HELEN EAMES
A fellow English Student during my University years, Helen's poetry is original, even quirky, and yet touching and loveable at the same time - much like the girl herself!
My Fish Are Dying...
My fish are dying
One by one
Floating up to the surface
Of something without meaning
Lifeless and still
Like your feelings for me
You wrap them in a plastic bag
And throw them away
Into the past
Where they lie silent
Without me
Too many of the wrong things
Leaves you spaced out
Wondering what you're doing here?
Facing the painful Why
The Why of wishes
Of floating up to the surface
To quietly die.
Copyright © 1999 by Helen Eames
The Sound...
The sound spreads out
Invisibly disturbing the air
The room tenses then dilates
At its soft fingering touch
Reaching around us
Softly licking out senses
We only breathe enough
To gently move the air
Our breathing and the music
Twisting, rubbing and flowing
Lines of the ceiling
Stretch to form right angles
Sharpening stiffly down
To probe the curves
Of the bare objects
Which open up and pulse
Across the floor
We exist in the warm moment
Safe inside heartbeats
Thoughts tenderly spread
Open to overlap each other
Until they touch becoming
One in the centre of
The rhythmically moving room.
Copyright © 1999 by Helen Eames
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