Bloodstained Poems, Stolen Words

Daisy Stewart Henderson

 

Lonely scarecrow, with his lipless mouth stitched shut

Stony faced statue, frozen in time

Chiselled from rock

No choice

The doll they sewed from rags, with hair of twisted wool

Braid it into your own 

A smile sewn across her face in crimson thread

The figures from the photographs

On the cover of your grandmother’s newspaper

They light the fire with the crumpled paper

Of a story told too late

Their voices hoarse, fading into the storm 

She sung her own requiem

Drown it out with the explosion of our proud rifles 

Pop songs speak of fantastical parties, mouth the words 

From the passenger seat, or at a child’s birthday party

The flight to paradise lands in a concrete ocean

Boom goes the bass line, backed up by the gun

 

Swallowed by people, many words steal my speech

Hogs dressed up in polyester, squeal like a pig during slaughter 

Ugly kindness, beautiful cruelty

The anthems and declarations of a language twisted to form a knife

Of the wrath of evil men

Of the temper tantrums of a child who’s hurt

Faces through a screen, we lack the depth, the truth

To tell them apart

 

I heard words, blood stained poems 

I scream, the thunder, a storm after a hot summer day

Where the children splash in the pool, sun cream and shorts

They cartwheel over the ash

Of the world burning just over the horizon

My mouth is stitched shut, a pretty face chiselled from diamond 

And coal

I see myself in the pictures

On the TV, in the fire

They set it alight

Bloom into a flower of sunset and flesh 

The violence is easier to love

Crackling

Twisting

The music’s over

The voices gone

{ Daisy Stewart Henderson } Bio

When I write, be it poetry or prose, I try to relate and resonate with the audience. I’ve enjoyed telling stories since I was very young, but I didn’t feel like my writing would ever account to much until I entered the Pushkin Prize, and was incredibly fortunate to win! Since then I’ve worked on poetry, short stories, non fiction articles and, most recently, a book. I love writing as a creative outlet, as well as to make things that I hope, one day, will have an impact on someone. I attempt to pick up the scattered pieces, be it the awkward moments we long to forget, a beautifully crafted sentace in a book, deep rooted childhood memories, or just the simple things that make life.