Perry Poetry Quotes

She had stars in her eyes and galaxies in her veins

Freaks are the much needed escape from the humdrum. They are poetry.

A Party for New Year (for Lily and Maisie, the ladies what lunch.) Dear Lily, I have bought something frilly, to wear on New Year’s Eve. You may think it sounds rather silly, and, what I tell you, you will never believe. I met a woman in Primark, I know, not my normal shop. Just heard so much about it inside I had to pop. Well, the top I purchased, sparkles. The frills upon it abound. This woman I met in the changing room. On me, she said it looked sound. It's very, very silver you know. A little bit like Lametta. Oh Lily, I feel quite aglow. On no one could it look any better. Dear Maisie, Things are looking a bit hazy. A silver top, for New Year. Are you really, really that crazy? My word, you batty old dear. I'm wearing my old faithful. The black dress, with the gold trim. It's not like we’re doing anything special. In fact proceedings sound quite grim. Sitting on your old sofa With a Baileys, if I'm lucky. Watching the same old things on the box. I'm not excited Ducky. I want to be in the city and feel the atmosphere. It really is a pity that you want to stay right here. Dear Lily. Now you are being silly. What about your knees? Standing about, feeling chilly, and moaning you're going to freeze. Much better to stay indoors and watch a music show. We'll get the bongs at midnight. This you very well know. I don't have any Baileys. You drank it Christmas Day. But I found some cooking sherry. I want that out of the way. I even have some nibbles, so come on, what do you say? We'll have us a little party. Bring your nightie and then you can stay. Dear Maisie, Do you remember Daisy? Her with the wart on her ear. She thinks she'd like to join us to celebrate New Year. Do we really want her with us? She's quite a moaning Minnie. She always makes such a fuss. I'd hoped she'd celebrate with Winnie. I think I will come over Lil'. I'll even bring the wine. We really should start taking turns. Next year, you can come to mine. We'll have a great time, you and me. Go out in the cold? No fear. We'll be fine indoors, just you see. Friends together, celebrating New Year.

LAST NIGHT IN THE CITY Written in the style of Andrew Fusek Peters…… by Charlotte Eden Aged 9. My granddaughter Last night I saw the city boasting. Fat and ugly office blocks gloated over poor and empty parking lots, and conceited takeaways mocked the fish and chip shops Last night I saw the city sleeping. The sun, as hot as an oven, began to rest its brightness, and the moon awoke from his deep slumber. Last night I saw the city breathing. Airports inhaled the landing planes, while cars wheezed in the Cold, frosty night. Last night I saw the city crying. The gleaming stars poured from the night sky, and landed in a cracked, glass puddle. Last night I saw the city chuckling. Owls laughed at the bats’ jokes, while hedgehogs made fun of the hibernating squirrels. Last night I saw the city performing. The thin trees danced in the puffing wind, and the stars put on a show in the moonlight. Charlotte Eden June 2016. Copyright

Dear Lily Don't think me silly, but I forget what time you said. Are we meeting at two thirty? It's gone right from my head. Did you say Monday or Thursday? I have quite forgotten what day. Was it late lunch, or afternoon tea? Tell me, what did you say? I think I would like to do Tuesday. Let's go for a lovely lunch. Or, if you prefer we could even go early, and settle for brunch. A lovely Bistro or Cafe Bar, or maybe a country pub. I don't really mind that much, as long as we get some grub. Dear Maisie, Are you going crazy? We didn't set a date. You needed to check your diary. I think you are losing it, mate. But since you are free on Tuesday, and that day suits me fine. Could we meet, about twelve…ish? Its early I like to dine. You mentioned the pub, or Bistro, or some fancy Cafe Bar. Not sure I like the sound of that, and I'm not coming in the car. If the weather is bright and sunny, we could always dine al fresco. Failing that, we could just go get a cake and a cuppa in Tesco.

Can I speak to the Upsetter? No, he's busy! Arranging his reggae: revolutionary poetry that is taking over from the heads of government...

I found poetry to be an outlet for everything I was dealing with. It quickly became not only my voice, but my therapy. I found myself writing to heal.

My eyes refuse to watch you leave, so tears will blur the memory.

My words are my wings. They send me soaring. My words are my wings, and, I hope, never boring

art allows us to travel beyond the reach of words, where we can find our stories within a bigger picture