By: Miss Debbie Ann Tunstall

Prime

I’ll lay amongst the sumptuous bunch
Picking and pulling at it,
Asking myself if it’s seasoned
Under swollen layers.

How does it taste; ripe
Or bittersweet?
Enough for all your senses?

I’ll yearn for you to devour it,
Savor the flavours
Between your teeth.

People pass by
Browsing for supple and new.
And I’ll wonder
If left out;
It will decay into mush.
Destroying everything else.

Never good enough

I’ll sit in the cracks of my reflection
An image of pure disgust
Self hatred swept away
By stonewashed colours.
Stroke after stroke,
A smile conceals
bulging pores.

I venture out
My skin caked in science fiction;
Everything you want me to be.
Maybe tomorrow
I’ll awaken to fresh skin;
Finally good enough.

IF I WERE A POEM

If I were a poem,
Metaphors would dance in
Synchronicity.
Similes would smile the frown
From off my face.

If I were a poem,
The ink that wrote it
Would bring life to unspoken words,
Like non verbal prompts
Forming stanzas on a page.

If I were a poem,
Cliches would clash with
unwritten rules,
Words would not rhyme
And dear diary would not exist.

If I were a poem,
Gone would be the day
That I smudged my own ink.
Threw you in the bin
And said, ” I’m done with all this. “

Oh,
If I were a poem
My legacy would remain
Like a great prophet who once was,
And always is.

If I were a poem…

Unspoken words

Marie had just got back to the office from her first major reporter’s job for the BBC.
” Come on Marie, we need something now, ” her boss eagerly said as she scrambled around in her oversized bag.
” Yes sir, ” she replied as she frantically scanned her scrap books and photos from the day.
” This one, ” she said handing over an image with shaking hands.
” Cracking one Marie, cracking, ” he said.

Marie waited anxiously at her desk wondering if she had made the right decision, she tapped her fingers at the desk while muttering to herself ” please let them see.”
Shortly afterwards, a breaking news bulletin flooded worldwide television sets.
There was no audio, just a single image.
An image of a young child, ( who looked no more than 4. )
She was covered in blood and in her hands she clutched a worn out teddy bear, all alone and clearly sobbing.
That image became the headline paper for the war in Iraq.
It is now known as the most famous image in the world.
And the title?
THE SILENCE THAT SPEAKS.