Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category


In Personal, Poetry, Writing on January 31, 2014 at 4:10 pm

Today, I will not mourn you,
but celebrate the wonderful things you left
within us and here for us.

With those things –
wisdom, words,
passions, progeny –
you carry on.

You carry on,
and on, and on.

Today, you will be celebrated
Because that is what you deserve.

Copyright © 2014


In Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing on September 18, 2013 at 12:41 pm
Breathe in...
It could be today-
A beginning,
An end,
Something fresh,
A mistake you've made before.

Breathe out...
It could be today-
Or it could not,
Or maybe tomorrow,
Or another day,
Or every day for the rest of your life.

But breathe in.
It could be ugly-
Hard times,
Trying times,
Testing limits,
Will you be enough?

Now breathe out.
You can do it-
Stronger than you know,
Better than you realize.
It all comes together,
And it all will be beautiful.

Copyright © 2013

All These Lies

In Poetry, Writing on August 23, 2013 at 9:12 pm

The skies have eyes
that catch the lies
slithering out of my mouth.

And they despise
these dreadful lies,
but just watch my soul go south.

No peep, no weep,
nor loss of sleep,
but silently they riot.

Another sheep
the herder can’t keep
and still they remain quiet.

To stand so grand
and guard the land
is useless without leading.

With idle hand
and slipping sand
its only fires we’re feeding.

These skies, their eyes,
and all these lies,
the way their backs are turned.

Ignoring the  cries
of those late to realize
apologies are now spurned.

Copyright © 2013


In Personal, Poetry, Writing on December 30, 2012 at 5:59 pm
Fake face, fake eyes, fake stories
Utter and unexplainable contentment.
I am loved too much to be so easily forgotten
Unless love is fake, too.
A friendship lost, a friendship gained
A disguise not so clever in the eyes of the others.
What a good job you think you’ve done, but you reek.
Of lies, of stupidity, of the mess you’ve made.
But most of all
you reek of yourself.
Copyright © 2012

Little Singing Bird

In Personal, Poetry, Writing on December 3, 2012 at 9:55 pm

I’ve been reading up on some poetry lately, specifically Edgar Allan Poe, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the darkly twisted romantics of his young love lost writings have effected me.  As usual, I had a short phrase come together, unexpectedly and out of nowhere, in my mind that sounded beautiful to me.  I memorized it until I was able to jot it down, then I built on it to create a whole story.  A whole story that took an unusual, and again unexpected, turn about midway through.  It was even surprising to me, as I had no plans for how this would turn out and was just writing whatever came to my mind.  I think I quite like it, though…

Good day little singing bird
Whose feathers gleam soft cream.
It seems he’s left without a word
And I am left to dream.
To dream the day that he returns
Or dream what could have been.
Deep inside my longing churns
And all I ask is “when?”
When did he change, and why?
Little bird, why aren’t you singing?
While all my plans have gone awry,
Your sweet chirp keeps me clinging.
Clinging to this future
Of my fairytale I’d planned.
But I’m only clinging to this creature,
Falling lifeless from my hand.
Scoop it up and sweep it,
I won’t need it anymore.
Put it where he can keep it,
Beneath my feet, beneath my floor.
Copyright © 2012

(Over) Overthinking (Thinking) Things

In Personal, Poetry, Random, Writing on November 29, 2012 at 8:35 pm
This idea and most of the word arrangements came to me today while I was picking up a Polar Pop for my lunch.  (Polar Pops are the biggest, bestest fountain drinks for only $.84 at the gas station down the street from my office.  I have one every day.  I’m pretty sure they put crack in them because I’m positive I’m addicted.)  Anyway, I’m not even sure what this writing is, but for lack of  a better term and/or category, I’ll be labeling this one “Poetry.”  This is basically a representation of what my brain does as soon as I lay down to bed every night.  I suddenly contract ADHD and my anxiety goes through the roof over ridiculous things, such as what could have happened that one time three years ago when somebody fell and hit a window if that window had shattered upon impact. Cool life, brain.  Just chill the *F* out every now and then…
I think I overthink things too much.
I think  I should find a way to stop.
But I don’t know how to.
I know I don’t know because I’ve tried.
It didn’t work.
But maybe there was a reason for that.
Maybe I couldn’t stop thinking things…
Because these things I’ve been thinking needed thought.
Perhaps they are important and, oh no
If I stopped thinking them, they’d just be forgotten.
And now I’m overthinking my overthinking
Of all these things I’ve thunk.
No.  That’s not right.
I’m over thinking overthinking things.
That’s much better.
And now, goodnight!
Copyright © 2012

Will It, One Day?

In Poetry, Writing on November 27, 2012 at 9:54 pm
I want to be somewhere far away,
But we are too close to say good-bye.
Please tell me what’s the use in even trying
You shower me with sparkling,
Like a thousand tiny moons,
But your touch is what is silver.
How does it still make me move?
I lack the understanding.
I always end up right where I started.
This game of running circles is too intricate for me.
I beg to be let go.
Fractures turn to rips and shreds.
I know I need the time.
I know I’m no good,
Not for filling these empty spaces.
This is not what was once believed.
Promises as empty as stomped hearts,
Left in the wake of one’s shoes and another’s chest.
So can it beat?  Will it, one day?
Copyright © 2012

Tail and Find

In Personal, Poetry, Writing on November 12, 2012 at 9:34 pm

This might be my least favorite writing I’ve come across so far, but I figure if I’m going to give out the decent for others to read, I might as well give out the less fortunate, too.

I can’t get rid of her.
Is she holding me back?
Am I dragging her along?
I run but she tails me.
I hide, but she can always find.
Minutes or hours, there always comes a time when I turn and she is there.
I would react to losing her for good.
Cry and grab a needle?
Try to get a kiss?
Maybe question my reality.
Maybe forget she was ever there.
Maybe just flip a little switch and create her all over again.
I imagine I might miss her,
This dark and sneaky copycat.
But she always tails and finds and she is always mine.
Copyright © 2012

Now tell me, please – how obvious is it as to what this poem is about?  I feel like this is one of those writings that has no interpretation…

Bleeding Hearts

In Personal, Poetry, Writing on November 8, 2012 at 8:45 pm

I came across another old writing – another poem, at that.  It seems I went through a very dark, emo time in my early young adulthood… Anyways, here it is in all it’s gloomy glory.

A bleeding heart
This bleeding heart
My bleeding heart
A hopeless romantic
           flighty and bursting
          a gentle butterfly carried by the wind
This hopeless romantic
          biting the bitter and spitting the sweet
          thoughts and words now oppose
A bleeding heart
          pour it out
          paint the canvas with your poetic sadness
This bleeding heart
          beats merely by design
          and bled out long ago
A weary soul
          exhausted and waiting
          a damsel that still let’s her hair down
This weary soul
          too tainted for a sliver of optimism to seep in
          tired, tired, tired
A bleeding heart
          pour it out
This bleeding heart
          paint the canvas with poetic sadness
My bleeding heart
          pumps only by design now
          and bled out long ago
Copyright © 2012

The Takeover

In Poetry, Writing on October 25, 2012 at 5:05 pm

I feel comfortable in saying I have a way with words in writing stories or articles or opinion pieces.  I never thought I would write poetry.  I absolutely love reading poetry, but I often do research after reading a poem I particularly enjoy to make sure I am fully understanding all the intricacies.  I had this idea of what poetry was, all flowery words and debatable representations – ala Dickinson, Poe, or Shakespeare – and it all seemed far to deep for me.  But one day, several years ago when I was wasting time in a general education class in college by doodling around in a notebook, a statement formed in my mind.  I don’t know where it came from or how it came together, it just did and I felt compelled to write it down.  So I did, but it didn’t stop there.  This one random little sentence, lines 3-4 in the following writing, sparked even more bits and pieces that started falling into place and by the end of this useless class I was stuck in, I had completed what I never thought possible: a poem that wasn’t completely terrible.  I am not knowledgeable at all about poetry.  I know none of the technical terms or the different styles still to this day, but that’s the closest thing I can think of that this fragmented little story could be, and therefore that’s what I decided to call it: my very first poem entitled The Takeover. Read the rest of this entry »

Singing Heart

Poems by Octavia Barratt


Breaking Free From The Past, In Hope For A Bigger & Brighter Future

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The world is a confusing place, these are just my musings on it.

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