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Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts

Poetry by Sarnia de la Mare, Live Readings at the Tale Teller Club #lyrics #safehaven



Why was it always so hot? 
She watched from the mezzanine 
overlooking the dance floor. 

Always so hot. 

Sweat dripped from bodies 
with their stench of party. 

She wished everyone would fuck off 
and it would just be her and Seb. 
She would meander across the mezzanine naked
and he would play their tunes.

They had so many.

She sighed
Remembering the first time they had met.
Such beauty was rare in a man.

The DJ always gets the girls,
that's the truth, he had said.

Too many damned girls.
That was the problem.

It was time.

Seb saw her and she waved,
he was smiling.
She took the gun out as he watched.

Not smiling now, are you?
She laughed as she raised her arm.
Slowly slowly catchy monkey.
Then,
as an afterthought,
put it in her mouth 

and the pulsing sadness of her brain 
filled the air 
like butterfly wings.

© 2024 Sarnia de la Mare


I am off to the recording studio to record this for my next single. Expect something a bit different in the tradition of a protest song.
#iservalan #isevalanmusic 

Safe Haven, A Poem by Sarnia de la Mare, song by Tale Teller Club

 Safe Haven


Your hate they can feel

Goes way deep inside

And they can’t shake the feeling

That they’re going to die


The children are marching

Their Journey through Hell

Your hate hits their cheeks

And they die where they fell


Toy soldiers are melting

Dolls’ faces are breaking

This world that you’re making

Keeps taking and taking


Little pink hearts

Keep beating and beating

For love and safe haven

They’re waiting and waiting


Little girl singers

Little boy drummers

Your stealing their winters

Erasing their summers


Under the rubble

Of your toxic hate

The blood of the babies

Seeps under the gate


The gate of a home

Once filled with love

Where angels come down

To take them above


A place filled with doves

that you’ll never dwell

Cos all the warmongers

Are Going to Hell


© 2024 Sarnia de la Mare



New Shoes and Virginity Lost by the Marchioness of Dorchester 1650 #livepoetry #lust #love #passion



New Shoes and Virginity Lost by
Marchioness of Dorchester (circa 1650)


One day, twas June as I recall
A hue of morning dew
clung to my very form,
with all its secrets anew,
The virgin in me hovered,
though to her I felt distain
I wanted more than I dare say
Dear reader, I longed for play.

A gentleman,
Bold in his doublet and hose,
Caught sight of mine shoe,
So shapely and new.
His strengthening ardor rose,
I saw his longing face
So showed some lace
A shocking
Stocking!
With all its promise of pleasure.
Perhaps,
a new,
adventure.


Entranced by mine ankle so delicate and rare,
His eyes,
like bees to nectar,
lingered there.
I, demure and coy, feigned innocence well,
Yet mischief danced within his spell.

With a subtle lift of skirts, I did reveal
A glimpse calf, for passion's steal.

The gentleman's breath hitched,
pulse quickened pace,
As if Cupid himself had aimed true with ardor's grace.
He longed to touch that ankle.
Oh to kiss its curve,
To unravel the mystery it did preserve.
And so the virgin, her so doomed,
As the gent, up knee and calf then went
To a place I remember,
So divine

A place of plunder unconfined.


©2024 Sarnia de la maré FRSA




The Prisoner by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA for Tale Teller Club Publishing

 The Prisoner


Beneath the moon's unworldly glow,

Near the tombs where shadows grow,

A tall dark man with heart of woe,

Kneels by a grave, his tears now flow.


Beside the tombstone, a weeping form,

She too sits a life to mourn 

Angered still her troubled storm,

For a love once vibrant lays forlorn.


He the lover forever missed,

In cold marble his name is etched.

Whispers longing, his grief endures,

A mournful tale throughout the years.


His sorry words the silence breaks. 

"I miss you still," he softly speaks,

A spirit presence, love forsakes,

As the night in mournful quiet takes.


"I've lingered, Samuel, in this abyss,

The pain of parting, your ghostly kiss.

Lovers’ chains, an eternal twist,

In a lonely realm where time persists.”


He wavers now, disbelief takes hold,

For she is here, a dream unfolds.

A hand, ethereal, in forgiveness, bold,

Through veils of sorrow, their tale is told.


"I never meant you harm" he pleads,

His hand through hers as it recedes

Words unspoken, like dormant seeds,

In the crying graves where ghosts do feed


"Forgive me, Eleanor, I beg you please”

The cursed lover falls to his knees

Her fire of love burned through his heart

Twas him who plays the spectral’s part


A chill coursed through, as their hands entwined,

In the moonlit graveyard, so divine.

"I love you, Eleanor," a whispered whine,

A moment shared in the night's confine.


The mist retreats, the dawn holds sway.

As his ghostly figure fades away,

Lovers lost in the moon’s display,

For she is the prisoner of the day.


©2023 Sarnia de la Mare 









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Digital, 101.6 W x 59.7 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 91.4 W x 91.4 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 101.6 W x 59.7 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 101.6 W x 59.7 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 101.6 W x 63.5 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 91.4 W x 91.4 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 91.4 W x 91.4 H x 0.3 D cm


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Painting, 20.3 W x 0.3 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 121.9 W x 121.9 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 203.2 W x 139.7 H x 5.1 D cm


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Digital, 203.2 W x 114.3 H x 0.3 D cm


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Digital, 101.6 W x 57.9 H x 2.5 D cm


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£968


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