Long Candyfloss Poems
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Today, my hair is jazz—
wild coils improvising in the wind,
syncopated with no apology.
It scats when I walk,
riffs when I laugh,
and plays the truth off-key
because it knows perfection
never wrote a song worth singing.
Yesterday, it was a sonnet:
tight bun, precise,
each strand obeying metre,
a form I wore to keep from unravelling.
There is comfort in structure,
even if it strangles,
even if it silences the wild in me.
Blowout days mean confidence,
glossy, straight,
as if I’ve smoothed over
every crack in my voice.
But don’t be fooled—
sometimes silence wears a shine,
sometimes the most composed
are the ones unravelling inside.
When grief came,
I braided it into my scalp,
a crown of patience and ache.
Each plait a prayer I didn’t know I was saying,
a slow weaving of control
over what refused to stay.
My fingers worked like monks,
copying sorrow into scripture—
faith in motion,
faith without answers.
I dye it pink when I need to scream
without opening my mouth—
a neon flare of defiance,
a riot bottled in candyfloss.
I’ve been burgundy in heartbreak,
blonde in reinvention,
green when I needed to feel anything
besides invisible.
I shave it down when
the world feels too loud—
when my scalp needs to breathe,
when I crave the unfiltered truth
of being raw and unbeautiful.
It’s like clearing the static
from a radio that’s lost its station,
listening for the silence underneath
the noise of trying too hard.
There are days I leave it uncombed,
unapologetically wild,
because healing is messy
and I no longer care to pretend.
Some knots are earned,
some tangles are sacred.
My hair remembers every hand
that touched me too roughly,
and every hand that lingered
just long enough to soften the story.
Don’t ask why I change it.
Ask what it’s saying.
Ask what I’m trying not to say aloud.
My hair is my composition—
a score of moods,
an orchestration of memory.
It is mourning, reinvention,
a hymn, a scream,
a truth that begins at the root
and rises without permission.
Every strand a line of poetry
I was brave enough to grow.
Dawn collapses Night, the stars disappear,
the crickets fall silent, and Sol rises.
And ebony bleeds with a scarlet smear,
as Nature dons one of many guises.
A sea of blue washes across the sky
as sunbeams color clouds candyfloss pink.
And as dragonflies flex their wings to fly,
shadowy silhouettes silently shrink.
While twittering songbirds sing to the sun,
butterflies fly from flower to flower.
And on silken threads that a spider spun;
dewdrops gleam in the early morning hour.
With one turn of Earth's planetary gear
Dawn collapses Night; the stars disappear.
When I was just a little girl
I painted soaring seagulls
in a dawning sky of duck-egg blue
I painted ladybirds and whimsical butterflies
A red cottage with square-shaped windows
A misty mountain with a purple hue.
All my fields were evergreen
with flowers falling like confetti in between.
A rising sun in molten gold so bright
with shifting leaves along a riverside.
I painted mushrooms covering faries
Unicorns, princesses and queens
Happy trolls and Naughty elves
riding on watercoloured bees.
As such was life, Carefree
As beautiful as dreams.
Years rolled on, trees turned old
Vibrant colours became the past in an hourglass.
All shadows now, are black as night
All that is left are sepia shades
dim as the gloom of a Winter day.
But little child out there, Listen to me..
Never let clouds cover your soul with ash -of-grey
Like candyfloss, clouds might seem huge
But they're made of fluff...Blow them away.
Blow them away before it rains
Yet if rain pours its heavy drops
and gusty winds whirl from strong storms
Never give up!
Lilt up your head, seek with those eyes
In every journey a rainbow hides
Just keep on searching, do not be blind
Leave all your troubles way back behind.
All shadows now, are black as night
All that are left are Sepia shades
dim as the gloom of a Winter day
But now and then a spell's bestowed upon my name
With an old brush and childhood colours
I paint an orchard with sugar-maples
and fragrant blossoms blooming in May.
Every now and then ,everyone is an island
and every now and then, I am an island too
Till,I see the first pink iris blooming in my garden
and one little bluebird singing on my porch
Till,I feel the sun-kissed dew melting on my skin
I watch the floating clouds pass by like puffy candyfloss
I hear my neighbour's laughter,as She walks her dog
I smell fresh air's spiced cinnamon and listen to a song.
I feel serene,just being in the moment
Watching seagulls soaring high
Whilst the most beautiful rainbow
arches the celestiene sky
Peace fulfill my heart
knowing how loved I'm to be here
God blissed my life with rich treasures
and He kissed away my tear
So happy I am today
for each dawn and every sunset
for each star,and crescent moon
every meadow and each valley
the high mountain and the dune
For each child yet to be born
For the cosy little cottage
which protects us from the storm.
So joyful I am ,for this stillness within me
as down the verdant hill I stroll
Spume's spray waft upon my feet
as I reach a pebbled shore
Against winds I ride in silence
Feel the breeze upon my face
I watch multi- coloured hues
of leaves burning in flame's blaze
So tranquil my cobalt night now
I'm in solitude but not alone
Watching fire-flies'little lanternes
glow upon my home sweet home.
Remember remember Mum when we were small.
Holding hands as we learnt to walk,
Teaching us how to talk.
On the swing you'd push us high
Till our feet could touch the sky.
A magic rub when we had a pain,
Kiss it better once again.
Snuggling up on your lap,
Poems and stories before a nap.
Do you remember Mum?
Remember remember Mum when we were small.
Taking us to the pantomime,
Sailing on the Serpentine,
Museum visits and palace too,
Madame Tussauds and the zoo.
Candyfloss at the fair,
Dirty knees and messy hair.
Days out full of fun,
Holidays in the sun.
Do you remember Mum?
Remember remember Mum our teenage years.
Thinking that we knew it all
When life for us was just a ball.
Young love and first dates,
Staying up way too late.
School exams and learning to drive,
You praying we'd stay alive.
We probably caused you many tears
When life was all about our peers.
Do you remember Mum?
Remember remember Mum when we left home.
Bridal gowns on wedding day
When Dad gave us both away.
Two young women we'd become
But never stopped needing help from our Mum.
Grandchildren, pink and blue,
As one by one your family grew.
Granny time was time for treats,
Spoiling them with too many sweets.
Do you remember Mum?
Remember remember Mum for it is true.
We thank you for all that you still do.
We hope you have a wonderful day,
Celebrating your eightieth birthday,
Enjoying this little afternoon tea,
With special friends and your family.
So raise a glass and give a cheer
Because you've notched up another year,
And we hope there's many more to come
Because we really love you Mum.
I wrote this to read at an afternoon tea party for my Mum yesterday from my sister and I. Unfortunately Mum is losing her memory, so I'm hoping this will help her to recall.
Timothy Dimwit
Timothy Dimwit would not go to school
And all of his mates considered that cool
But Timothy Dimwit was never in school
And as a result he knew nothing at all
Timothy Dimwit couldn't spell bat
He couldn't spell dog and he couldn't spell cat
He couldn't spell cod and he couldn't spell sprat
He did once spell hat, he was quite proud of that
Timothy Dimwit could not kick a ball
Because he decided, there must be a tool
Or some kind of whistle through which he could call
To cause it to rise up and bounce off a wall
Timothy Dimwit thought chips grew on trees
That candyfloss simply blew in on a breeze
And honey he wouldn't have guessed came from bees
But meatballs, he thought, could give cows trembly knees
Timothy didn't know Francais was French
That there was a kind of a fish called a Tench
Or that in the park, there's a seat called a bench
And Americans all call a spanner a wrench
So, I hope that you don't think that I'm preaching at all
With good education, you're nobody's fool
But Timothy Dimwit did not go to school
And as a result, he knew nothing at all.
Mamma, what a lovely angel you are
Before I came into this world you carried
Me for nine gruelling months,
Morning sickness and throw-ups
Is what I gave when you conceived me
And innumerable kicks from within
Unmindful of your pain
You prayed for my well-being
When you gave birth to me
You weren’t spared excruciating pain
You took that in your stride to give me life
Those were the happiest moments in life for you
Moments you had already experienced twice
But that did not diminish your thrill of
Becoming a mother all over again
You wanted a girl, I came along,
And you took that stoically
After two boys, you were justified
In wanting a girl
But that did not diminish
your love for me
I was left bereft of a sister and
blamed you
Inwardly, foolishly,
for not giving one to me
In my infancy, I made life
difficult and tiring for you
You took that as a challenge
and gave me the best childhood
a child could ever get
Yet, which child is satisfied,
I asked for the moon
In my growing days, you were
my source of boundless energy
Yet in my failures,
I always took refuge
in blaming you for my lethargy
You took my selfish behaviour
with a wry smile
And put it away assuming it was
an adolescent’s innocent guile
It was not as if you pampered me
and didn’t spare the rod
Whenever you felt matters were
getting out of hand
You took control and spanked me
to show who’s boss
And when I sulked, you smiled
and offered me candyfloss
As a young adult, I began
to understand your sacrifices
How dame luck connives
and throws life’s unfair dice
You helped me conquer
my every weakness with flair
And taught me the value of
dealing with people fair
You were always there when
I needed you the most
Now, that you are not there
I feel inadequate and lost
I am learning to live and cope
like a hapless child again
Hoping time heals and I shall
my confidence regain
Mamma, I salute you
For the way you restrained
And sustained me.
May your soul rest in peace.
I walk on blue and smell of white
Dressed by the setting sun
I run into orange melting
into marigolds a blooming interlude
I float on speeds depending on my mood
Purple and pink is a melody I sing
Orchids in skies will make you think
I speak of colours and whisper
The flavour of the day
Candyfloss or bubblegum, I do have a say
I dance in the dark around a silver ball
She calls out to me timid and small
I cover her face with a veil
As she practices before a curtain call
I turn grey when I’m sad but it not too bad
It makes me just lighter as I open up
and wash away your sorrows
As I cool the earth down and fill her tomorrow’s!
24.4.22
I love the smell of dew on the grass, when a new day has just begun. I love to watch the flowers as they turn their heads towards the Sun.
I love to hear the gentle whispers of the welcoming breeze.
I love to watch as it rustles through, the leaves upon the trees.
I love to watch the Angelic rays from the sun as they pierce through the branches of a tree. Creating a kaleidoscope of pretty shapes on the undergrowth for all to see.
I love to watch the clouds as they gracefully float on by, like fluffy balls of candyfloss complementing the blueness of the sky.
I love to hear the intenseness of the thunder, as it rumbles way up high. And the flashing from the lightening's rage, as it fork's across the sky.
I love to listen to the heavy rain as it bounces of the ground.
A harmonious, symphony of notes, with its own unique sound.
I love it when a rainbow grace our sky after the poring rain .
A masterpiece of pretty colours, cupping the earth in its domain.
There is beauty all around for those with eyes to see. Nature is magical, it is captivating, it is abundant and it is free.
The summer fog has not yet lifted from the enclave. The candyfloss glow of the sun suspended above the horizon of the valley in the Jock of the Bushveld Concervancy where I have made my new home reflects on the ghostly blue of the dam in front of my house.
early morning
dense fog blanket--
burn off reveals
One of the nesting pair of fish eagles does a low flyby. The distinctive call of the fish eagle is synonymous with Africa, pulling on my heartstrings like no music can. A primordial longing fills my very soul. Banished to purgatory for the best part of my life, this paradise is my just reward in my autumnal years.
young fish eagle—
shadows cast by papyrus
teem with silver carp
An African Jacana teeters with its long toes on the emerald green leaves of the pink water lily flower. It pecks delicately at something at the edge of the flower, before taking flight; long legs dangling behind it like superfluous appendages—its sharp, ringing tone cleaving the morning silence.
a black mamba
slithers off the jetty—
tropical winter
I am not alone; a blouapie (marmoset) with his distinctive cobalt blue and crimson genitals surveys my progress along the path to the jetty. Damp, golden leaves carpet the pathway, the pungent smell assailing my olfactory receptors, alerting me to the many unknown vegetation growing in abundance on the embankment—names of which I need to learn and applications I need to discover.
long winter of
dormant passions—
spring stirs in loins