karen sinclair

karen sinclair Poems

The fresh tear, heavy with meaning and purpose
Travels southbound upon my warm skin.
Full of reason and pain, I watch
Distracted by it's beauty


The small brown nightingale sings
From left bough of an insignificant tree
He brings not much
Just love and a touch

Huddled within a blanket
In a camping chair
Thats not quite right
Blinds down to shade the sleeping

I am a swathe of salted tears
Spread thin upon brown earth
Doused throughout lost years
Querying all I'm worth

When blackened skies shroud
Purple thoughts are thrust
As sprinkles of glitter dust
Up through the atmospheric pressure

The waves were subtle
As you led me in
Half moon
Full moon

Lay me
Amongst the melody that is Mozart
Weave his notes in my lank dark hair
Spirit me to a world of horses

If I sat within the downy heather of the beauteous bogland
That is Mnt Clanard
Southern Ireland
Beneath a birch... beside a stream

I met her one blurry New Years eve
She who would hang as a glorious ornament, from your sleeve
Back in those times of hours, no sand
I can picture her (now grasping) your lovely hand

Once I had a real little seahorse encased in perspex
Laying starkly beside a tiny piece of seaweed (which was grey green)
Entombed forever
Laid majestically out for my lively enquiring five year old eyes to gaze upon

Headlouse dance as agile ballerinas across a small childs skull
And believe the truth as im only good at that
I havent seen one for a while

Manitou slides
Doppelgänger silhouette
Ballet prides
Twisted contorted pirouette

At last....
Held embryonic pose
No pause for thought just
Sleeping rose

The eagle smiles sharply
He knows my need of gently stroked wings
Amidst shift shaping rocks

Sat hugging the Red Bible on your life-station
The sofa....
But never reading it....not since our loss

A thousand dreams and aspirations dance mischievously
As pink confetti
Upon smiling breeze
Flowing free fall worlds, where children dance barefoot within tinkering

Who'd be a woman?
With hours of hair to dry
Chubby and insecure
Certainly i bellow


My flesh bothers me... it is mine, it is all i carry with me
Unceremoniously daily
I do not own it
It does not own me

Twas sordid that thought
Midwinter handed a lit
Oil lamp

I wanna go to a poetry cafe....

In a pink beret and two giant earrings
Sporting a very serious intelligent expression which is obviously not my own

karen sinclair Biography

(I am not a writer.... I just like to write) Just when you think you cannot take anymore Somebody gives you something you're happy to receive)

The Best Poem Of karen sinclair

Death Of A Tear......

The fresh tear, heavy with meaning and purpose
Travels southbound upon my warm skin.
Full of reason and pain, I watch
Distracted by it's beauty
Questioning its lifespan as I do the life in my love

First it rushes with gusto, confidence
Only to slow eventually at an undefined moment
For no real reason, with no apparent explanation
(as in my love) It petered to a dribble
And unaware of it's poignance

It died......

karen sinclair Comments

Ray Quesada 19 February 2013

Karen is clever, playful, and yet as profound as any other modern poet, from what I've read of her work so far that is ;) - - - I highly doubt the opinion will change though!

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karen sinclair Quotes

Love is a subsidised metaphor Stealing from the emotionally rich to Scatter upon the barren Damaged poor

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