Poetry Corner

~ dedicated to poets and the discussion of poetry ~


News & Information


Christina Johnson will be writing a quarterly column entitled The Market Place for Author Network. In the first issue, she will be covering poetry magazines from New Zealand, Australia, United States, Canada, and England.


Poets and Poems


Alison Heath is interested in receiving feedback about her work and therefore would like visitors to Poetry Corner to comment accordingly. Please offer constructive criticism when sending comments, which can be emailed to allissandra@ntlworld.com.

I see a little girl

I see a little girl, within a woman’s eye,

Summer’s white light shines the pale of days

gone by.

Upon her face the tatters of an old and worn

out smile

Reserved for special occasions, every once

in a while.

That mask has had its use throughout the

decade past

Childhood days that seemed like years now

speed by so fast

If only I could speak with her and see behind her grin

I would tell her of the pain she’d cause and

of what a fool she’d been.

I can’t see the pain or feel the hurt she’s trying

to suppress

Instead I see the first class marks, the

need to impress.

A ‘perfect’ child so quiet, well mannered

and dry

How well she hid it from them all, her

personal-public lie.

You see, through those days she was not


A shadow her companion, with her while she’s


Bulimia? I hear you cry, no comprehension of

its name,

A lonely, secretive disease; a violent

destructive game.

She was in control of that, something to


That little girl with empty dreams and no

real place to hide.

This one action at her command, she hid it rather well

‘Just one more time’ will be the last, no

more of this hell.

Any alcoholic knows that every drink’s his


Each mouthful stuffed suppressed the hurt,

then there came the fast.

No food now and she’ll be slim and everyone

be proud

To be the best, to have a dream, to stand

out from the crowd.

It never lasted all that long, the cravings

won the day

And all the food that she could eat she

quickly put away.

Disgusted, alone and needing recognition

Bulimia soon beat this girl into deep


A stable family, that cared, and shared and

loved, and stuff

Parents wanting just the best, but the best

was just never enough.

The love was there just not the attention;

look and you’ll see the word

There’s a difference ‘tween listening and

hearing, and she just wanted to be heard.

Ten years to grow from girl to woman, a long

ten years it’s been

Her world is now ‘grown up’, suppressed the

young, the green.

She now understands, prompted by a family


That the measure of a man is not judged by

his achievement.

Secure in who she is at last, no need to run

and hide

What destiny holds in store is now hers

to decide

To be herself, to be confidant much loved

and proud

Of her own achievements, not seek

compliments from the crowd.

She has her health, her family, who all love

without condition

She has ceased to feel that life is one big

career mission

To prove (to who?) that she can succeed in

what her heart decides

She has succeeded in beating the disease

that lurks and sneers and chides.

Her shadow will accompany her through life;

that is her cross to bear

In weaker moments, self- doubt lingers she

knows he will be there.

Hold your head up high my love and show him

who is boss

For many are the hills of life and greater

rivers to cross.

I see a little girl, within a woman’s eye

Summers shadow approaches autumn and the sun

is high in the sky.

I was that girl, I am that woman, regrets I

have a few

But life for me is full of joy and every

smile is TRUE.

Copyright Alison Heath November 2001


Kelly McIntire is interested in receiving feedback about her work and therefore would like visitors to Poetry Corner to comment accordingly. Please offer constructive criticism when sending comments, which can be emailed to fairymagic6079@earthlink.net.

Her name was angelic floating motionless silent within the big sky moonlit highlights, my fight was to uncover her game.

Unlike my past previous experience, my theorys would get squashed, every time Id floss, my skills up in her slllooooowwwww lane.

No name could be given to the emotions she dealt me, she felt me for my feelings and not what she saw.

My flaws still wandered across the coals bare footed, habits evolved, and every time that I’d plug in, I’d get no signal at all.

So as I sit here and wonder why that movement began, it was to understand love, and paradoxically it’s mocking me.

But I’m grateful for the time that I was even involved, even though she ripped my heart out decorating my walls.

With splatter, matter was implanted in my ignorant soul, cynical goals left, love grew, and now my story gets told. I miss you, I miss you.

Copyright Kelly McIntire 2002

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