Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history ~ Plato

Friday, April 22, 2016



We exist as threads
Intricately woven
Between the then and now

Memories like silk
Through the eye of the needle
Embroidered emotions

Braided as bandage
Quilting our scars
Stitched together

Through that which connects us
A web of emotion
Colourful commonalities

Joy, pain
Love, loss 
Lust, envy 

It is in our most tender moments
Our most intimate whispers
Our most frightening desires

Where we find the courage
To adorn ourselves
In the lives we have created

Where our mistakes are made art
Our regrets turn to poetry
And our shame is silenced 

Natasha Head

Friday, March 18, 2016

A Vote For Fairness

We all want the same thing
Who deserves it
Fairness and equality
Should not be regarded as weak
Nor should the ability
To carry on a mature and rational debate
Be considered a hindrance.
When we make a conscience choice 
To turn away from these conversations
And take the side of force
We choose conflict
Thinking as long as we stand at the side of power
The choice is ours alone. 

Natasha Head

Thursday, March 10, 2016

Losers Like Us

I had the car and the notebook
You had the weed and the beer
We both had the urge for leaving
Get up and get out of here

We made it as far as the sidewalk
Never knew that at one point it ends
Never knew where the concrete would take us
Never knew that we'd never again

Hid the car in the lot at the old rink
Took the path beaten on the forest floor
Took the notebook the weed and the beer
Took again and then took some more

The camp wasn't much to look at
There really wasn't much to see
Just me with my little notebook
And you with your bag of weed

The bench was hard and splintered
But to us it was good as a throne
The smoke was heavy and skunky
If it wasn't, we would have stayed home

The soundtrack was a walkman
With blaster speakers doctored by you
Suicidal Tendencies, Social Distortion
Back then, the balls and chains were few.

You let me tell you stories
I let you read what I had wrote
I let you sing my simple words
Even then it was poetry you spoke

All we knew for certain
Was that we couldn't be caught
Losers like us have a way of evasion
We slip away with barely a thought.

Natasha Head