19/04/2021 - Poem a Day Compilation
I am surrounded by the pressure
To be more than I am
And sometimes I don’t know
How I’m supposed to deal with that
The pressure isn’t from anywhere else
But inside my own mind
And I argue with myself endlessly
About what I should be doing
I wish I had the confidence
To achieve what I tell myself I should
Maybe one day I will
But today is not that day
Showing posts with label confidence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confidence. Show all posts
Monday, May 31, 2021
Saturday, March 20, 2021
Dragons in the Outfield
12/03/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation
He threw pitches like a canon
Strikes by the dozen
Three up, three down
And clean sheets galore
But his turns at bat were not so grand
Swinging at balls
And watching clean hits
Sail straight into the catcher’s mitt
When he did make contact
It wasn’t always fair
Flying foul more oft than not
Or finding a fielding glove
His coach was at a loss
At training the balls would fly
Clearing fielders and fencing
Homers coming every other pitch
So he went to see a psychologist
Who came to see him play
And diagnosed his problem
Almost immediately
A strange fear took over
When facing those blistering balls
And the wise old psychologist
Knew just what to do
She gave him a new persona
A character he could become
The sorcerer of scoring
And it seemed to do the trick
The very next game he got on base
And stole his way around
Getting home to thunderous applause
From his teammates in the dugout
From then on, his stats improved
And his confidence rocketed
The runs came thick and fast
But that home run was elusive
Then one rain soaked, soggy day
With the clay heavy underfoot
The crack of bat on ball was heard
And the infield watched it soar
It was pure magic as he rounded first
And continued onto second
Then third and home soon followed
As the ball cleared the fence
He’d overcome his demons,
The monkey off his back,
And all it had taken was
Defeating the dragons in the outfield
He threw pitches like a canon
Strikes by the dozen
Three up, three down
And clean sheets galore
But his turns at bat were not so grand
Swinging at balls
And watching clean hits
Sail straight into the catcher’s mitt
When he did make contact
It wasn’t always fair
Flying foul more oft than not
Or finding a fielding glove
His coach was at a loss
At training the balls would fly
Clearing fielders and fencing
Homers coming every other pitch
So he went to see a psychologist
Who came to see him play
And diagnosed his problem
Almost immediately
A strange fear took over
When facing those blistering balls
And the wise old psychologist
Knew just what to do
She gave him a new persona
A character he could become
The sorcerer of scoring
And it seemed to do the trick
The very next game he got on base
And stole his way around
Getting home to thunderous applause
From his teammates in the dugout
From then on, his stats improved
And his confidence rocketed
The runs came thick and fast
But that home run was elusive
Then one rain soaked, soggy day
With the clay heavy underfoot
The crack of bat on ball was heard
And the infield watched it soar
It was pure magic as he rounded first
And continued onto second
Then third and home soon followed
As the ball cleared the fence
He’d overcome his demons,
The monkey off his back,
And all it had taken was
Defeating the dragons in the outfield
Friday, December 18, 2020
A Modern Fairytale
18/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation
Once upon a time
There was a writer who was very sad
Because her words would not come to her
They were behaving very bad
They teased her relentlessly
And would not work as a team
They played mischief with her mind
Like a nightmare, not a dream
She looked out into the sky above
And wished upon a star
That she’d find some inspiration
That her reputation, it wouldn’t mar
Then the heavens opened up
Lightening flashed thick and fast
Thunder cracked over head
And a spell, it was cast
Her fingers flew across the keys
Injecting a magic to her story
It was like nothing else that she had written
And would cover her with glory
Before she knew the night was over
And the sun peered over the horizon far
But her masterpiece, it was complete
Ready to sell at the bazaar
She phoned every publisher
But every door slammed in her face
She was as yet undiscovered
She had yet to find her place
What little feedback she received
Was like a dagger to her chest
She’d poured out her heart and soul
And she’d tried her very best
As she poured over library books
On how to become a better writer
A woman sat down opposite her
And she suddenly felt much lighter
“I see you are a writer,”
The wise old woman said
And the writer peeked over her book
With a sense of fear and dread
“Oh, don’t be afraid, my dear,
I’m hear to help you out
They call me fairy godmother
But you can call me Bubblesprout
“That’s not my real name, you know
It’s my nom de plume
And I think it rather suits me
But it’s you I’ve come to groom.”
The writer put down the book
And looked this woman up and down
She appeared to be quite grandmotherly
But dressed in a grandiose ballroom gown.
The writer thought herself imagining
When Bubblesprout stood up
She thought she saw actual sparkles
And was that an actual buttercup?
She followed her in a daze
To where she’d parked her car
“Oh, no, this will never do”
She exclaimed as if a movie star
With a flourish, she produced a wand
And waved it round and round
Muttering incoherent words
Until the car could not be found
In its place a carriage stood
Adorned with gold and jewels
But no one walking by seemed to care
Were they blind or just poor fools?
“Are we going to meet a prince?”
Asked the writer in disbelief
Bubblesprout smiled then laughed
And answered “Oh, good grief!
“What do you want a prince for?
What you need is an editor in chief
To turn your beautiful work of art
Into something beyond belief.”
The writer smiled and laughed herself
And handed over the manuscript
She caught her breath in anticipation
And a beat in her heart was skipped
The pages fluttered as if enchanted
Words rearranging themselves
A wonderfully crafted cover formed
The book ready to hit the shelves
“How long will this magic last?”
The writer queried in earnest
And Bubblesprout turned to her
With a look that was the sternest
“This magic is within you
Whenever you choose it,
You never needed me at all
It’s yours when you want to use it.”
And with that she disappeared
Leaving only a puff of smoke
The writer sitting in her car
Wondering if she’d had a stroke
But there on the passenger seat
Sat a book so finely bound
And tucked between its pages
A card was to be found
Upon the card was the name
Of a publisher of high repute
Who could see the writer’s vision
And plan a campaign to suit
The writer then lived
Happily ever after
In a world that celebrated her
And joined in her laughter
Now, I know what you’re all thinking:
What kind of absurdity is this?
That’s not how publishing works
There’s something terribly amiss
And while you’re probably right
You’re also probably wrong
Because with the help of a good editor
You know it can’t be long
How long long is is difficult
To put a specific number on
But when it happens, look out
Through bookstore doors you’ll swan
So have faith in your abilities
Get your own Bubblesprout
Because rejections are going to happen
But one day you’ll get to shout
THIS is my book
And it’s not a fairytale
It’s as real as real can be
Available in print, audio and braille
Once upon a time
There was a writer who was very sad
Because her words would not come to her
They were behaving very bad
They teased her relentlessly
And would not work as a team
They played mischief with her mind
Like a nightmare, not a dream
She looked out into the sky above
And wished upon a star
That she’d find some inspiration
That her reputation, it wouldn’t mar
Then the heavens opened up
Lightening flashed thick and fast
Thunder cracked over head
And a spell, it was cast
Her fingers flew across the keys
Injecting a magic to her story
It was like nothing else that she had written
And would cover her with glory
Before she knew the night was over
And the sun peered over the horizon far
But her masterpiece, it was complete
Ready to sell at the bazaar
She phoned every publisher
But every door slammed in her face
She was as yet undiscovered
She had yet to find her place
What little feedback she received
Was like a dagger to her chest
She’d poured out her heart and soul
And she’d tried her very best
As she poured over library books
On how to become a better writer
A woman sat down opposite her
And she suddenly felt much lighter
“I see you are a writer,”
The wise old woman said
And the writer peeked over her book
With a sense of fear and dread
“Oh, don’t be afraid, my dear,
I’m hear to help you out
They call me fairy godmother
But you can call me Bubblesprout
“That’s not my real name, you know
It’s my nom de plume
And I think it rather suits me
But it’s you I’ve come to groom.”
The writer put down the book
And looked this woman up and down
She appeared to be quite grandmotherly
But dressed in a grandiose ballroom gown.
The writer thought herself imagining
When Bubblesprout stood up
She thought she saw actual sparkles
And was that an actual buttercup?
She followed her in a daze
To where she’d parked her car
“Oh, no, this will never do”
She exclaimed as if a movie star
With a flourish, she produced a wand
And waved it round and round
Muttering incoherent words
Until the car could not be found
In its place a carriage stood
Adorned with gold and jewels
But no one walking by seemed to care
Were they blind or just poor fools?
“Are we going to meet a prince?”
Asked the writer in disbelief
Bubblesprout smiled then laughed
And answered “Oh, good grief!
“What do you want a prince for?
What you need is an editor in chief
To turn your beautiful work of art
Into something beyond belief.”
The writer smiled and laughed herself
And handed over the manuscript
She caught her breath in anticipation
And a beat in her heart was skipped
The pages fluttered as if enchanted
Words rearranging themselves
A wonderfully crafted cover formed
The book ready to hit the shelves
“How long will this magic last?”
The writer queried in earnest
And Bubblesprout turned to her
With a look that was the sternest
“This magic is within you
Whenever you choose it,
You never needed me at all
It’s yours when you want to use it.”
And with that she disappeared
Leaving only a puff of smoke
The writer sitting in her car
Wondering if she’d had a stroke
But there on the passenger seat
Sat a book so finely bound
And tucked between its pages
A card was to be found
Upon the card was the name
Of a publisher of high repute
Who could see the writer’s vision
And plan a campaign to suit
The writer then lived
Happily ever after
In a world that celebrated her
And joined in her laughter
Now, I know what you’re all thinking:
What kind of absurdity is this?
That’s not how publishing works
There’s something terribly amiss
And while you’re probably right
You’re also probably wrong
Because with the help of a good editor
You know it can’t be long
How long long is is difficult
To put a specific number on
But when it happens, look out
Through bookstore doors you’ll swan
So have faith in your abilities
Get your own Bubblesprout
Because rejections are going to happen
But one day you’ll get to shout
THIS is my book
And it’s not a fairytale
It’s as real as real can be
Available in print, audio and braille
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