kayberley

Updated: Fri, 13 Apr 2012 09:13 am

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Biography

Trying poet with a disturbing resistance to writing, also a small lady with a mouth full of big words! Based in Wigan but will travel! Founding member of The secret writers club. I've done a few performances at open mic and the like and enjoy the process of writing more than performance (hoprfully things will change)

Samples

Nobody's Child So small so very tiny and obscure you were, With grimy neck and withered hands I felt defeat until you roared, the desperate timbre of your voice Brought back A cry, a baby’s cry but not The angry pitch suggested rage, we thought hunger And fed accordingly. But rage and fear prevailed and the wail set in Others descended and suggested Discussed and instructed. You looked on disgusted, knowing of our coming failure A soft moan in sleep escaped and we knew of what you dreamt. So sorry little girl To be the one who steals you from your bed To feed you milk in cut glass plastic bottles And visits once a month Who doles out holidays and ticks the box that says ok But never comes close to love. All the missing pens I’ve often wonder what becomes of the biro? The humble bic, used by many and love by few Take a minute then to renew Your acquaintance with your pen. Lovingly etched on your lilly white page A stream of brilliant blue Scarlett letters that fade with age And that beautiful emerald hue. Scribing heartaches and gently recording joys It will never be blunt like the lowly HB It remains sharp and on point Drawing perfect parallels between capital and stop It will mark out your way and never fade away. But woe betide those who ignore and do not cherish their hard working nib For they will soon find that the pen is a proud creature Not leant to neglect When abandoned in drawer or in desk Left to dry out in old hand bags It will think Sod this; I am worthy Ink and slink and slink To the nearest stationers of good repute Where it will tell its tale of a life misused. So on the pen’s behest I would say to you Treat with respect your little old bic for it glues down your words and it signs your cheques. Who do you think you are? I am running, I am jumping, I am sound. I am stillness, I am silence, I am found. I am you and this is good. You are frightened, you are scared, I am here. You are angry, you are broken, I am near. I am wanting and you feel fear. Coming together I can see and you may hear The sense of what will be throughout our years.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.