The Lotus Flower
by
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My Brand New Book Perfect; Delicate; Innocent and pure, Detached from the world, and its war, The soft first page: I stroke my fingers through, The pages thirst for knowledge, as they Flicker through the aromatic breeze. The feint lines are my visual support, The solid pink margin is straight as a flying crow. The shiny front cover is seeking reality, A whispery echo rushes from the page, And vibrates in my ear, calling. My second chance, my brand new book. No pages turned over, free from my burdens This time there will be no mistakes, Each sentence will move along and Each word will shimmer like glass Blend in the page, and come alive. As I write many lyrical wisdoms, This book will give it form, and make it mine, Every page will be deep and every space filled, Every chapter will end before the next begins. My second chance, my brand new book. Me and My Work As long as I have the flow I will carry on writing As long as I have a word map, I will carry on expressing, As long as I have authorship I will keep on accelerating, As long as I have the ability I will carry on writing. This is soul searching for me to explore; How best to present my constellation; How to turn my work into a universal metaphor; And turn this work into a memorable collection. I need the help of family and friends; I need the help of famous legends; I need the help of my guardian angel; I need the help of a good book label; I need the help of my pen and paper; I need the help of a peacekeeper; I need the help of the people who understand; I need the help of the fork on my hand. Words When words begin to fade; When words begin to whisper; When words begin to take shade; When words don’t sound crisper; Art begins to conceive; Art begins to form, Art begins to perceive, Art begins to transform. The colours begin to blend, The hands begin to direct, The mind begins to mend Words and Art begin to connect. Alone at last At last I have my thoughts, I have myself my pen and paper At last I can breathe and relax, They were calling, but I could not hear. I was lost deep in some evil trance, What was lost has now been found, This is the key to my freedom, Each bit dedicated to my four little angels with sight and sound. Things are beginning to get clear, And people want to see, But something is not complete, nowhere near, But one day it will be. Perfect; Delicate; Innocent and pure, Detached from the world, and its war, The soft first page: I stroke my fingers through, The pages thirst for knowledge, as they Flicker through the aromatic breeze. The feint lines are my visual support, The solid pink margin is straight as a flying crow. The shiny front cover is seeking reality, A whispery echo rushes from the page, And vibrates in my ear, calling. My second chance, my brand new book. No pages turned over, free from my burdens This time there will be no mistakes, Each sentence will move along and Each word will shimmer like glass Blend in the page, and come alive. As I write many lyrical wisdoms, This book will give it form, and make it mine, Every page will be deep and every space filled, Every chapter will end before the next begins. My second chance, my brand new book. Me and My Work As long as I have the flow I will carry on writing As long as I have a word map, I will carry on expressing, As long as I have authorship I will keep on accelerating, As long as I have the ability I will carry on writing. This is soul searching for me to explore; How best to present my constellation; How to turn my work into a universal metaphor; And turn this work into a memorable collection. I need the help of family and friends; I need the help of famous legends; I need the help of my guardian angel; I need the help of a good book label; I need the help of my pen and paper; I need the help of a peacekeeper; I need the help of the people who understand; I need the help of the fork on my hand. Words When words begin to fade; When words begin to whisper; When words begin to take shade; When words don’t sound crisper; Art begins to conceive; Art begins to form, Art begins to perceive, Art begins to transform. The colours begin to blend, The hands begin to direct, The mind begins to mend Words and Art begin to connect. Alone at last At last I have my thoughts, I have myself my pen and paper At last I can breathe and relax, They were calling, but I could not hear. I was lost deep in some evil trance, What was lost has now been found, This is the key to my freedom, Each bit dedicated to my four little angels with sight and sound. Things are beginning to get clear, And people want to see, But something is not complete, nowhere near, But one day it will be.
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About the Book
The Lotus Flower is a collection of poetry about healing; mother nature; love; relationships; spirituality; religion; depression amongst many other subjects. The Lotus Flower stays close to mother nature throughout. The poems were written in order to heal from mental health illness and gain a new life of spirituality and wisdom. The poetry depicts life in its minute form and brings small things to life. The poetry is written from a feminist point of view covering many areas of femininity and mother nature. Beginning with the poem 'My Brand New Book,' shows my second chance in life of writing and living, still staying natural to my environment and my experiences. As the poems develop and come out of their shell I write about depresssion and relationships, asking the question: Who am I ? continuously. The title is inspired from the poem 'About Ancestor Voices' and it was after this poem my poetry was growing into another dimension, especially the lines: ' The lakes are laid with the Lotus, As they have fought from the depths of waters', Carrying hope, light and purity in their shield like petals.'The poetry develops into 'My World' and 'A Poetess Grows' showing the development in the poetry reflecting life. As it develops I express the importance of childhood and religion. As identity in finding life back is explored I return to religion and back to nature. After writing 'The Phoenix' the poetry expresses love and resurrection and how much we can learn from mother nature.
About the Author
Born on March 3rd 1980. Interested in all types of fiction and non-fiction. Did Access to HE and studied Creative Writing (The Open University, (2007-8) I am married and mother to four. Gained interest in writing after Mental Health illness. I write poetry about everything that inspires and heals me.