Rhyme and Reason – By @GCopywrite

By Gigi Rice


Rhyme and Reason


My Dearest Readers, 

I have just managed to complete my SCA homework for Christmas. Whoppee. However, a rather dangerous thing has occurred. 

I managed to make 9 poster campaigns in 20 hours. And without compromising any sleep. I know this should definitely not become a habit but I’m sat here feeling rather triumphant that I’ve managed to bash that out that fast. And I think they’re of a relatively good quality. They’re all coloured in with sharpies that I got from Santa. Thanks big guy. 

Anyway, today at the start of a new year I wanted to share several poems that have influenced me recently. Please read, watch and feel inspired to take down whatever lies before you. 

Urban Girl Writes Another Poem About Her Dead Father


My father is dead

I notice it most

During things that haven’t happened


My father is dead

at my wedding

He is a slow dance if bullets

an autopsy trying

to make polite conversation with the guests

My flower girl is me at every age

He did not see me turn

I’m throwing things I haven’t seen in years

(My virginity, pig-tails, my diploma, joy and names of old lovers).

My father is dead

at the birth of my first child

The doctor asks

where is the father?

I say murdered

out of habit.

The doctor does not specify so neither do I

instead we both stare

at my child who is named after the chill in the room.

My father is dead

at my death bed. We play

Blackjack until the light comes.

When it does. He lifts me on his shoulder on to his shoulders

I get the piggy back ride promised to a child

who time has been waiting on

Next up, one of my all time favourite- 

One Last Poem for Richard
by Sandra Cisneros

December 24th and we’re through again.
This time for good I know because I didn’t
throw you out — and anyway we waved.
No shoes. No angry doors.
We folded clothes and went
our separate ways.
You left behind that flannel shirt
of yours I liked but remembered to take
your toothbrush. Where are you tonight?

Richard, it’s Christmas Eve again
and old ghosts come back home.
I’m sitting by the Christmas tree
wondering where did we go wrong.

Okay, we didn’t work, and all
memories to tell you the truth aren’t good.
But sometimes there were good times.
Love was good. I loved your crooked sleep
beside me and never dreamed afraid.

There should be stars for great wars
like ours. There ought to be awards
and plenty of champagne for the survivors.

After all the years of degradations,
the several holidays of failure,
there should be something
to commemorate the pain.

Someday we’ll forget that great Brazil disaster.
Till then, Richard, I wish you well.
I wish you love affairs and plenty of hot water,
and women kinder than I treated you.
I forget the reason, but I loved you once,

Maybe in this season, drunk
and sentimental, I’m willing to admit
a part of me, crazed and kamikaze,
ripe for anarchy, loves still.

One for the fresh start of January and mental health-

And a final one for all the bad bitches out there. Keep on keeping on-

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