Creative Corner: ‘At the Heart of It All’ Poetry Collection

Olivia's riveting poetry collection dives headfirst into the inner workings of the heart and mind.


If they say age is just a number

Why should it feel like a deadline?

Anxious to meet and to hold:

Onto the rise of expectations that greet its

Joy; to put those who wonder,

Under pressure to achieve…

What others can only hope them to.


If notes are bigger than coins

Why aren’t they thrown into wishing

Wells, like sponges soaking up all that those want them to desire?

Take what they please from the ones who are foolish enough to dream mere dreams:

Idealistic hopes and fresh starts.


If wishes turned into realities

Why do so many stay untrue?

Lingering on the skyline under the stars:

Too high for the catchers to hold them

In their open arms,


All thoughts, out of control


Blind to realise


Like a girl is commonly a phrase I hear

Not often said with much to cheer

Like a girl yourself you used to breath

Fresh air and freedom to be who I’ll be


What you didn’t know, you didn’t care

That you were different, so much to share

To bring to the table, to bring to world

Believing to be as special as an oyster’s pearl


What you don’t know, just can’t hurt

Despite the tone if it’s harsh or curt

Meanings differ, perspectives change

Those who believe the bad are like moths to a flame


Can’t help the grief they feel inside

Those innocent girls start to hide

Themselves from others, themselves to them

Building a wall or a secret den


Where they can’t be touched, can’t be seen

Though like a girl they do not fail to dream

To win the race, in front of the crowd

To continue doing what makes them proud


Proud to be and proud to do

Whatever it is that they wish to pursue

Art and music, science or sports

Girls were made to do all sorts


So stand beside them, watch them grow

And give what they need to make them glow

Be the woman they are, inside their skin

Like a girl they’ll stay as you watch them win.



Enlighten me

Stand beside me, so when all feels lost

I won’t feel alone on this

Cold shoreline along the ocean that divides us

Awaiting your return, I reflect on the times I never thought I could do things on my own:

never be just to be or see how I wanted things to seem

For I know my strengths when I’m not around

you: we’re better off alone again

When together restricts us

Should we come to an end?

I care neither way now if you come to see

A fallen journey is what we came to be.


Swimming pool

See it shine, this swimming pool: that

Bobs through the currents of its open glide, glide through the bubbles that break the surface


Open; to changes, ripples and drip-

Like droplets that splash from a summers dip. So used it feels, a sort of intrusion, both gloomy yet glad that it has been chosen to produce the


memories of so many, some few-

Depends on the place they are going to:

For some are neglected, not meant to be pools

Some don’t swim in them ever at all.


The rich and the wealthy- just there to be seen

Another object to make others be pleased

There for status, not play at all- they belong to the shallows, shallow and small-


My blue symbolises there cold.

Both are bored (such irony)…


When I am here, always waiting for the

leaves of beetles or even dust to swim:

Jump in, surprise or startle me, they’re debating…


splish, splash and splosh

Are the words they use, when they finally decide to give me some use- attention.

I watch them, bemused.


When it’s done and over, when the moments pass, the leaves don’t float but crack my shining surface- as hard as the glass.


But even the darkness cannot cover me

I know I must watch them do as they please

Wrap me under a cover when you’re done with me… so deep I am (I hear myself)


All I can do is wait for thee- the splish splash and splosh, count one two and three (again)

Lie by the side, with a book or two


For here I am, rectangle of pleasure, storing memories for you


Clockwork Art

A painter paints his still life drawing

On his deck chair, the terrace outside

Lies; direct in front, a fence to the left

And a few small flowers in plant pots a


Head of the shadows on a summer morning. cast over the side, right,

As the house sits quietly, not a person inside to

Chime through the peace he feels, the wonder that


Appeals to all his senses; for he inspires to draw the lines in symmetry, wait for the overcast of the bright sky to guide his strokes, for the sun to


Wait patiently; as he moves the water through the colours, complete the work of art. To see through the clouds. Like the empty visage of a canvas bare and vast-


With empty meaning, empty eyes that cannot see

What it is and what it means to be. The painting, unfinished, inanimately. Without direction: you can not tell the

Purpose of the picture, what made him


Start as well: no direction, or direct centre, but diagonal crosses; unsure decisions, (cognitions) fall out of place.

He waits their silently, rocks back and forth


Thinking deeply if he’s on the right course to complete his drawing, round in circles he goes- though circular still, no sharp corners, no room to dwell on


A different finish, time zone of


Fragments of colours: all jagged lines

Torn through the canvas, his old round face


Crinkled with the deep thoughts he gave

Into that space, where hopefulness lies


Will he ever finish it, will he do it well?

For it is his greatness, his work off a spark, a circular art: only time will tell


The World Pressed on Pause


When you stopped me, I stopped and the world paused too.

it was then that I remembered something was

missing. it froze:
Something deep within the cage that you

shut yourself in, a portal you dared to look into;

you lost the key in the there and then: it was nothing that I couldn’t

recreate, or try to piece back together, until,

Reluctance. Became the only thing that stopped it: once,
The roll of the dice-

The games we play: or watch
Play on the

…You learned to repress everything we worked for, when,

The world really cared to

Emotions. Only an image…

… to see on screens
That is

Our life; for we became embraced, and put on pause by

tap of the screen
print of a finger

-all what we knew before is now left unseen-
discarded, (once more) time:

can only tell if the box can ever be opened again, the box of our passivity, the box in the

So that we may learn to live once, now

And over:

So that we can replay it, learn to live it, (play, live, repeat) all
Over, and


All the Senses

Turn off the lights that blind my vision,

The noise of a thousand crowds from


Concerts I wish I could attend:

If it were not for these sense that have

Always felt so heightened


When I don’t know why. Questions I’ve

Always had unanswered:

So hard to understand what others easily

Do, to feel other things, so indifferent from

Those around me, lead to ask myself:


Am I alone in all this peril? The


The lateness, the growth- less

The over outlandishness (behaviour)

The over everything,

The wasting of time

The doubting thoughts, the things I’ve got


Wrong, misread/ interpreted, the

Comments I’ve made and the looks that


Follow; as though I’m on another earth,

Where all is unusual or strange to many;

There are more, more

Truths, that lie: in my tainted


Colours like those from water, lightened,

Painted, washed over or shaded-

Unfortunate for me, who dares to dream,

Dream of simplicity: a mere dream.


Maybe in another time, another year,

Through more knock- backs that have

Made me grow, (learn the hard way) and

Everything will become clearer- them, to

Me, so suggestions don’t sound like insults.


Fortune came when I found them,

Those who speak in another language,

Became my own: a one that only we can (finally)


They said, that all they wanted was to be


Lifted from the crowd, brought forward,

Step out, souls heightened (this time)


So all our hardships,

Would be for something.


Message from a bottle

I see you, you see me;


on the

Shore line:

observing the tide as the



Above its surface;

Lost in its bubbles,

thoughts flying

As they break through the


cracks: you crack- like the

glass of a pane holding

you in, surrounded by

olive green lights

Rusty, from what

has made it shatter:



Under the sun.


I caged myself in, locked

my world in (an embrace

caught me)- like a bottle: I

became the neck of



old, something brown;


around and around,

changed- from

A Queen, to her broken


…Now… I bob beside you;

try to find you, then

cling behind you onto the

remnants that have so



and caused me to fray.

I find you far away:

no longer floating; you’re



…And finding the waves,

pushing you further and

further, still,


further down.


Float as you may, I know

you let yourself break

Down, (long before)

down down and down,

you went down still

don’t drag me (with you).



I’m not ready to sink down

or lose my matter:


Bring me back to the

shore so I do not shatter;


I will not be seen to drown

For I am neither lost, nor



Olivia Morel


Featured image courtesy of Jeannette S. (  via Flickr. Image Licence found here.

Article image 1 courtesy of Mark Bradshaw (, image 2 courtesy of Lauren Treece (, image 3 courtesy of rubyblossom. (, image 4 courtesy of Anita Bower (, image 5 courtesy of Bill Smith (, image 6 courtesy of hans van den berg (, image 7 courtesy of Chrismatos ?90% OFF, so  ( via flickr

Image use licence here.

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