Sam Alexandra Rose

Category: Poetry

  • Tell Me II

    Tell me I’m amazing and strong and
    how if you were me you’d be proud
    because you don’t know how you
    would have coped.
    Tell me I’m an inspiration, because
    something good has to have
    come from this.
    Tell me something that will
    make it all worth it.

  • Time Machine

    Life has turned you into a jumper
    and not the knitted kind
    but the kind of jumper
    who jumps at the chance to pick up a knife
    or miscount your dosage
    and if I had known life was going to turn out this way
    I would have told you never to grow up
    but what good is a time machine now?

  • Wood Pigeon

    I am awoken by the call of a wood pigeon.
    I don’t know what the call is regarding,
    and neither does he. It doesn’t matter.
    I think he’s trying to tell me that
    a good day is ahead.
    I believe him. He should know.

  • Field of Hope

    I drove past the Marie Curie
                                   Field
    of Hope
                                   today
    and almost every daffodil
                                   was
    dead. 

                                                                   Almost.

  • Sometimes it’s okay

    Sometimes it’s okay
    to write a poem and then
    throw it away.

    You don’t need to keep what kills you.

  • sympathy for sciatica

    Isn’t it interesting how we can talk to and sympathise with each other about bruises, broken arms, accidents and so on, but we can’t do the same with things we really need to talk about, like life-threatening diseases? I stepped on a plug last week and spent the following days walking around like a drunk hunchback in slow motion. It hurt. A lot. But I didn’t really mind at all. So that’s where this has come from.

    I don’t want
    sympathy for sciatica
    because I know what it is
    and it’s not much to me 

    and what’s all the fuss over a foot?
    A bruise, a cut, it’s nothing much –
    soon it’ll be nothing to me 

    I don’t need tuts and shaking heads
    for being unable to drag my leg out of bed 

    Anything I can see is no real issue to me –
    a twinge is no big deal
    and pain is okay to feel
    if I know its rhyme and reason 

    But fear is the worst pain
    Fear is the sharpest stab in my side,
    the most familiar ache 

    I would welcome a broken arm instead
    A fracture is just that – a fraction of a problem 

    So I don’t want sympathy for sciatica
    I don’t need support because of my limp
    or anything solved by sitting down

    because none of that will drive me underground

  • Together

    We haven’t even left for work yet
    but already I’m thinking about
    coming back home to you.

  • neck

    what if we were never in a tunnel
    and the light was just a lie we were told
    to make us keep walking?

    what if that burst of morning
    was something they were holding
    just out of our reach?

    what if they watched as you ran
    on that treadmill, as you
    racked your brain for a lost memory
    when you fought their grasp
    when you held your head

    when you were just trying
    to remember
    the softness of a neck

  • Your bare ring finger

    Your bare ring finger
    is the most provocative thing
    I have ever seen, matched only by
    the nape of your neck.

  • the way the crow flies

    I am tortured by the things I said I would do.
    The list of things is mounting up,
    things I said I could do that I just can’t,
    things I wanted to do but was apprehensive of.
    Where has my resolve gone?
    Why no sense of urgency?
    Which way does the crow fly now?
    It zig-zags, taking any diversion it can.