off from my family, forever;

And didn’t see my future burn as I did it.

 

I was just scared and running away from the dogs;

35 years later….

I’m not a meaningful, productive member of society;

I phone my sister her birthday, she phones me mine;

That’s it!

 

At 11 I was taken into ‘Care’;

“the Care of the State”.

Knowing why I, and my sister, were here…..

They still went out on strike…

 

Has the ‘Care System’ changed since then?

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

my children's home was not burned down, but a lot of fires were started, no idea who by, i was gone

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In loco parentis

In loco parentis

By jfarrell

 

The October, before my CSE’s…

My ‘parents’ went on strike;

My children’s home was closed, overnight….

Very violently.

 

I cut my ties with my family, that night; forever;

And my coursework, homework projects and text books

I didn’t realise the ashes floating past me was my future;

I didn’t even know a fire had been started.

 

Who’d worry bout all the ‘A’ grades they were expected to get;

Who’d say goodbye, forever, to mum, dad, and younger sister?

Who’d be so arrogant? So stupid?

A 15 year old kid, scared of growing up to be his dad?

 

I have always been my ‘in loco parentis’;

You see a nearly 50 year old man;

I am 6 years old, trying to talk my dad outta beating me

Learning that the ‘very free sweets, toys and comics’ have a price;

 

 

My parents were not fit enough!

And the children’s home…. I need parents… politics? Strike?

In this world, this life, that has never made any sense….

How have I done? As a parent?

 

I think, I’d have had me locked up, long ago.

 

Not fit, to be near children….

Or anyone.

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i wasn't much of a brother when our children's home closed... or long before then..

my staying away from her and her family now, makes me the best brother ever...

but, it doesn't make it right

and nothing ever will...

sorry..

this is poetry, not psychotherapy, or drunks are us....

i reeeeeeeeaaaaaallllllly love you... go on, give us a kiss....

 

;-)

 

A dream last night

A dream last night

By jfarrell

 

 

 

I dreamt, last night, that my mum had died;

I wonder if it’s prophetic,

The way some dreams are;

And I should be ashamed I feel no sadness, no loss.

 

I got taken into care when I was 11;

(“ and you probably deserved it; only thugs, feral children

And criminals end up in care; you probably deserved it”);

Is the unspoken accusation I hear, all my life.

 

My ‘loving, responsible’ mother

Poured a bottle of vodka down my 8 year old sister’s throat;

Then dumped her, unconscious, on the outside stairs,

When she collapsed.

 

I bet, when my nan and uncle were told about us going into care

There was no mention of alcohol;

I was always the scapegoat;

I was always to blame, every bad was my fault.

 

Hearing that my dad had died, did not release me from the pain;

I doubt my mum’s death will either;

And, 25 years from now I will still be cursing her;

As I do my father, 25 years dead now.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i've had many dreams, i'd describe as prophetic, ie in a sense they came true  - but i've never dreamed about my mother dying, though i've fantasized about it, often - does that make me an evil and wicked person, or just the same as everyone else alive?

I Held Back

Folder: 
Personal

"It's been a bit,

since I've written real words, 

real verbs, letters lined up 

to litter the page 

 

with alliteration, 

metaphors, hyperboles,

other devices that help gain

your undivided attention.

 

It's been a bit,

I almost quit,

because the last time I was on stage,

I felt like a tripped.

 

I felt like I didn't perform, 

I knew I was pulling punches, 

because there was much to consider, 

but now it's got me a little bitter.

 

I held back.

 

I held back,

lowering my tone,

juxtaposed to my actual voice;

loud.

 

I held back,

because of the 

familiar face

In the crowd.

 

I held back,

instead of letting it rip,

taking people on a little trip

to recount how one's lid

 

was flipped.

 

I held back

because I was scared

that I wasn't hip

and I wasn't hop, 

 

when I was raised on Wu-Tang 

and Nas 

in a place where 

where rain constantly drops,

 

and I know how

the beat drops, 

the mic rocks, 

and how rhymes can make time stop.

 

I held back 

because the tone of my skin 

has people guessing 

wrong my ethnicity, 

 

if you think I'm white,

you're not right, 

and to be honest 

that's not point.

 

Because I come from a place 

where I was too nerd to be brown

and too chale be white 

and too polite to be hanging out 

with the gangsters 

 

stealing cars 

and shooting at other's backs,

and if you think

I'm talking about blacks

 

that's the problem,

assumption causes caution, 

because not only were those 

want-to-be thugs

 

of fairer skin, 

my only friends

were much darker kin.

In the Marines,

 

we call ourselves green,

and you're either 

dark green, 

light green,

 

and there's no disillusion,

you disagree? 

Shoot, 

perhaps in the Army.

 

And yes, 

the Navy too, 

there's no turning back, 

I'm no longer holding back,

 

what I'm saying is true. 

The point of this piece 

is to bring peace

to me,

 

that I was wrong 

to hold back, 

to withhold from the reader,

because how can I call myself 

 

a poet

if I'm not painting a picture? 

With your mind as the canvas,

and my words as the paint?

 

I watched poets come on stage,

deliver works of art,

things beautiful, 

and I saw a beautiful, torn heart

 

put her hand up in the air

to an artist work,

like it was gospel in the church,

with thoughts on me! I saw,

 

but I held back,

and what I provided last time

was a finger painting 

of child's skill.

 

I need to be real,

paint a real picture,

my motions and emotion

the finest paintbrush, 

 

now fluttering about

all over your mind, 

hopefully breathing to life

that I, 

 

a man,

 

am more than some accusation,

of being mean heart.

Of being a relatable object,

supposedly,

 

to a poem so eloquently put

'he broke my heart,

and called it poetry'?

Get out with that

 

hand raised in the air

while another poet

spills out her pain,

and perhaps next time

 

I won't hold back,

paint a picture 

of how her heartbreak

did become my poetry. 

 

Yes, I'm being specific, 

and context would make

for a much hotter piece,

 

but I'm over this, 

over being scared, 

I've conquered mountains

and crossed bridges.

 

Reader,

I respectfully submit,

give me another chance.

I won't hold back."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I had an open mic a few months back. A good friend of mine asked me to perform at her show she had built from scratch. I was eager to help, having performed at her show before (see 'Other Life') and had performed with (see 'Corpse Pose'). Anyway, I was there and I choked. I held back. I instantly wrote two new poems and read one decent poem, and another, lacking. I cursed myself for doing so. This poem is about that hesitation.

Hot Tea Cup

The moment she does bring,


The hot tea cup before me,


My heart melts like cheese,


I look at her so intensely.

 

 

She takes care of me,


As if I were her relative,


Extremely beholden I am,


Her concern is like a sacred sedative!


  

She has certainly been sent by Him,

 

For saving me from the ruin’s rim.

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tags:

*Untitled 9*

February.8.2003

 Trisha Barrek Hopkins

 

Where to begin where to end 

When to say when how to win

My love is all I want to send

To be with you 

To hold your hand 

To really know you is to know

To take a stand

To be a friend 

To say hello good-bye good day goodnight 

To tell the one you love 

What a sight 

To forgive after a fight 

Finding bad news 

Holding eachother while taking a snooze

Taking care of each others heart 

Saying you love 

Trying not to fall apart

Promising people won't shove

A perfect fit as tight as a glove

Missing each other 

Kissing one another 

Always tell the truth

No matter how scared you may be

If your love is true

You'll understand you'll see

I can't wait till that day you look up at me 

While your on one knee

When I met you 

My skies they turned blue

Baby you're the one for me 

Don't ask how I just know

So please don't set me free

 

Copyright

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I may change it a little. I don't know yet. What do you think?

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*When Love Becomes A Lie*

 

 March.27.2011

 Trisha Barrek Hopkins

 

In the begining was great

But towards a month passing

I started to get a feeling of hate

And wondering if we would be lasting

 

You tell me you didn't do a thing

My gut tells me a different feeling

To my heart forgiveness I try to bring

But no matter how hard it tries

My heart is having a hard time healing 

At night....Every night it cries

I know of the hints they are revealing

I pray none of them are true lies

 

I promise you from the start

That I'd stick by you no matter what

But you also promised you wouldn't break my heart

And now it's going back to being half shut

It's beaking apart

 

I will keep to my promise we won't ever part

I hold on to what you have told me 

But if when our love becomes a lie 

I will have no choice but to set you free

I don't want to really though

Because my heart will then fully die 

And I will be left with pain

With nights of tears to show

And I'll be alone....all alone

I'll be left to cry

My heart then turns to stone 

 

All because love became a lie 

The promise you made to me 

You never were ever going to keep

The love you said you gave

You promised you would never leave

My heart got broken my chest caved

 

Your words you lead me to believe

All that came out of your mouth was true

But now my heart bleeds

Of pain and agony

And I'm crying on my knees

How much I'm broken apart

Don't tell me you didn't know

I promised you I wouldn't leave

But your love you no longer show

Maybe it's time you give me back my heart

 

You said you would stick by my side 

For me you'd always care 

But I see now that was a lie all along

You lead me on and that's not fair

Maybe we don't belong

 

You told me your love would never end

You said you'd always be faithful

And always your love you'd send

But you no longer call me beautiful

Now we just feel like friends

My love I don't think with you I can share

I believe now you were pretend

 

Copyright

*A Silent Cry*

 

 October.30.2000 6-6:40pm

 Trisha Barrek Hopkins

 

It's a tear drop no one can hear

A cry so silent only she can feel

This pain is getting stronger

This is what she feared

But now if anyone tried It's too deep to heal

She doesn't have the strength to go on any longer 

 

It's a silent cry

No one must find out about the pain in her heart

That sooner or later she knows she'll die

No one wants to know she's falling apart

 

She knows no one will for her care

So she lets the tear fall

And sits on the bed to stare

At the blank painted wall

Thinking to herself "This isn't fair."

 

Thinking and wondering if anyone would notice

If she was gone

If she disappears

Trying to figure out where she belongs

Wondering then would anyone hear her tears

 

Or would for every a silent cry be by her side

Would it be there forever

All she can do is sit in her room and hide

Not a person who shows they want her to stay

Or with her they want to be together 

Or to let people see 

To share their life with her another day

And to show that she can set the silent cry free

 

She wants to let this silent cry go away

To not have to worry 

If she'll live for another day

To everyone she doesn't want to be the main story

 

Copyright

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