Crocodile Grin
Manitou slides
Doppelgänger silhouette
Ballet prides
Twisted contorted pirouette
Pierrot dolls glare twingingly
Stare wistfully from shaded mottled space
Ventriloquist disgusting tricks
From two deceitful
Face
The magicians hook
Stare garishly
Whilst he wilfully reels in
Audience of ooh faced crowds
Doused in doubt, at just whats
Happening
A rocking horse
It squeaks the boards
With no child on its
Back
And forth to kiddie Hell
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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70s Kids
our young faces
left sepia stains
on ivory paper
there were no flaws nor lines to draw
attention nor depress
just shiney rose hued cheeks which glowed
and purple garish dress
eyes did glint
though there was a hint
of apprehension in our smiles
a missing tooth displayed our youth
orange and umber whiles
wirehaired bodger (dog)
our much loved lodger
who raced with all us kids
came christmas carolling to inrease our treasure
as cash flowed in split lids
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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A Sketchy Process.....Freeing up the spirit and mind
Its not far.....
The distance between my cranium
Right hemisphere
Two right forefingers plus solitary thumb
(Im guessing three feet)
Barring two inces
Maybe
Merely one
As I grasp tightly the lead pencil
6b to be precise
Within the mundane monotony of my charcoal mind
Why on earth
Is between that gap
Disconnection so unkind
My right side so free fall
Imaginative
Shows me something quirky
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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The Privvy.......Toilet Trolls
Twas sordid that thought
Midwinter handed a lit
Oil lamp
Glowing
Showing the way outside to the shiny black paint of
The toilet door
Lift the latch....clunk! as your eyes scoured the darkness the bushes
For bogey men, trolls and murderers
Place lamp on window sill
Put small buttocks on the winter chilled toilet seat
Heart beats at a quickened pace
As a small scared face gazes
Out
Eyes foraging the white painted walls
For spiders and daddy long legs
Anything that crawls
And flys
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Sunday Morn...
Balcony birds eye view
Of tiny gardens as tin soldiers
Tight in a row
Some as spoilt cherished children
Desired domains
Some have dinked boxes
Former relished
Remains....yet still standing
One seems a foxes
Potential secret den
Wildflower prolific
Non specific
Design on the eye
Nor ideas of grandest
Grace
Just good honest wildflowers
Bursting over and out
Of their space....
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Blea Tarn Delight
Tis such bliss to follow this
Dry stone wall
Trace with my hand across the land
To observe the autumn fall
To see the place where two sullen faces huddled last winters snow
Rasta haired sheep who had stood knee deep avoiding cruel winters blow
But now soft sun with a mild chilling breeze tinkers across my face
I am the queen of all that I've seen in this wild and glorious place
I raise with a stride of purpose and pride upon this emerald earth
To reach the peak of all that I seek that makes all my effort worth
And when I am there full breeze in my hair a smile raises alone
Within all the green, a moorish wet scene a vibrant turquoise tone
With just one cloud that's settled down to laze upon Blea Tarn
To sleep in the haze whilst I do laze before my refreshed return
A hot bowl of stew buttered crusty bread too with a roaring coal fire
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Candy Store Dream
Need I pull
The escape chord?
This flying Scotsman travels too fast
Me thinks
Whilst my dog lays dying
My castle lays crumbling
My heart lays in carnage
No wonder
I sink
Last night I escaped to a world with a girl
Theatrical elegance surrounded her form
As she leant forward
Framed eyes widened (back arched)
And held
One finger
Vertically over silken pursed lips
And quietly hushed me
Ushering
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Rosie Cheeks
When did the children stop embracing
The wind in their hair
Downhill racing, bright orange skies
With no due care
When did they all go home and scrub up their smiles
No longer free spirits to roam
With hours to while
Away with friends down by the railway track
Find a new hiding spot
Sharing cheap wrappered snacks
Whispering secrets
And a fight for their space
What happened to good ole fashion dirt
Smeared as a memoir, now
Replaced
By sterile little ones
Squashed within dry stone walls
Electrical wizardry
Beats, muddied deflated balls
Why did the children decide now
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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The Insanity of the Sane....for my sister
Lost in her own domain
Where insanity flies on the wings of fly's
Where putrid pain loiters pon the thread of dread
Screaming for release
'PLEASE! ' she howls sobbing
Distraught
Again and again
Ignored whilst pounding the solid white door
Where this mighty little sprite
Rigid in one thought
To just walk
Yes walk to feed her lonesome cat
She cannot forget that
He maybe starving
(she does not see the reality)
But she feels the searing pain
The agony
The blood which slips from
Within her sock
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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A Very Angry Fisherman
He'd battled waves and elements
Had risen before the sun
Took grandaughter and fishing partner
Headed off.....as all for one
Cleaned the decks, checked the nets
Before setting of out to sea.
Followed the path, known by all
Out to..... best, place to be.
They fished all day whilst sipping
Hopeful of fisherman's tales
Chirpily wishing for that perfect catch
Prepared was the ice, decks and pales
The day was ending
Nets still empty
Barring a few small fish
Nowhere enough to make a living
Nor enough to fill a dish
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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