HollyMae; Poet.

Out of the black blanket above us comes a beacon of light
A protruberance through the endless misty view
Are we excited? Perterbed, perhaps?
Or are we pleased that there is a path to be seen before us.
Bright and blinding, along which we blunder towards brilliance.
Breathing, bathing and believeing in beauty.

—

‘Thoughts is ‘B’ and ‘P”

A thought by HollyMae - 16.02.11

I plead to you;
Set me free from the confines of the way in which we are taught to speak;
There can be no limit to the way we feel.
- So release me.

Allow me to listen to the wind and reply to it with more emotion than words can create.
Let me feel its yearning for open space,
For places where there are no objects to contort and destroy its journey,
No obstacles or nets to catch its spirit.
Let me be free from the confines of language, as the wind is free to travel,
Permit me to speak with more than words.

Acknowledge no boundaries set by quills of past,
Rather, learn that words twist;
Flirt with danger until they free-fall into the rocks of reality,
As Icarus with his molten wings of wax.

Conception rises with the wind
To realise the atmosphere regulated by the turbulence of soaring passion,
Providing flight to the imagination.

—‘Imagination’ - poem by HollyMae

This is not a wonderful way to start the week,
A one stop second chance renegade; weep.
Seeking the merest sense of self expression,
In glass front display of delicatessen.

For the love of second hand keepsakes,
Spending money on losing sweepstakes.
Keeping head high despite descent,
Hoping that life will one day present to me
An indisputable way to be free.

—‘Thought’ - by HollyMae 14.02.11

I once heard a word
That word was ‘love’.

But what is ‘love’?
I have love for the sound of the world turning
For the song of the river
For the whisper of the wind in trees cordoned by walls,
Figurative impressions of idealistic order.

Nothing can beat the my love of the world
But my love for myself leaves much to be desired;
The blundering fool amongst a beautiful world…
Stumbling towards wit’s end.

—‘A Word’ by HollyMae, written on 23.01.11

Each time I close my eyes
I see nothing but the swirling colours of days gone past
The jumble of uttered words and might
Falsehoods believed spread amongst the letters
Amongst which the search for truth continues;
Tired, blighted and disheartened
Spying a spark here, a flame there
But never reaching its goal
Lost, with no road to follow
It falls to the floor
Curls up like cat on rug by fire
And drifts into an eternal sleep
Peaceful in ignorance of reality
Resigning to a half life of unconsciousness
Of non-caring
Of blissful solitude of its own accord
Breathing a sigh of life as it drifts beneath the surface of existence

I open my eyes and see nothing different
I squint and the swirl of colours returns
With occasional sparkle, a random flame;
Truth, burnt out from the labours of trying to be seen.

—

‘Truth’s Ignorant Bliss’ - Poem written on 18.01.11

Don’t know if it’s any good. Just wrote it as words came to mind.

So lonely,
The heart rips with the hope that someone who understands you will come along.

So torn,
By the words in a song that mean so much to you;
Words that may not be real,
Written by a person who seems so real;
So like you.

You know you’ll never meet them,
Or if you do,
That you’ll mess up and not say the words you really wanted to say,
Words from the heart.

Words from the heart,
You hope, you pray,
That the one person who means so much to you,
Will somehow hear your cry.
And know how you feel.

—Another old poem by HollyMae

Free,
Like the leaf blown by a breeze from an autumn tree.
Lost,
Like that little blue flower thrown out to sea,
By that little child,
Imagination run wild.

I lost myself in memories of wondering at the world.
Lost my mind in the torrent of cold water which rushed around my feet as I stood in the way of the tide.
I remember the first time I stood in the sea,
A tiny ripple the size of a tsunami to me.

The little child said to me that day;
Why is the sky blue?
Why is the sea too?
And what happened to that little blue flower I threw?

I’m glad she said those things,
I would not have remembered the wonder of the world, otherwise;
Through the little child’s eyes.

We were all there once.
Mundayne life prevents our sense of wonder.
Stunts our desire to memorise new discovered feelings as we come accross them.
And to this we must object;
Lest we forget.

—

‘Lest We Forget’

An early poem by HollyMae