Here Went Something

The title? Well my first post in 2011 was called Here Goes Nothing, thought I'd work with that rather than just call it the end. That seemed a slightly shitty title, not to mention it sounds a pinch depressing. But on to more important matters. 

Well, this is it, the conclusion I promised. After this, I have most certainly posted on my blog every day for a year, it started on the 1st and it ends on the 1st. What do I say? I'll just start typing and hopefully in amongst all my mumblings, some form of decent sense of ending will occur. 


Writing a poem every day for a year, it wasn't easy. Especially because what I was writing, I didn't think was very good and occasionally I felt I was wasting my time. But I carried on, probably because of stubborness and wanting to prove I could do it more than anything. And I think by writing these poems, it forced me to think so much more about what I was seeing. It allowed me to look around the world and try and get inspiration from anything. That kind of thought process in fact led to my first tattoo, I wanted to get something to remember what that felt like. To be open minded and wide eyed, wanting to soak in as much as I could from life.

I think I've always liked the occasional moment where you just sit back and let the world take over. Looking through a window and watching the clouds, walking along the street and listening to conversations, wondering about other people and their lives and how you have no idea who they are or what they'll do except in that brief second of conversation. And train rides. I love train rides. You get to really absorb scenery and catch glimpses of lives which have nothing to do with you. It makes you think one of two things 
1. In the bigger picture that makes up the universe we are barely a speck. 
2. How important your own world is - well, what makes up your own world.

I've tried to express this way of thinking in my poems, not to force other people to think the same, but just to try and show what I'm like. I'm sure other people have the same sort of thoughts.  I'm 18 - I do know that other people understand me and most likely feely the same. (just thinking of the whole stereotype teenager of nobody understands me and my individuality, blah blah blah)

Jesus, this is is a lot of writing. Oh well, it's the last blog post, I think I'm allowed to indulge myself a bit. I'm trying to think what else I want to say. Well, I said it yesterday but thank you so much for reading this. You're a wonderful (and patient) person :') 


It's a relief and kind of sad to have finished. I'm quite proud of myself for sticking with it. I hope that when I'm older, I continue to write because I can't remember a time when I haven't loved it. I did this because I wanted to become a more creative person, I'm not sure if I am but I am definitely a more inspired person. 

My Own Story (The Last Poem)

So, this is it, the last poem of 2011. I'm sat here listening to The Kooks - Naive, which for some reason feels appropriate. As I said a month or so ago, I will be posting a proper conclusion on January 1st - without a poem - this is because I wrote an introduction saying what I would do this year, also without a poem. I thought this made it seem more full circle. 
And for those who think I've cheated and missed out on two poems, I posted two extra in November, just to be thorough.

I would love to be able to tell you that I have been thinking about this poem for months and have perfected what you're about to read. But I haven't. In fact, I'm still not too sure what I'm going to write about. 


Sad as it may make me appear, I actually feel a bit emotional that this is the last one. I'll stop blabbing on, you get my emotional mush of  a summary tomorrow. Something for you to look forward to in 2012 - the year the world ends apparently. But I will say here, that thank you to any one who has read this. Anyone who has looked at this blog in the past year, even if you're not reading now and will never know how grateful I am that people took some time to read this.

Here we go, the last poem. It will look as if I just started typing whatever, technology can't show my thinking process but rest assured, I'm going to think and come back to it. This is important. 

Picture is not meant to be arrogant, I just thought since it was poem about me, this was probably the best image to have. 

It could be said there is a poem 
for pretty much everything
from a sonnet for your heart to sing
to a limerick of Ireland 
and a man called Jim. 


I have tried all this year to write 
with maybe not all the words I know
they're mostly simple, but I wanted to show
what my world is like
maybe not fabulously, but it's so so. 


My world is ordinary, this I know 
and most would be likely to agree 
it's friends, esteem, education and family 
but I have tried to notice 
that what makes it extraordinary. 


The sunlit glow of a grey street
wondering about the stories 
of strangers we meet 
and memories that we all wish to keep.

Comfortable silences 
what it feels like to be kissed 
to be young 
and with people you love 
the simple pleasure 
of smiling on a sunny day 
thinking of the future 
of growing older 
thinking of childhood 
what could, would, should
of been
and still always remembering 
to be in the now.

We all know that 
there are counted days
and counted words
but I suppose what I've learnt 
is not to drown in it all 
but absorb and live,
maybe not be a focus of the world
but to have my own
to make it compelling
to have my own story 
that is worth telling.

Meant To Be

Penultimate poem. Holy shit.

It's written in books
it's said in shows 
that when you're young
you either know
exactly what you want
or not a clue at all,
but either way
the same thing is said 
life just happens
keep your head 
you can't control it all 
you might just have 
to wait and see
and usually what happens
is meant to be. 

An Ocean of Thought

I keep getting swept away
by tides of thought
one tugging me one way
while another crashes 
making my head sway.


Thoughts and faces
wash across my mind
and for a second or two 
I forget where I am
totally absorbed,
the waves of my mind
keep flowing 
with no sign of showing
pause or rest 
so it's the least I can do
to close my eyes 
let the thoughts take control
and swim through this ride. 

With The Moon

My mind is full
of dreams
of clouds
the sound of the wind
of friends
and family
the shadow of sin
none are ceasing
or releasing
me from their grasp
I try to sleep
but I am theirs to keep
and the rising stars
gently laugh.

Nothing Really But Maybe Something

Here it is again
a chance 
to try something new
take a step
which I might forget
for it could lead 
to nothing 
but it could leap
to something.


This pounding heart
could be bluffing
to convince my brain
that this is sane
and this could happen 
but then again 
I have to remember 
what's happened before 
there's no assurance 
there's not really anything 
it's just a case of waiting 
to see what fate brings. 

A Hanging Poem

I've been out three nights in a row, with not much sleep, so this poem will be nothing special. I'll post a festive themed one tomorrow - Christmas Day tomorrow - wow, doesn't really feel like it. I feel old -.- 

I have a led head 
and wish I was in bed 
all I really want is sleep 
and second to that
brush my teeth 
a cup tea 
perhaps some water 
not to move
and just ride this out.
I feel vaguely sick 
without a doubt 
I don't really want to drink
for some time 
I am the human equivalent
of slime.


But taking this all
in to account 
I probably will 
go out again 
but hopefully
it will be a long time
till it's this bad again. 

Here and There

The feeling that this is fleeting 
we're only meeting 
for barely any time 
and it feels as if
almost as soon as 
I've finished this rhyme 
we shall soon be on our way again.


For now our lives here are back
to what they once were
but the striking difference 
is that we all have a separate lives
we all have a there
and there will never be whole here
our worlds beginning to part 
and the scary thing is
that this is just the start. 

A Skill

I wouldn't call it confidence 
and definitely not arrogance 
but maybe more so,
tiny self assurance 
at having a skill.


Maybe not even that 
for skills seems too strong
but this,
writing,
(in a creative sense)
is something that 
I feel as if you can't do wrong 
once surrounded by my words 
I feel like this is where
I belong 
it's something I enjoy
something I like
and something
that I don't really think
but would like to hope
it may be something
that I can do. 

A Story To Tell

It's the final count down, doooo dooo do do do do (just youtube that song)
Ten more poems to go and then I'm done. I don't think it's really sunk in yet that I'm nearly finished. 

When you find your thoughts
beyond yourself 
when they become more focused 
on everybody else, 
you realise 
that we all have our own stories 
(well, of course we do)
but it's how we tell 
and how create 
that can make our stories
something great.


Perhaps mine won't be 
known all around
but it's more so about 
keeping my feet on the ground,
remembering there are others
there's everyone else 
who's stories may be kept on a shelf
but it's the characters
and the people
who read it and care
they are what's important,
the people whom which 
we chose to share.  

Lack of Sleep in the Morning

The bed calls like a lover 
wanting you to stay,
clinging to the sheets
whispering
that you need to be
with one another.


Your head on the pillow
heavy as led 
your sheets embracing you 
this is our time 
get up later
stay here instead. 


The cold air circles menacingly 
from the other side of the room
and with it a comes 
a sense of doom
that you have to soon rise
and leave your warm nest 
you're running late
and you need to get dressed. 

Overlapping Friends

We all easily fall
back in to place
a smile seems to be stuck
right on my face,
for here we are
as we were then 
as if we never left 
friends were made 
when we were away
but now we're back again 
we overlap
just have a chat 
we're just us
no fuss
all content
with our time well spent. 

Back Again

Leaving behind 
what at first was new 
but now more so worn 
and more so me 
beginning to be woven
with my history.


Back to the house
which has always 
been filled 
with memories 
with family 
it's odd to think
that this will take 
some getting used to 
for this is what
I always knew. 

Bonding

It's not so much 

what we do
but what we say
as our lives
slowly become
more interlaced 
we become 
comfortable
open 
we never stopped
being ourselves
but now we become 
them more 
and really
I don't think I need
to ask for much more. 

Changing Esteem

It's surprisingly hard 
to lift up esteem
it's set in it's concrete ways
a block in my head
you're ugly
don't look at the mirror
look at the floor instead 
changing this
listening when people
compliment 
instead of tossing 
the notion away
it's surprisingly difficult
thinking of my appearance
as something 
that's okay. 

A Winter Night In

Paper snowflakes
and hot cups of tea 
frost clinging 
to the branches of trees 
cosy and warm
while the wind pounds
the glass with it's cold fist
what I want
is just this 
the Christmas spirit sinking in 
while outside all is cold
and I'm just wrapped up,
looking out on the world. 

Career

Realising what you want to do
when you're older
is something that strikes deep
it's ambition and passion
something burning,
which I wish to keep
the desire for a job
an actual career 
I have the idea
right here
and I'm going to work
as hard as I can
until it's not just an idea
but my actual career.

(Yeah I repeated a rhyme. Shut up.) 

Simple Love

As sad as this will make me sound, not to mention pathetic and maybe slightly like Bridget Jones, yesterday at about two in the morning I think? ( I don' tend to sleep till around 4) I was just sat in my room sobbing. 
After I had watched 90210 and Glee.
It wasn't so much the show themselves that made me cry, more so what they show. Couples.
Always couples. People being together and despite problems, having relationships.
It was horrible to progress back to the state of feeling alone and the reasoning behind this that I'm ugly. Alone, ugly and crying at two in the morning. Crank out the chocolate and you have the beginning of a chick flick. Looking back, it was a spectacular pity fest. 
The worse thing is though, is that that's what in my head. It's just kind of pushed down under all the stuff. But I do genuinely feel like that. Dearie me. 


Anyway, I know I said I would try to write less whingy, 'romantic pictures' poems but I thought with this reasoning of last night, I was allowed some self indulgence in this one.


Reading it back, this is probably one of the most honest and open poems I've done. 

It's not so much the fact
I need someone 
to complete me 
I don't really want to 
be part of some romantic story
something that completely 
alters history,
I just want something simple.

A hand to hold
someone to grow old (with) 
he can give me his coat
if I get cold 
not to tell me I'm beautiful
but he thinks I am 
to smile before kissing me
to hold me when I'm sad
or hold me whenever
so tight I think he'll never let go
and I will always know
that he's here 
not just for me
but because he wants to be. 

Talking About Music and Then a Poem

So yesterday I interviewed the band, Twin Atlantic. They were absolutely lovely. I then went to watch the gig at one of my favourite venues, seeing them live was incredible, it made me realise how much I've missed live music ( as well as the fact they're a very good band) 
Being part of the crowd, being part of something that goes beyond you, every one's connected by the music. It just really sparked off why I'm so interested in music journalism. Music in general really.
It's just ... an experience that you wouldn't really be able to get through anything else, I think. I know this blog is meant for poetry and I will try and sum up all this babbling in the form of a poem. I just needed somewhere to throw all this sudden realisation at how much I love going to gigs, finding bands, listening to music. If I get to do this sort of thing as a job? Just . . . wow. I don't thing there's good enough adjective to say how incredible that would be. 

Here Is Where I Want To Stay

Ears ringing

while the band is singing 
a sweaty face
and sticky floor 
drunken lads
and feet which are sore


But there is so much more
to this
the music
and the band
for where I stand 
here we all are
we're nearly all one 
connected by something
that's kind of hard to place
perhaps the word is passion
I'm not really sure,
but here is where I want to stay. 

A Look That Never Changes

Despite all the change
through all the seasons
living independently 
some might call it
growing up 
underneath it all
I'm still me,
the same naive girl
who reads too much 
in to looks 
and hopes with each
pump of the heart 
that for once 
she hasn't read too deep
and that look
there
means something.