Poem of the Week: 13 Reasons Why Not

13 Reasons Why Not

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it
I know it feels it
But you aren’t broken
I promise

Cakes alright I spose
Sometimes it’s dry and bland
And crumbles apart in your hands
And it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
But sometimes
You’re given a slice
That’s nice and warm and fresh
There’s the perfect dollop of frosting on top
There’s not too much
Not too little
It’s just right.
You might get some perfect cake tomorrow
So sit tight
Don’t go anywhere just yet.

I know it hurts
But that hurts worse
Much worse.


Your best friend’s birthday is coming up
They’re waking up
And counting the days
Counting their blessings you met.
You might not know them yet
But they’re out there
It would suck if you go
Without saying goodbye
Before you even said hello.

Sexy sexy
Vanilla sex
Sex with strangers or lovers
Or more
Or less.
You can do it front ways
Or side ways
With heteros or gays
One partner
Two partner
Red partner
Blue partner
It doesn’t matter
It would just suck if you missed out.

Remember when you broke that lamp?
Your mother’s lamp?
The light went out
As it shattered to the floor
Your heart fluttering and then
You choked on the lump in your throat
As her footsteps stalked the hallway
You knew she’d be angry
Or sad or both.
You shine brighter than any lamp she’ll ever own
She won’t ever see the light again
If you break.

Pain is like energy
It cannot be destroyed
It won’t just go away.
The pain will stay behind
Haunting those who could’ve fixed it.

By 2033
World leaders will finally care
About poverty
And refugees
Climate change and
Human rights and
Great Whites
And trees!
But to save the world we really need your vote.

Ten years from now there’s a person
An older person
A wiser person
A wonderful person
A person who will look back and say
Hey, I made it.
Please don’t make that person

You haven’t finished reading
All the books on the shelf.
Buying a book
Is like buying a promise
And you can’t just leave behind
A shelf of broken promises.
Finish the books
And keep on buying more.

I know.
I know you want to go.
I know it’s dark
Your knees are on the floor
And you can’t see the doors
Or the windows
Or the hand in front of your face.
You can see only one way out
And it looks clear
And straight
And easy
Trust me, I know.
But it’s not really a way out
If it doesn’t go anywhere.

Thirteen isn’t enough
There is more
There is so much more
You can have more than thirteen
If you just stay
I promise.

Written and Performed by: Jessica Sheridan

Featured Image: Zac Quitzau. Facebook Page – Zac’s Doodles

Poem of the Week: ‘Shadow Truths’ by Carolyn Chorley

Shadow Truths


The surface hides what is really true

With a veil of smoke too thick to see through

Some think they see the truth hidden deep

But the shadows do only cover and keep


Your secrets, your treasures, your thoughts so dear

All the goodness you have gathered so very near

That which makes you the whole you now are

And allows you to safely keep your soul ajar


To share only what is needed to live a life

But not cause your spirit any lasting strife

For the best part of you is not the wrapper the world sees

But that within you that only true love frees

Poem: ‘Together’ by Carolyn Chorley

 A touch so gentle and tender

With a sigh your heart must surrender

And the delicate threads of your lonely soul

Are gathered to knit your spirit whole.


This love, this passion, only now found

Once wrapped so tightly, now unbound

To freely flow to the universe and you

And then to the heavens it but flew.


The gossamer threads gathered by true love’s hands

Are entwined into the strongest strands

And so none shall be able to tear apart

What now I keep safe within my heart.



Featured Image: Artwork by Timothy Wynberg

Poem: ‘Winter’s Dance’ by Carolyn Chorley

Nature dances in her winter dress

To a melody only she can hear

And with an icy touch she does express

What to her, she holds so dear.


She touches the stars one by one

And makes them glitter in the ebony sky

But even still she is not yet done

There is so much more for her to try.


The softest covering from her shoulder slips

As she spreads her ermine wrap

And icicles fall gently from her lips

As the world settles in for a frozen nap.


Back and forth she does slowly sway

In her cloak of shimmering white

She only wishes to remain and play

Until the first kiss of spring’s warm light.


Featured Image: Zac Quitzau Facebook: Zac’s Doodles

Poem of the Week: ‘A Melding’ by Carolyn Chorley

A sigh, so delicate and tender

That causes my soul to surrender

A moan, so primal, so intense

I swoon as it overcomes all sense.


A caress now softly gliding

Over my feverish skin always sliding

The passion builds and begs for release

But the exquisite torture will not cease.


Twisting, turning, bodies thrashing

Emotions soaring upwards, never crashing

Heated embraces cause the beginning of the end

And, after it all, our hearts do blend.


Featured Image: Zac Quitzau Facebook: Zac’s Doodles




Poem of the Week: ‘Enticement’ by Carolyn Chorley

I stand alone on a blanket of bleached white

My skin on fire from frozen angel tears

My eyes blinking against citreous light

As the lure of true and righteous warmth nears.


Time has passed unnoticed in this cold void

The icy hurricane shredding all hope and joy

The desire for love, for salvation, was destroyed

And the lilting song of peace but a decoy.


My soul was stained by a traitorous trick

And now my heart continues to slowly bleed

As the essence of me swirls amongst the truly malefic

And all the demons come screeching here to feed.


That light, that promise for which my spirit yearns

Is in fact no more than a glittery villainous snare

From which only continuous pain and sadness burns

Wrought forth by the blinding darkness of unseen Daymare.

Featured Image: Artwork by Timothy Wynberg

Poem of the Week: ‘Black Spell’ by Carolyn Chorley

A sudden pain, the dagger thrust
a blow from behind, to kill all trust

So deep the wound, as to not recover
was this the intent of my faithless lover?

Did he beguile me with the sweetest words
just to crush my spirit with the blackest of birds?

Did he promise me all of heaven’s delights
so he could kill my soul and perform last rites?

How could it be that something so pure
was in reality nothing more than a shiny lure,

To make me feel safe to give up my trusting heart
and then he’d be free to practice his dark art,

As sure and powerful as a sorcerer’s spell
his words spun a tale to make me dwell,

Within the golden glow of his kindness true
and so, my righteous weariness I did subdue

Now I am but an empty chalice
torn and broken by a master of malice,

How can I now refill my tortured soul?
when there are only parts and not a whole.


Featured Image: Zac Quitzau Facebook: Zac’s Doodles






Poem: ‘To lay in a stranger’s bed’ by Noelle Martin

To lay in a stranger’s bed

In the earliest hours of the morning
when darkness paints the city
and all you can hear are the sounds of slumber
Jade lays in a stranger’s bed.

Awake and calculating a silent escape. Swift
like a black panther through the jungle.
She leaves the nameless man behind and
a little bit of herself too.

Slapped. By the crisp, raw air of an unfamiliar street
she makes her way out the same way she came
navigating home was a skill learned many nights ago.
Master of the concrete jungle until

Pleasure’s aftertaste:
Of stale cigarettes, cheap wine
and the fading scent of cologne
Of sticky black gunk around the eyes. And a sharp

potent smell. To wash off.
Coloured water dripping into the sink
No matter how hard she scrubbed her dark circles remained
morphed into a permanent fixture on her face

Her body was strong, but it throbbed from the stranger’s touch
Her mind untouchable.
a rose plucked before it’s time
neither a bud nor reached full bloom.

roses don’t belong in the jungle. To numb was the only way
to stop shrivelling away. Quite stoic it seems, to stop
her petals from falling
she let them lay.

When the stranger wakes and the panther rests
her petal is all that’s left
But its scent, beauty and majesty will never fade
for when you’re touched by pure majesty, you’ll never be the same again.

  • Noelle Martin

Featured Image: Artwork by Timothy Wynberg

Poem of the Week: ‘The Greatest Wars in History’ by Noelle Martin

The greatest wars in history are seldom told
for they exist in the minds
of every living soul
that has ever wandered the Earth

Cursed with the human fate
branded from the womb, we are
born to fight the great fights.
like soldiers, we battle to survive

against immortal demons, thoughts heavier than cannonballs
feelings sharper than any sword. The haunting of memories
and poison with the power to contaminate our mind, drowning our
conscience. The enemies within

But our greatest weaknesses are our
weaponry still
our beating hearts and the strongest of all
the all-powerful will.

We fight in deafening silence
with wounds unseen
screams unheard and
sorrow untold.

But when hope dwindles
somewhere in the deepest depths of within
starts the Great Revolution
a rebellion begins, a thirst for victory

with a call for help, we turn to our allies 
to lift us from the scorching fires, to
breathe momentary relief from the currents
Until the next war begins

We face the crusades, that
tests our very core. That shatters our beliefs
Amongst the carnage and bloodshed tempted
by Lucifer’s apple of surrender

Not all survive the evils of the mind. Trapped
in a straightjacket of insanity.
Some lose control. Like lost souls they live
to die. The price of peace.

We face the cold war, brewing.
Pain and anger, and a hostile fear. But to kill the enemy is to kill yourself
So we must suppress with every ounce of our will
Or accept our fate

If we’re lucky, we can escape an assault
of nuclear proportions, but not all are lucky
Something switches, and they fall
One by one by one.

Some say that the greatest conflict is with the heart
an unstoppable force with desires that can’t be
controlled or tamed, and immeasurable pain
if not obeyed.

But for every battle lost
we gain in resolve,
In strength for the next attack. For every battle won
we change in ways more powerful than evil –

a little something called empathy.
From the ruins of pain, comes happiness
and an understanding that we must be allies
for inner battles are pain enough.

The greatest wars in history are seldom told
But what we do see and hear- is the magic
that turns a curse into a gift
and a love that conquers all else.

Featured Image: Zac Quitzau Facebook: Zac’s Doodles


Poem of the Week: ‘Fourteen’ by Jessica Sheridan

When you’re fourteen you’re not ready
Barely steady, barely standing
Giddy for something
A beautiful anything
To fill in the blanks.
There are sketches on the page
The stage is set
Nothing ready yet for reveal
But someday you’ll finish
A towering feat of humanity and beauty.
You’re a whole universe inside
Impatient and unsatisfied with the wait
To see completion
But you’re fourteen and you’re not quite ready.

But like children who sneak
Down to peak beneath the tree
We are all eager to see
The magic
Frantic for the romantic notion of us.
I was fourteen and I was not ready
But you were. You
So much older and already person enough
To decide I was ready to grow up
To be finished –
Before I even knew what I was supposed to look like.
You handed me the blueprint
Said to trust it
Trust you to know what my best me would be
And so eager to finish
I let you take the paint brush from my fingers
And paint over me.

Brick by broken brick
I built myself where you stood
Sticking shards together
Cutting my hands on the pieces you gathered
Wearing adulthood like an oversized dress
Not really sure what you saw
But told you knew best.
Each lash of your tongue worked me harder
Mixing colours and mortar
That never quite matched
Scrambling to finish what you were building
A pillar to humanity
On feet not my own
No balance but never falling.
Building walls of stone and finding no safety within
Painting over cracks with flowers and gifts
Stacking stones on my tower
Building higher and higher until I could not see
And I was not ready.

But wasn’t it beautiful
You created me beautiful
And I didn’t dare stop smiling for fear the paint would crack.
I couldn’t take back the blank canvas
So why break it now?
I was finished
And finished is all others saw
A masterpiece
Not the canvas beneath
Choking for air
Through the despair of your brush strokes
Tears never smudging pastels
My whole world darkness and chalk dust.
But they never saw past the conjecture of art
Because why not trust a pretty picture?
And you’re not fourteen anymore.

Seven years I waited
For still life to feel like living
Trapped inside but not wanting to leave
Knowing freedom would destroy
Everything that held me together.
We are all artworks only I did not paint mine
This wasn’t art
This was work
This was not my best me
It was his.
I was the sculpture, not creator
Unable to breathe
Unable to move
And I would give anything to be unfinished
Because I was fourteen and I was not ready.

Featured Image: Zac Quitzau Facebook: Zac's Doodles