Posted by: Natalie | April 29, 2010

Memory Boxes

While I was digging through drawers and cupboards on a fruitless hunt for CRB certificates and other, I pulled out one of my memory boxes. It is an old one I often forget is there, but I decided to dedicate a few minutes rummaging it’s contents. There were the obvious cards I had kept, a few photos, letters from an old boyfriend and old letters from good friends. But amongst the remembrances were two pieces of paper, tattered and over folded, that I really had forgotten about.

When I was a teenager, like many, I dabbled with poetry. I remember I had a battered old green folder with my teenage outpourings versed in order. I hate to think what happened to that folder and who’s hands it finally fell into, I am desperately hoping that it suffered some timely, destructible end. No one needs to read those. But these two pieces of paper, seemed to escape the binder and ended their days in a memory box that came into my life much later on. I have no recollection of putting them there, or why! But, I am glad I did.

I remember writing both of them. The first was sat at my first computer, probably when I was about 15/16. The second was a later piece, penned while I sat in my car at 18, waiting for a college lecture I desperately didn’t want to go to – I seem to remember it might have been Liberal history with the mighty John – this man looked as if he dressed from Al Capone’s actual wardrobe! So, here is a sneak peek into my past and my teenage ramblings. Try not to be too cynical or critical – remember I was a bit of a weirdo when I was younger, hardly popular and a bit of a mess! I just thought as they have come back to life for me, they should be given a new platform – one that is not an ancient green ring binder!

The Strawberry Ballad

by Natalie Crawford (16 Years Old)

There’s nothing in the world,
To tell me how I feel,
I don’t know if I’m dreaming,
Can’t tell if this is real.
Like the whirl pool in my shadow,
Or the horizon in my eye,
Seeing cattle dancing,
Watching children fly.
Knowing there’s no freedom,
Though the keeper stays away,
Trapped in sponge cake cages –
Can’t see the light for day!
Marshmallows floating in the sky,
Waving as they pass,
Drainpipes calling out my name,
As I test the cunning grass.
The grass gives me no answer,
But I know that it would speak,
If the crystal were not falling,
And cracking up the street.
I never heard it laugh as much,
Since when the trifle came,
I thought the snow had left my soul,
But alas, it’s still the same.
Whirlwind trapped inside my mouth,
Are forceful and unsure,
Yet the windows scream and shout,
That they have found the cure.
So, as this tale of madness,
Reaches my metallic sea,
The moon still thinks I’m dreaming,
So still no one knows but me.

The Dance

by Natalie Crawford (18 Years Old)

It dances in the air
Spirals upwars.
I watch it seep from my mouth,
Oozing, flowing,
Tentacles reaching and curling,
My only solace.
Yesterday I died.
I fill my time watching wave upon wave,
Tracing their pattern with my eyes.
Spiralling curls, vanished
With a soft touch.
A comfort in knowing.
Resemblance in their vulnerable dance,
Transparent but vivid so only I see.
They’re dancing for me.
Extinguished and lost, I know,
Longer live for what I love,
For yesterday I died.
As circling stems, they all disappear,
Captivated and crushed.
All which remains are the
Circles and swirls enticing me further.
Transparent yet vivid for all to see
The dance.
But not for me.


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