Category Archives: Poetry

Slug – poem

Small and brown.
Almost unseen by
Unforgiving feet,
Squishing, flattening.
Slippery and gooey,
Sliding silently across the grass,
Never to know it’s fate,
Eating cabbage leaves,
Grasses and plants.
Hiding under rocks,
Eyes drawn in
away from danger,
As yet unseen.
Coming out at night,
Slippery, sliding, messy.
Leaving behind only,
A trail of slime,
shiny and sticky.

Yet another from high school, this time I’ve shortened the original.


Running Fast. Running Free. – a poem.

Another poem I wrote at 16. The last section I changed from the original, the rest is the same.

Sensible eating,
Living for the run.
It’s her life,
Her one love.
She runs the roads,
And the fields.
Up and down hills,
Through the mud,
Along the beach,
Across the streets
And through the village.
It doesn’t matter to her,
As long as she’s
Running fast, running free.

The 5k is easy,
The 10 is getting harder,
But then,
All her strength is
Put to the test.
Her life will end,
If this one’s lost.
She runs harder,
Pushing herself,
Thinking of home,
And the sea.
“At last” she cries
“Running fast, running free.”

The miles disappear,
As her feet pound the ground,
Forever moving, never still.
It’s in her blood,
A constant, she cannot stop.
Wild like a horse,
Flying like a bird.
Always on the move,
Running Fast.
Running Free.

Charging headlong into the week.
Jen 🙂

Melancholy Mama

This has absolutely nothing to do with my family at all. Everyone was/is alright, no one is sad or broken. Again, strange things from the teenage mind.

Melancholy Mama.

I love my mum, 

Yet she’s so sad, 

She won’t say why, 

 But I know it’s true.

When at home, 

All she does is mope, 

And cry and hang her head. 

She’s not much taller than me, 

Yet hunched and bunched, 

in her musty rags, she seems to be twice as small.

I have often thought, 

That maybe, 

This is because of papa’s accident. 

She won’t talk to me, 

Yet I feel it’s true.

If mama is out on the street, 

To no one does she talk. 

But hangs her head, 

As if in shame and walks away.

She cries a lot, 

does my mama, 

In the privacy of her room. 

I want to help her, 

But she won’t let me near. 

Just pushes me away, 

like a dirty old rag.

I often cry to myself, 

Frustrated and angry. 

Why can’t I help. 

Why won’t she let me. 

 I cry myself to sleep 

 When I think of my melancholy Mama.


What was I thinking…?

This is from another sheet of paper in that pile of crazed teenage creative writing I hunted out. I really have no idea what I thinking when I wrote this. I have done a very small re-write, the bulk of it is the same.

(I can’t even think of a name for it)

The moon shone through the trees,
Yet they remained dark,
No silhouette to be seen.

The wind blew gently,
Like a puff of air on a feather,
And I knew it called to me.

I heard my name,
It wanted me, needed me,
To go, go, go.

I left the house,
Quietly, quickly.

Once beneath the trees,
I felt it, what was happening,
why they needed me.

The breeze stirred suddenly,
The trees rustled and wove,
As if talking, discussing.
I felt the pain,
Quick, sharp.

As I fell to the ground,
The breeze stopped,
The trees silent,
As if in mourning,
Silent, respect for the dead.

Like I said, I have no idea how this poem emerged from the murky depths of my brain. I was not depressed, even in hindsight I didn’t have the same teenage issues that some go through. (My only angst was over boys, which was normal and completely unrequited, ;/).

If any one has any ideas what this may mean, please share your ideas, I welcome any thoughts.

Have a great day 🙂


More fun stuff from my youthful mind. I have not changed this except for re arranging the words.

Deep golden yellow,
The dark brown stripes.
He glows in the sunset.

Moves like a ballerina,
Graceful, lithe, silent.
The strong jaws quickly their devour prey,
They lie, comfortable and sated,
Stretched out, lazy and tired.

They play with their cubs,
Frolicking in the grass, huge paws playfully smacking them,
Restless. Waiting for the moment.

His green brown eyes, shiny in with anticipation,
The next kill, the feast.
He cleans his fur, with a tongue like sandpaper,
As he waits for night to fall.

Strong and majestic.
He prowls the night.
Rules the territory.
Slinking through the trees, unseen by the prey.
Unsuspecting, and unaware.
A shadow amongst the trees,
Not seen in the moonlight.

She is sleeping peacefully, surrounded by her cubs,
Warm, and quiet, but restless still.
Waiting, the next meal, the new day.

He returns from the kill.
A shadow once more.
Gliding, sliding, quietly through rocks, grass and trees.


Jennifer 🙂

(Picture courtesy of National Geographic)