Monthly Archives: April 2014

Miss Hoodie Gangster

Miss hoodie gangsterMiss Hoodie Gangster © 2014 Helen Ingram


Miss Hoodie Gangster,

Struts around town with a grimace on her face,

Braided deadlocks sweeping down one side,

Carrying her boombox on her shoulder letting out some basse,

Her attitude raises eyebrows as she takes another glide.

Miss Hoodie Gangster,

People look upon her like she’s a messy disgrace,

Her look’s criticized as she always has obeyed,

Her time spent perfecting her lyrical saving grace,

People’s perception misapplied.

Miss Hoodie Gangster,

Decides on her moral code and applies,

Never judges or see’s divide,

The wondering chaos around her put aside,

She holds her head up high with pride.

Miss Hoodie Gangster,

She beats to her own mystery thrill ride,

Despite feeling restricted tied to a chair as she is bullied,

Working hard taking opportunities in her stride,

Nature’s cruel ways can knock her against this huge tall tide.

Miss Hoodie Gangster,

No matter what you say, her spirit never died,

Cold alone her heart beating a silent hidden sadness,

She laid in pain on that very night and cried,

Her state of mind, can’t take anymore she flips and goes into madness.

Miss Hoodie Gangster,

Now you will only see her badness,

Her echoing good surrendered and,

Traveled  into her misty foggy memory.

Lion King of the Savana

Cap'n Joe's Blog and Interviews with Pog's Poet

big lion

Look out down below

I’m climbing to the thrown

Right on top the shadows small

Peaks run deep don’t slip and fall

THT & I’ll be me

I see you steve

Forever in our dreams

I’m slow and deadly

All I see are mental veggie medleys

Peasents think my mind is empty

It’s like higgs bō-ˌsän

Everything but gone

I’m Mentally Clandestine

I can’t compress it

Add the pressure

Atoms severe

I’ll show you never

minds repetitive

Inventing rhetoric

Upending sediment

I’m so unstoppable

Photoshop un-cropable

I don’t mind my manners

Tearin up these stanzas

Lion King of the Savanna

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Round Two


This poem is part of my upcoming poetry book ‘My World’

Text copyright © 2014 Helen Ingram

‘Round Two’ By Helen Ingram


Torn shattered twisted vines,
Tortured ruptured from hands of times,
Innocent heavenly pure,
Fades to a darken dirty black,
Virgin, broken my Gods word,
Broken into, a million pieces.


Pureness put on a lease,
Crash battered like the falling walls of a mine,
Heart stabbed by evil knights sword,
Skin feels like a disgusting dirty grime,
Dignity shredded like a killing yak,
Hoping one day I’ll find a cure.


Nude ripped to be my inner core,
Wishing this pain will cease,
Sniff; take another dose of crack,
It is a lie or am I just going blind,
Echo cries unheard just surrender to a shrine,
My body crashes with a thud.


If people only knew what occurred,
Thy rather be dead and poor,
Opinions confine to combine to once again align,
The darken stripped increases,
As thy tries to make sense of my war written lines,
Gasp, can’t breathe having a panic attack.


Another round of scrap and smack,
People think what you say is absurd,
Kind innocent star lingers no more shine,
Leaves soul weary and insure,
Love code is ignored like political policies,
Feeling rubbish and undermined.


Should have seen the signs,
Tie myself in torn aged shackles,
Need to find a sanctuary, scream for release,
Everything repeats as it keeps recurring,
Mind fragmented everything is obscure,
Is this what my life was assigned?


Aligns for another undeserved wrack,
Whines as people try to reword,
Sure one day it will decrease.


ww1 women

This poem is in a ‘sonnet form,’ to commemorate the centenary of the First World War, 1914 – 1918.

I say it is in sonnet form because although it has fourteen lines, which a sonnet has, it has not adhered to iambic pentameter, ie ten beats to a line, made up of alternating unstressed and stressed syllables. My ‘sonnet’ has fourteen beats to the line, and rhymes with the next line.



On a crowded station, eyes, hands, locked in silent goodbyes.

Heedless to men in khaki, women’s’ weeping, cries and sighs,

he mouths the words, “I promise. I am coming back to thee,”

and boards the hissing, steaming train impatient to be free.

The train speeds away an army to its death. Men, lost. Gone.

Mere fodder for hungry cannons, so began World War One.

Later, she holds a telegram, the one word ‘missing’ gives

her hope. She kisses ‘missing’, as if sealing that he lives.

The tear-stained paper flutters forlorn in the letter rack,

an edge caught by a breeze. She hears his words…”I’m coming back.”

Anguished months slowly pass. She returns to await the train,

now sombre moving, with blackened smoke flattened by the rain.

Black coat, black hat hides sunken eyes and cheeks no longer round,

She steps forward as his coffin is lowered to the ground.

By K J Rollinson


‘Time’ A Poem By Helen Ingram

Time slips slowly by,

Trying to fit in random actions,

As thy sits and tries,

To predict my future times,

Creating many evolving sections,

Note taking people’s views,

Thy hopes my message,

Is clear and precise,

Abstraction is not my nature’s vice,

As thy work travels streams,

Across countless passages,

My written works viewership,

Becomes multiplied,

My poetic expression,

Takes endless time,

Constant attention,

To prevent my work slipping,

And becoming a recession.

Is This War?

Locust Battalion

It was me and you.
Me with my bow and arrows,
you with your sword and shield
carelessly getting to know one another, both of us dangerous in our own right.

We learned to feed off one another’s energy, but you controlling all the options developed a state of leverage.

It was me and you.
Me with my bow and arrows,
you with your sword and shield.
But it was me dizzy in love
and you, the one keeping me off balance.

Your mannerism is that of an alpha male lion and my character is that of a lioness bringing and giving you all I have, even my catch of the day.

Somewhere along the way your soul piercing eyes have fixated on me and you’ve developed a taste in your bone crushing jaws for my sweet blood. For so long I moved along blissfully in the dark. But I…

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Garden Bunny

MARSocial Author Business Enhancement Determined

Little Bunny so nice to stop by

so glad you found time to spend

a visit with a new friend before the end

I know you will never cry

Springtime spawns flowers and showers

fills the forests with newborns

like bunnies that would never cower

or ponder death’s power

unlike shaking man’s quake

ignorant of other’s pain and fear

without a reason to be sincere

their time is not at stake

without the memory of the burn

man sees the smoke without concern

how else could he learn

his being without cerebral burn

to never feel the hide as it peel

or the innards when they churn

never used a lung that burned

of course ignorant of what is never learned

no spine pestered by many a knob

no piercing ache does his brain throb

no dreams that make him sob

no drowsy wake from sleep pain-rob

Garden Bunny

bunny so skittish, so quick…

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Wednesday Poetry Corner: Mother Poetry Fabulous Art Submissions

Niamh Clune

Mother Poetry Anthology, Plum Tree Books, Dr.NanaPlum Amazing Books For Children image used with permission from Katie m. Berggren,

Are you looking for inspiration for the Mother Anthology (as if your mother isn’t enough inspiration!) Along with poetry submissions, we have received some wonderful art. Just take a look at this! It is literally a hug from the page that encapsulates exactly what I am looking for from the poetry submissions. In art is inspiration for me, and it certainly feeds my poetry and children’s stories. Thank you Katie Berggren for allowing me to share this wonderful image with Plum Tree Books’ followers.

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