Death By Heart

I am currently working on a new book of poetry which is a "Celebration" of broken hearts and the sadness that ensues. I am hoping to have it ready before May but in the mean time I will post some excerpts for my readers to gain a taste of what the book will entail.

"Like an ebony clothed thief in the night
You have stolen my hopes and dreams
Broken promises lay scattered at my feet
Like dirty ash that tarnishes"
- The Worst

Published

 

Towards the end of last year I published a book of my poetry, entitled “Living”.  Inside is a collection of my various pieces of poetry as well as some of my photography.  I’m very proud of this accomplishment and invite you to purchase my book if you have enjoyed reading my work. 

If you are interested in purchasing the book please go to the following link and place your order:

http://tinyurl.com/9yp3rdb

Granny Tales

The mist was rising up from the moors in the distance resembling swirling tendrils of smoke as they wisped around in the chilly night air. A burnt orange kaleidoscope of colours, autumn leaves caught up in the breeze as they danced to a staccato beat. Tonight was the night when all things dark came to life and witches swept the skyline with their brooms. Every year on Halloween our own resident witch made her presence known to us. I’d taken up my favoured viewing position in my room, tucked up in the fat cushions of my window seat, a woven blanket tucked around my legs, waiting and watching for the inevitable.

As if almost on cue the distant and haunting cackling began. The sound always felt like cold fingers scraping down my back, sending a wave of violent shivers through me. I tugged my blanket further up to my chest, as a childish grin settled itself on my lips. My eyes furtively darted back and forth across the darkened landscape outside, as I waited in anxious anticipation to catch a glimpse. The cackling and calls sounded like cats screeching in the night as they grew closer. It was hard to pinpoint exactly which direction they were coming from as the dense night air caused them to echo all around.

Suddenly she appeared from behind one of the large oak trees that rested in the top left corner of our property. At first I could just see the black shadow of her cloak dancing from behind the tree, whipping and snapping back and forth as the wind picked up speed. I giggled to myself as I leapt up from where I sat and moved onto my knees, hands leaving prints against the chilled glass. My nose was flattened against my face as I pressed it to the window, the glass capturing my breath as it fogged over with each exhale. The pointy peak of her witches cap making an appearance, alerting me to the fact that she was about to make her move.

Gracefully she floated out from behind the tree just above our hedged fence, her cloak lightly trailing behind, black skirt flitting about her legs as she straddled the broom. She threw her head back and let out a raucous cackle to the moon above, the golden orb casting glints of light across her form. Winking from beneath her witches hat was bright pink hair, the very sight sent me into fits of juvenile tittering. I’d known for the last two years who our garden enchantress was but I kept the secret to myself because I knew how much joy these fables brought her. I’d even found the tools she used to continue this elaborate hoax, tucked away in the back of the garden shed. Granny loved to tell tales, the fantasy worlds she created kept her young. She’d even told me she was born with the pink hair and ironically it was that hair that always gave her away.

 

(This is for a local writing competition…trying to get a writer to keep a story to 500 words is hard work…lol…I feel like something is missing from it because I couldn't expand on the story.  Fingers crossed it does good.)

Granny Tales

Here is a sneak peek at the short story I’m working on for the writing competition here.

 

The mist was rising up from the moors in the distance resembling swirling tendrils of smoke as they wisped around in the chilly night air. A burnt orange kaleidoscope of colours, autumn leaves caught up in the breeze as they danced to a staccato beat. Tonight was the night when all things dark came to life and witches swept the skyline with their brooms. Every year on Halloween without fail, our own resident witch made her presence known to our household. I’d taken up my favoured viewing position in my room, tucked up in the fat cushions of my window seat, a woven blanket tucked around my legs as I sat, waiting and watching for the inevitable…..

Aotearoa

Land of the long white cloud
The long lost garden of Eden
We have natures beauty at our door
As the natives sing their dawn chorus

The long lost garden of Eden
Amber sunsets bless the skies
As the natives sing their dawn chorus
Our warriors release a war cry

Amber sunsets bless the skies
Lofty mountains caressed by snow
Our warriors release a war cry
Cheering on our black and silver heroes

Lofty mountain peaks caressed by snow
Picture perfect beaches whisper
Cheering on our black and silver heroes
Silver ferns proudly adorn our chests

Picture perfect beaches whisper
Remaining nuclear free
Silver ferns proudly adorn our chests
Kiwiana at its best

Remaining nuclear free
We have natures beauty at our door
Kiwiana at its best
Land of the long white cloud

(This poem is another Pantoum)

Written by Lyla Arthurs
May 2011

Losing It

A narcissistic malevolent cloud
Taunting me
Poking me
Until
Like a cobra
Once coiled
Now I attack
On the defensive

You push me
To the edge
Breaking point
Bursting like a
heavy laden rain cloud
Ranting and raging
Expressing the truth
of my emotions

Controlling
Manipulative
Abusive
That’s your
modus operandi
Unstable and weak
Time to take your meds

You’ve spent more time
locked with the village loons
than a whore spends
lying on her back
And yet your highness claims
I’m the head case
You’re mind remains a rich
tapestry of over dramatics.

 

Written by
Lyla Arthurs
May 2011

In The Night

Epileptic seizure of the earth.
The darkness hides its secrets,
but magnifies our terror.
Like a silent witness crouching
in the darkness,
it catches us by surprise.

Hypnotised by fear.
Nowhere to run,
nowhere to hide.
Convinced mother earth
was calling our number.
Time forever frozen in our
cities ticking tower.

A collective picture montage
imprinted in my mind.
Walls dancing,
roads buckling.
The dooms day roar of life
as we know it changing.

Standing helplessly beneath
the framed entrance.
Forced against my will to watch fear
etched on the faces of my loved ones.
The heartless matriarch of nature
has unleashed her caustic fury.
Then Silence.

Written by

Lyla Arthurs

April 2011

(This is my take on the 7.1 earthquake that hit Christchurch, New Zealand on September 4th 2010)