My Stuff

I just posted a whole bunch of poetry I wrote between grade twelve and now. I felt like getting them out there for you all to read and maybe, in turn, get some feedback from you.

All of my poetry is written from the heart. As I have written in previous postings, writing is my passion and always comes from deep within. Some of my poems are completely fictional, whereas some are based loosely on my life. I'll leave it up to you to decide which ones you think are to be read in my voice.

I hope you enjoy them, because poetry is something that I really put my everything into.

Happy reading :)

StheF

Surf's Up

As we drove down the narrow, dusty roads,
the hot and humid air drifted through the windows
of his small, red Jeep, bringing
the warm smell of sugar cane fields,
wet grass and cows.
I gazed out at the children, laughing and playing
at the side of the road.
Their mothers and fathers sat lazily on their porches,
guzzling dark rum and looking on as
their mothers and fathers played rounds of
Dominoes.

We drove passed the fields and drove on
up a hill overlooking
The Ocean.
He hummed along - off key, as always - with the static radio.
I winced as I caught sight of the
Ragin' Surf Point,
recalling my last lesson.

I absolutely detested surfing.
I could never catch a wave, albeit
the board was ten feet long.
On that fateful summer day,
The Ocean trapped me under Its surface
exactly seven times too many.
Each time I went under,
my board sank down with me, throwing me
against the rocks and holding me captive.
I remember gasping for air
as the tide pulled me below.
Fearful and uneasy,
I retreated to the beach and sat on my purple towel,
sipping on a premium, cold bottle of beer from the cooler.
My skin was inflamed, irritated and covered in hives.
I sat on the beach as I waited for him, watching the
waves strike the shore until
the sky was covered with a blanket of stars.
When he finally sauntered up the sand,
his face was dotted with freckles,
his hair white from the salt.
'We chose a great day for surfing.'
He loved The Ocean.
He could swim in it for hours.
We were different in that way.

His humming eventually turned into
belting out the words to the songs -
off key, as always -
and snapped me back to reality.
We drove on in his little red Jeep, away from The Ocean,
until we reached the
Old Town,
bustling with people
and smells of
Hot Beef Roti, Macaroni Pie and Hot Pepper Sauce.
In the market, devious merchants sold their over-priced goods
to clueless tourists, clad in
Tommy Bahama, Bermuda Shorts and
The Infamous Fanny Pack.

We approached another hill and
I thought the Jeep would give up.
We'd be done for!
The tires gripped the sizzling tar on the road for dear life.
The engine spat and sputtered, coughed and choked.
I held onto the seat, clutched my seatbelt and
squeezed my eyes shut tight.
I could hear him laugh at me.
At last, we turned the final corner and
the Jeep rolled to a stop outside a
charming, white house.
His dog leaped and howled with glee
as we piled out, my luggage in tow and
stepped inside, enjoying the cool air that splashed our faces.

In the kitchen, he wrapped his arms around me,
pulled me in close and planted a big, wet kiss on my forehead.
'So, I take it you wouldn't like to go for a swim in the sea?'
I giggled and buried my face in his burly chest.
'Not today.'

Brilliance

They strolled hand in hand
through the peculiar passageway.
Incandescent lights danced around them
like a kaleidoscope of commotion.
She would occasionally look his way,
admiring his profile as he gazed ahead at the
wild night.
When she wasn't looking,
he would take a peak at her dazzling smile
as they walked on.
Together, they set out on a journey
through the darkness,
without a care in the world,
knowing that tomorrow will be a whole new adventure.

Exposed

I had my eye on you
from the moment you entered.
You appeared to be vulnerable -
Fresh Meat.
Your eyes flickered with eagerness.
Were you overwhelmed?
We studied your every move from afar.
What's your story?
You're clearly a misfit.

Welcome to the Jungle.
We're sorry -

The position has been filled.

The Other Woman

She glides through the glass doors -
he's on the phone
with The Wife.
She gently sets his coffee down on his desk
and twirls a slender finger in
his silver hair.
Slowly,
she
lowers
her
lips
to his ear and
teasingly tugs on his tie.
Forget Her. You're Mine.
He looks into her eyes with an impish grin,
allows the phone to drop to the floor of his office
and pulls her into his lap.

They could still hear
The Wife
rambling on the floor.

Untitled

The cold wind raged around her face
as she watched him turn on his heel
and walk towards the Greyhound.
Her fingers were wrapped tightly
around his Teddy Bear that he left behind.
The little fleece sweater
felt soft against her fingers.
Comfort in a raw moment.

In the Station

I sit motionless
on the bench against the wall
amid the unknown faces.
A delicate petal
atop a heap of
lifeless leaves -
out of place.

The train pulls to a halt.
I stand
and watch those around me
as they swarm the doors.

I'll wait for the next one.

Medusa

We sit in the shivering cold,
the cool air burns my ears.
Snow covers your concrete frame as
I drape my arms around you
and tell you stories of how
we will search for a place
where we could be alive.

I look into your
lifeless face,
while the hissing snakes
taunt my reality.

I dream of your tender lips
that should kiss my cheeks
instead of my fated
reflection that will freeze my future
and leave me still -
stone-dead.

Freedom

A shocking white, clean and clear.
Unmarked, unused, vacant, empty.
An unwritten composition -
A story untold.

Then suddenly,
your pen takes a daring dive to the page,
exploring the smooth surface with its tip.
Colourful stains begin to emerge on the page
and every corner is eventually discovered,
covering the cold, blank face.
Upside down, right side up,
side to side, back to front -
the markings on the page materialize into
magnificent thoughts.
Gradually the shackles
that closely guard and protect your imagination
are unlocked.

Lines and shapes and phrases take the place of
the alarming silence that was present before -
the frosty ice and bitter death feeling
of a white page,
a white so discomforting, it blinds the eye.
The page has,
at long last,
been informed.

Before you know it,
the white is gone
and darkness takes over.
Marked, used, occupied, full -
Your story has been told.