Counting My Blessings

I wrote this when I was extremely happy, and it's message is something I need to remind myself of. You should remember it too.

I started counting good things in my life
And I started to count my worries and strife
The good things took longer; hours on end
Whilst the bad things took seconds, it was hard to comprehend
Because in school I was good at maths; I didn't even try
But now I guessI've realised I still can't count that high,
All my virtues and amenities added up rather quickly,
And the volume of the bad things stacked up not nearly so thickly.
So now I'm sure that life is so much more than good to me
And life is good in general; count your blessings and you'll see.

                                        -c.h.f

Contrastingly Human

my head is full of destruction
but my pen creates.
my actions can bring death
but my thoughts give life
to people i wish i'd meet
or be
or never have seen.
i can't stop sadness
but i still feel joy.
i choose to see the dark but the light
pierces my eyes
happily

                                        -c.h.f

A Desperate Hue

A toddler stubbornly refusing to go to bed
Is the setting sun a-flaming; into the blue sky orange bled.
Then when again said sun glimpses Earth in early morning,
It's colours start to pierce your eyes to give you a forewarning
Of the magic and glory the day will bring, if only you will try
To be the oranges, yellows, and reds in life's cold, white, and blue sky.

                                        -c.h.f

Warning Sign

Remember this post when I talked about my very first short film, Warning Sign? Well, here's the poem that sparked it all. This was one of the first proper poems I ever wrote, and I think I'll always have a little soft spot for it. Also, it's inspired by my favourite film of all time; Zero Day (2003, Ben Coccio). Enjoy! (It's not really a poem you can exactly enjoy, actually, but experience it. Also, trigger warning: school shootings).

Their parents weep and pray for help, but all they gain is hatred.

The teachers seem detached, the paramedics seem sedated.

The media often ask: "The parents; are they blind?

Surely they must've known, were there no warning signs?"

But sometimes there aren't any, so the only sign you'll see

Is a black gloved hand, some combat boots, and a pain above your knee.

Your heartbeat will be quickening, a dull ache in your head

As you glance down to your lap in fear, to see a pool of red.

Maybe then the thought you'll think will be one more profound

Than the needless, vulgar, horrid ones you often shouted loud.

Maybe then you'll stop and see the pain that you ave caused,

And maybe then you'll teach your child to hate less and love more.

But maybe you won't have a child, and maybe now you'll die,

And maybe you'll not realise that you're the reason why

Two lovely children broke and then turned into twisted men,

And vowed to never, ever feel so powerless again.

They saw your 'harmless teasing' as a valid reason why

They should kill the school and teachers too, your words their battle cry.

So now I hope you're happy, even though you're scared.

The words you thought would hurt the boys instead made them prepared.

Their angry minds are swirling, their blackened hearts are dead.

Their sawed-off guns are howling at the children who have fled. 

You crouch under a table and you shed a single tear.

You best friend isn't breathing and you're paralysed with fear.

So is this what you pictured when you taunted and you teased

And you forced them to be lonely just because you were displeased 

With the clothes they wore, the things they said, the simple way they stood

And the fact that one of them caught the eye of the girl you never could.

She saw in him a spark, a light, a glimmer of something exciting,

And in you she saw the truth - a bully. That flame you were igniting

With your harsh words and harsher hits and incessant grating jeers

Will now be what destroys you thought your blood and sweat and tears.

You should've seen those warning signs,

You shouldn't have been so violent.

But most of all, my dear dead friend, 

You should've just stayed silent.

                                        -c.h.f

Can

He can bring down cities
And crush armies like bugs
He can bring down my defences
And crush me in a hug

He can tell me sweet nothings
Like they really do mean nought
He can talk and talk and talk some more
About things he was never taught

He can hold me close of push me far
Or pretend I don't exist
He can touch me gently with his hand
Or not so with his fist

He can claim to be some superman
But there's one thing he can never;
He cannot be the one I want
For I won't be his slave forever

For I can be a superman
And can and will save me
For he can take care of himself
And I can at last be free.

                                        -c.h.f

That Feeling

I like
to feel.
Physically or emotions.
I like
that feeling
when your heart
lifts to your throat
and your pulse jumps and flutters
and adrenaline courses
to your head
and your toes
and your fingertips.

But I hate
that feeling
when your heart
caves in
and your ribs crunch and suffocate you
and unite with your constricting lungs
to make you gasp
and gulp
and puff.

And I'm not sure how I feel about
when both those feelings
happen
all at once

and your heart is up and down and in a million pieces
and you think you'll be sick from the breathlessness and rushing blood,
from the swirling of your mind
and the crushing of your torso
as the storming and crumbling of your body
makes you
Feel.

                                           -c.h.f

To Come From Soil

If tall roses are red
And small violets blue
And brown is the filthy ground in which the flowers grew,

Then my words can be gorgeous
And will not be overtook
By the effigy I show the world; my exterior, my look.

For proven by these flora
Is that anything can spawn
From the plainest of beginnings; you are not what you were born.

                                            -c.h.f

Peaceful But Not Powerless

You riot and protest with actions so loud,
Whilst I stand beside you, my head tall and proud.
For we are not different, our intentions are the same.
My actions are less militant, but no less untamed.

My weapons are words, piercing and true,
Whilst yours hurt everyone, they even hurt you.
While you're throwing punches, I'm throwing words.
I speak my true feelings, I make sure they're heard.

You're breaking windows and bones, and even hearts too.
Instead I'm creating, to make the world anew.
You don't have to be violent to get your point across.
We can stand still, great, and loud, and not be at a loss.

But then please don't be silent just because you hate to harm,
For we can change the nation whilst we are unarmed.
A weapon can be sharp without being a sword,
And my words are truly razor-sharp, shouted and roared.

So I'll never sit in silence, and I'll never close my eyes
To any injustice or hatred or an innocent child's cries.
But I'll never take up arms which cannot come from my mind,
For courageous words are how to save the lives of all mankind.

                                            -c.h.f

My Last Heavy Day

why
is my head full of churning wool
an ocean flowing
from my eyes
a swaying body
bleary psyche
a heavy heart
heavy mind
heavy eyes
heavy gun
heavy thoughts
no more

weightless soul
eternal.

                                            -c.h.f

Petals and People

I wish I was a flower blowing in a summer breeze,
I wish I could sway to and fro, feeding all the bees.
I wish I would be looked upon with love and adoration,
Beautiful as a rose, bright as a carnation.

Instead I am but glanced upon, then at once forgotten.
For I am not a precious bud, I'm much less silk than cotton.
So yes I do wish that I looked so elegant and splendid,
But the beauty of a flower cannot ever be contended.

A human being cannot sway, pushed only by the air,
A human being instead can feel that wind whip through their hair.
For I am not a flower, I cannot ever be,
But I am something even greater: I, my dear, am me.

                                            -c.h.f

When You Feel Down

Stop
 think
  destroy
   create
    dream
     change
      experience
       improve
Start
       living

                                            -c.h.f

Blue

Blue
is a morning sky
and your eyes
glimmering in the sunlight
or a foaming sea
and the two of us splashing
or a child's favourite toy
and your lilting laughter
or the king's suede shoes
and the comfort of you dancing
or the dark night's embrace
and the way I feel without
                          you


                                            -c.h.f

King of Hell

A while ago, I was looking for short film prompts, when I came across this short story prompt.

It inspired me, so I turned a short story prompt into a poem prompt!
In light of it being Spooky Season, here is said Spooky Poem:

Some years ago I sold my soul for a man I no longer know.
The spell worked for a little while, albeit it was slow.
But it wasn't an unhappy end, we knew it had to cease,
Perhaps my payment wasn't perfect, or I signed the wrong lease.

I said the chant and drew the circle, stepped to the inside,
I wondered if I'd see the light, or if I'd just stay blind.
But then he came in a burst of flames; laughing, having fun.
I told him what I needed, then a handshake; it was done.

The devil was never evil to me, I thought he was my saviour.
Then recently he came to me and said 'I need a favour'.
He told me it was payment for the happiness I'd had,
Cause now he had a problem: his followers? Turned bad.

You'd think the devil's followers were all bad through and through,
But apparently everyone went to him, it didn't matter who.
He told me I would meet him soon, and stay there by his side,
As long as I could rally them, to salvage Satan's pride.

So I told him I would help him out and make him King of Hell again,
I told the rebels of his struggle, turned them to my side but then
I trapped the devil in My hell, within the Earthen realm,
And I took His Hell for my own, and now I'm at the helm.

So remember this short story, for what I tell is true.
The devil isn't evil, but evil could be you.


                                            -c.h.f

Sometimes I Stop And Wonder

Sometimes I stop and wonder:
Whatever makes me 'me'?
Is it the way my hair falls in my eyes
Making it difficult to see?
Is it my croaky morning voice,
A head engulfed in hair?
Or is it more the things I think,
My worries and my cares.

If all those pieces contribute
To making me be 'me',
Are they what makes you who you are,
And who I wish I'd be?
Your hair doesn't fall, it cascades down
Your perfect chiselled frame.
And even in the early mornings
I'm sure it's just the same.

Sometimes I stop and wonder:
How could I be you?
When my everything is nothing
Compared to all you do.
Your poetry makes mine feel like
A child's aimless scribbles.
Your novels make me weep and laugh,
While mine are simply drivel.

When you sing the world is silent,
Hanging on your words.
When you dance, the air, it favours
You over the birds.
When you kiss me my universe
Is shattered and then mended,
And when I see you in her arms
That universe is ended.

So now I've stopped and wondered,
An answer I have found.
It's not a massive revelation,
Nor is it profound.
It won't change the universe
Or make me feel less blue,
But the thing that makes me who I am
Is that I have known you.


                                            -c.h.f