Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 20 Jan, 2010 10:16AM
Do you twinkle, little star?
How I wonder where you are?
Cold and hungry with no light?
Sleeping on the street tonight?
Or perhaps a dirty squat?
Are you smoking more than pot?
Tell me please I need to know
It’s just that I do worry so
Call me, call me, little star
Tell me, tell me, where you are
Its been weeks since your last call
It’s been worrying us all
Don't give up your education
Please just give me your location
Homelessness is not a crime
And yes, I know you need your time
But oh, it tears us all apart
Don't you know it breaks my heart?
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
Show me, show me where you are
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 20 Jan, 2010 10:09AM
Nobody there did stop to greet
That old man walking down the street
His old skin hanging at old bones
So proud, so sure, and yet, alone
So sadly that his sun-bleached eyes
Did glint with wet as he passed by
A hero, home from furious winds
And fumes, and paves where ice had thinned
So that his tired old foot might slip
(Although he bared a wondrous grip)
He risked it all, and all for which
To bring to health his poorly bitch
His one companion now was old
And did not like the weather cold
But still, a man alive from war
In all his glory, come - adore!
How did that figure pass unseen
And walk so slowly through the scene?
Where not a busy head would turn
To greet him on his safe return.
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 04 Dec, 2009 02:40PM
The shadow woman lurks at night
To watch you sleeping in your bed
Through blackened eyes she takes her sight
And plants her nightmares in your head
Not does the shadow woman like
This monstrous task she undertakes
But in her world of black and white
She scornfully recriminates
And she, not living and not dead
No longer cries her angry words
As anything she ever said
Was never really ever heard
"The shadow woman is a tale"
That’s what you confidently say
Because your screams and nightly wail
Will be forgotten by the day
But as you close your eyes tonight
Her shadow may begin to creep
You'll catch a glimpse of her delight
And in your bed she’ll watch you weep.
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 02 Nov, 2009 02:25PM
I hate you and I love you
Sometimes I think you care
But then something will happen
To turn me to despair
You turn against your daughter
The one who tries to help
And when you see you've made me cry
You curse my name to hell
I know you're schizophrenic
And can't stop the things you say
But it just keeps hurting, more and more
I want to run away
I feel I’m in a mouse-trap
I can't leave you alone
Why is it always better when
I call you on the phone?
Why do you change so quickly?
Why do you target me?
Is it because you love me
That you will not let me be?
Is it because you hate me
That you play these twisted games
Or is that you maybe have a
Burning need to blame?
You mess my mind and feelings
You've bruised me like a plum
Remember when you set yourself on fire
Soaked in rum?
Remember all the times I saw the needle in the hay
You'd wake a little drowsy
Like it was just another day
And for times I’d beg you
To take the pills you need
And for the times you wouldn't
And for the times you'd bleed
You cut your skin so deeply
And pray the colours run
But all I’d ever wanted
Was just to fix you, Mum.
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 16 Oct, 2009 01:38PM
Dance, little spirit
On a line of a silken web
Like strings on a glass guitar
And pluck notes of sleep
Dust in the wind
Is only faces of the dead
Longing to live again
Whispering rhymes from somewhere
Deep in a frozen ocean
Dance, little spirit
To the beat of a blinking eye
That will not cry the truth
But trickles out a lie
Icy hands lay on ugly rainbows
Where colours are screaming
And green is the loudest of all
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 17 Jun, 2009 02:58PM
Candle light like honey leaks from the wax
A room, thin as paper and forged like a signature
Made for purpose, intention:
This room will show the corpse of a loved one.
Yes, that’ll do ‘em for now.
The old woman’s no longer a Nan,
Or a wife, cleaner, ruthless bingo go-getter
Gardener, cook, crossword-solver,
Mother, sister, letter checker
But child, yes.
Clutched yet again by darkness
Do you fear her, envy her
Because she is dead?
Aged and worn, you can see it in the cracks, but now
So carefree she allows herself to rot away
Lost like a cut tree,
Chopped and ambition pulled
From the roots
From the very moment of decision
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 17 Jun, 2009 02:41PM
I han't got no apples
I han't got no pears
I han't got no house
'Cos I han't got no stairs
I han't got no diamonds
I han't got no gold
I han't got no job
'Cos they say "Yer too old!"
But I ha' got my wom'n
I ha' got my son
I ha' got my grand-kid
And the love from ear' one
Cos nothin' competes
With them sweet li'l cheeks
Of a dumb li'l tucker
And the love from his moth'r
Don’t want no gas cook'r
I’m fine with the coal
Now – I’m off to go fishin’
At's good for the soul.
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 17 Jun, 2009 02:34PM
A snake sings at night
Silent in sunlight, yes
But, watched by silver stars
It sashays to a stream, sits still,
Lifts its serpent head
And sounds a single note
Of such sweet sadness
That beasts weep
And earthly rumblings hush
And creatures of the sky stop,
To drop like spiders
From silken strings
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 22 May, 2009 09:59AM
The children click their bones together
They are happy; they are clapping.
A mother, humming and chewing a piece of gum,
Places a retro-inspired plate in front of her son.
A sister, frail and gaunt, stirs the last of the Mahango.
There are five of them. There will be enough for three tonight; the youngest will die soon.
Her son sniffs the dish, wrinkles his nose and throws the spaghetti bolognaise on the floor.
The five children, tearful, excited
Stare at the black, cracked pot of porridge in silence, licking their dry mouths.
His mother, irritated, warns him, "There will be no desert if you do that again." She bares in mind the Indian takeaway, left over from yesterday.
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 22 May, 2009 09:55AM
This is not my face
Or my feet or the flesh hanging off my frame
These are not the hands that
Touched your shoulder tenderly
The eyes that dared to eye your own
In front of your father
Are long gone.
Look at me; I am she!
I am the one she was
(If not a little bitter)
For the blisters from the churning return
And splinters hurt
But butter cannot heal.
And you, no wiser but delivered alone
To that dry place
Cracked and wry as my face has become
Goodbye my unrequited love
Goodbye, one so adored
Know that I am shrivelled and I am withered and where
Bares the mark of love on me?
Washed away a thousand times
The wine-stain has faded into the carpet
My grandson helped to wash.
Summer is passing for the last time.
I sit on a plastic chair on the lawn
Hearing again your sigh:
“This place is a far cry from paradise”
I laugh now, strong, real, bemused
My legs do not ache but I am tired
And slip, smiling
To touch you again
Tara ShannonPosted by Tara Shannon 22 May, 2009 09:53AM
One, two, three walk down
The parade of the dead has come to town
With a click of their heels and a clink of their jewels
The skeletons march past the envious fools
Four, five, six stand still
One of them swallows a laxative pill
The fifth and the sixth share a finger of Twix
Then throw it up after a couple of licks
Fans, hands, cameras and clothes
Big bushy hair and small pretty bows
The third has to leave and get a new nose
But the first and the second drop dead in the show