Words

 

To see your short stories/ poems/ jokes and riddles here please email them to info@mespace.org

 

 

The Cauldron

by Lisa

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The witches gather

to stir the brew

they cackle and crow

and flavour the stew

with bones of the frog

and hair of the cat

eyeballs of owls

and large ones at that!

They prance and they dance

and they chant through the night

and they whisper their spells

that will give us a fright!

With their long bony fingers

and long crooked sticks

their thin warty noses

which all of them picks

You say they are myths

you say they’re not true

but beware non-believer

they’re coming for you!

      * * * * * * * * * *

Short and witty poems from ME space Facebook

 

 

parrot-blue

Geoffrey the cockatoo

Had hues of the most wonderful blue

He was known to like cake

had learnt how to bake

And had tea parties held at the zoo!

by Bella, Bella and Sarah-Louise

poetry-clip-art-1

The problem with trying to write rhyme

Is getting a rhyme all the time….

It often gets tangled

And really quite mangled

Perhaps I will just stick to mime!

by Kate and Bella

vegetable-soup

This is a lovely group

We get on like veg in a soup

Well blended and seasoned

And perfectly reasoned

That’s why we all feel cock-a-hoop!

by Bella and Kate

*************

Attack on the Bus

by Kristina Bray

It didn’t hurt this body much, not it
That wades each day through fire and agony
Barely more than a stinging, errant fly,
Those three short slaps that you bestowed on me
It isn’t that which makes my anger rise
That makes my weeping heart bemoan the cruel
That you began without recourse to speech
Because you thought I had broken a rule.
Oh no, I’ve had worse hurts and I forgive
The too-hasty judgement, the lashing out.
It is the cruel behind the act that hurts.
As if to struggle through the violent rout
Of a full day when every movement hurts
Begun exhausted, trembling, to strive
Through every task like Hercules enslaved
In twelve hard labors, to feel less alive
With every minute passing on, to feel
The eyes of others questioning the pain
That I must bear, all this was not enough!
Oh no, you felt entitled to complain.
What then? It is no secret this illness
Although invisible and oft maligned.
Ask me! That is why nature formed your mouth.
Let me explain the need of me and mine
But do not judge when you know nothing of
My life or feelings or identity.
What right or reason have you to impose
Another hurt by rashly hating me
When I’ve done nothing wrong?
And would you still
Bring down your hand
If you knew that the strike
Would shatter more than simple bruising flesh?
If you yourself had felt the brutal spike
Of disdain so unwarranted? I doubt
That then you could find reason to explain
Why it was that you thrust against frail flesh
A closed up palm, a bruising kind of rain.
Do you think anyone would choose a life
By suffering hemmed in on every side
A life where we are mocked, derided, feared
Where we are denied every help and pride
If we had the chance to run hale and free?
Who, given such a gift, would then pretend
For any reason to lack the blessing
That we would cherish until our lives end?
Why would we dissemble, act, lie, put on?
For yes, I know that’s what you think of me.
I’ve heard it said often enough, be sure
Even by those who know the truth of me.
And yet I still cannot understand why
You’d hurt a heart so open to explain
When I have only ever sought to help
To cherish, protect, to raise and defend.

 

You who have the whole wide world please tell me why
You yet find victory making me cry.

* * * * * * * * * * 

My Youth

by Michael Wormald

It is not easy being young,
O
r else more people would do it.
A
nd get it right, without being so highly strung.
T
o keep it up is easy, it takes a little bit
O
f patience, time and thought.
I
f you don’t be careful, youth will come to naught.

I felt young once, not so long ago.
I
 maybe only twenty five; but inside
I
 feel old; the skin is just for show.
T
he brain and heart are ebbing like the tide.
I
 wait for another moon and smile.
I
‘ll count my years till I’m rotting in a pile.

Youth is lost to me now I am slowing down.
M
y honor and passion for pure and true love
A
nd all my guilt and frowns,
T
ook away the life given from above.
M
y wisdom; my heart; my short years and the pain from beyond.
T
ell me now; youth is gone and life will soon abscond.

************

 

Why?

By Kristina Bray

Why all this hurt?
From whence comes all this pain?
And what did I, poor mortal
Ever do
To deserve torture that awakes each day
And dogs each breath and hour till I rue
The very air that woke me?
Can it be
That I have wronged in some other life
And for those sins
Forgotten and unknown
Was deemed as fitting for this awful strife?
And what could it have been this dreadful wrong
To merit leaden limbs that ache so deep
To call exhaustion that lasts years, not days
And cannot be contained even by sleep?
I do not think that God could be so cruel
And yet sometimes I would howl to the sky
Oh why, oh why do you allow this hurt
So deep that I wish from my own flesh to fly?
Do you not know how much it weighs me down
Driving from me hopes and lovers and friends
And will not leave even breath to make love?
Do you not hear me weep when I see them
Who I love above all cry out for time
For help or care or for body’s caress
Knowing there is no way I can give them
The simple things that would their day-times bless?
Oh why this pain? Could anyone deserve
To spend a lifetime tortured on the wrack
Their hurt invisible, lonely, and worst
Denied by all?
Would not such a heart crack?

************

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Candlelight

She reads by candlelight, my love

And does not know I look

Released from all the world’s constraints

By her accomplice, Book.

And now I see her hair aglow

That tumbles, shining, down

Like Helen’s on the walls of Troy

And her small, pensive frown

As her lips whisper of a world

That draws her mind from me

Deepens my love, my joy and hope

That she still cleaves to me.

She reads by candlelight, my love

And I can’t help but mourn

That her soul slips the world, and me,

To watch another dawn

Upon another land of dreams.

And yet I glory so,

to watch her who’ll always return

I give her leave to go.

By Kristina Bray

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Anna


Do you know the first word you ever spoke? Was it Mamma, or Dada or perhaps even doggie? The first word I ever spoke couldn’t have been further away from that if you sprinted around the world twice and ended up in a truck shop in Texas munching on a taco! The first word I spoke was the only word I could think of with my baby mind, but even now with my teenagers mind, it was the only word that could skim the void of what was happening to me – what is happening to me – ever since I breathed my first gasp of air. It was… get this… Metamorphosis!  Read more>


The Quill Knows

By Amy (age 13)

   I am a stood a looking; there is no-one but me, stood a looking  a 
   100 feet above the sea,
   I am alone with the leaves and the whispers of there own,
   Only I can tell what their caressing sighs bestow
   A mummer, a mumble, a buzz, a shout, what is this 
   that has come about?

                                          Read more>

 

 

 

 

 Douglas Dotter did a doodle                   

   by Phoebe                                    

Douglas Dotter did a doodle
but the doodle changed his moodle
he dreamed he’d do another doodle
‘I will make my doodle beaudle
and a bit of beaudle doodle
will make a beaudle doodle goodle!’

 Douglas Dotter put his doodle
(and his other beaudle doodle)
 in the gallery of Doodles
 and the doodle was so coodle
 that it changed some other moodles
 so Douglas Dotter’s beaudle doodles made more coodle goodle beaudle doodles!

                                

 

 LIFE WITH ME
anonymous

 

Darkness – my eyes hurt with the light

Silence – noise gives my ears a fright

Pain – my muscles scream and tear

Confusion – my mind just isn’t there

Sleeping – I dread the night time hours

Fatigue – no energy empowers

Loneliness – where have my friends all gone?

Fear – how long will this go on?

 

 

 DID YOU KNOW?

Leonardo da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time!

 

 The Night Before Christmas
  by Jane Colby

  (ghost written by Santa)

 

  Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house

  Not a creature was stirring, so quiet as a mouse

  I stole to the kitchen and put on some tea

  And carried the mug to my trusty PC.

  Read more>

 

 

    ME
     by Zack

    Waking late
    feeling flaked
    cant get brain 
    to operate

    Read more> 

 

 

 The Cauldron
  By Lisa

 

   The witches gather

   to stir the brew

   they cackle and crow

   and flavour the stew

   read more>

 

 

 

DID YOU KNOW?

A snail breathes through its foot!

 

 

 

 

My Cat
By Charlie Hoare

My cat gives me comfort
She calms me, she protects me.
When I look into her eyes, I feel
Somewhat  reassured.
Like I know everything’s going to be ok.
Read more >
The March Goes On
By Charlie Hoare

Disgruntled, exhausted, the two
tommy’s make their way along the
weary pathway.
One injured soul rests his arm on the
shoulder of a loyal friend
trudging through the dirt…..
the March goes on.
Read more >

 

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