Tag Archives: poetry

Bye, Bliss. Hello, Passion!

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Ruth 66 Official Cover

Ruth 66 Official Cover

I would like to inform you that this blog is going to be put to rest and thank you for your interest and support. I have decided to solely focus on my passion for fiction writing. When I write a novel, the universe and I are on the same frequency, if you know what I mean :-).

I hope to connect with you again on my new blog wordpress.elizabethbarlo.com, where you will find posts relating to my Young Adult and Contemporary Women’s Fiction, general poetry and fiction, as well as the existing Bliss posts under the Category ‘Bliss’.

As of Thanksgiving, 28 November 2013, my debut Young Adult novel Ruth 66 will be available as a FREE download from the Amazon Kindle Store, for a limited time only. Get your e-copy while you can!

‘Ruth 66’ is a humorous Young Adult coming-of-age novel about a music-mad teenager who is forced to babysit his crazy grandmother on a road trip that will change his life forever.
So get your FREE e-copy while you can!

Again, thanks so much for your support and happy blogging!

With love and gratitude,

Elizabeth Barlo

Fiction with a Heartbeat

Fiction with a Heartbeat

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The Procrastination Song

Procrastination Song

Procrastination Song

Oh how difficult it can be sometimes
to do what I have to do.
When the most important things that day
are behind a big hurdle,
and I just can’t seem to jump it.

I must do my taxes,
I must write another 1000 words.
But my brain won’t focus
and flutters like a flock of birds.

Suddenly my path is filled
with a million other little things.
The laundry awaits,
the windows need cleaning.
I haven’t dusted the picture frames in ages
and menial tasks keep intervening.

The garden has to be ready for Spring,
I have to order carpet swatches.
And I recorded a cool show last night
that really needs watching.

I must do my taxes,
I must write another 1000 words.
But my brain won’t focus
and flutters like a flock of birds.

I give myself an imaginary slap.
Focus, now, snap out of it!
It’s like high school’s lack of toil,
when the night before the exam
you were burning the midnight oil.

I must do my taxes,
I must write another 1000 words.
But my brain won’t focus
and flutters like a flock of birds.

You’re a grown-up now, I tell myself,
face up to reality and your responsibility!
You know what’ll happen if you don’t do it on time.
The authorities will just bury you in hostility,
and you’ll regret not taking the 60 minutes
to finish off that compulsory business.

I take a deep breath
and force my feet to my folders and files.
This is it, I’m going to clear that big hurdle,
but not before the towels are in a perfect pile.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2013


A Flawless Joke

I open the glossy magazine
and see the face of perfection.
No wrinkles, spots or blotches,
just a glowing, flawless complexion.

The ad says the patents are pending,
and the self-tests are conclusive.
This cream really is the bee’s knees,
very soon my creases shall be elusive.

I go to the store and fork out fifty bucks
for the promise of eternal youth in a tube.
It’s a bargain when you think about it,
and this time, I’m sure, I won’t get duped.

They are not making false claims,
or messing with my mind.
Oh no, beauty is within my reach,
and it’s exactly what I’ll find.

The traces of age and the motherhood marks
will be all at once erased.
Gone are the signs of broken nights,
the bags, the spots, the waste.

I drive home in excitement
and start lathering with glee.
The cream indulges my skin and whispers,
“You’ll soon look like you’re twenty-three…”

Four weeks later I look in the mirror
and it’s the same old face I see.
I stick out my tongue and realize
the joke is once again on me.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2013

Inner Fire

Your Facebook life is great,
your Instaworld real neat.
You fly high through the Twitterverse,
on the tail of every Tweet.

Your online life is beer and skittles,
where sunny days blend into laughter.
Friends embrace while flowers blossom,
and mankind’s happy ever after.

But the life that you project,
is like a hollow tree.
Glorious splendour on the outer,
the emptiness we dare not see.

Once in a while we get a glimpse
of the real you and your transgression.
Of sadness at your world
and need for repossession,
of your life the way it was
before the pressure got a hold.
When nobody knew who you were,
not yet a product being sold.

When being not perfect was quite okay,
and you stumbled and you tripped.
When mistakes were made and learnt from,
and you read not from a script.

But don’t worry, you have got us good
we buy it, while we know it’s suss.
We love that mirror you hold up,
so what does that make us?

Life’s a gift, all ours to take,
without anything in return.
Let’s strip back all our layers,
so we can see our fires burn.

We don’t need others to fan our flames,
they’re ablaze, alive, aglow.
It’s our own passion that fuels the fire,
not the Likes that we crave so.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2013

Nail The Day

Snowdrop signalling spring

Snowdrop
Image credit: tsekhmister / 123RF Stock Photo

I’m gonna nail the day,
I’m gonna seize this mofo.
Damn you, dark of winter,
I’m gonna surf this golden glow.

I’m gonna skip the Prozac,
leave Oprah in the lurch.
I’m gonna open up my mind,
give my soul time to search.

And while I am at it
may as well do some more.
I’m gonna dust off the trinkets,
mop the kitchen floor.

I’m gonna strip the beds
and wash the sheets.
I’m gonna clean the loo
and sweep the streets.

I’m gonna shop for groceries
and bake an apple pie.
I’m gonna plug my tire,
and learn to tie a tie.

I’m gonna wash the clothes
and scrub the dirty tub.
I’m gonna iron that pile,
and potty-train the bub.

I’m gonna set up a charity,
find a cure for disease.
I’m gonna stop every war,
and learn to make cheese.

I’m gonna do it all in one day
like a whirlwind on a mission.
I’m gonna tick that whole list
spurred by endless ambition.

I swing open the bedroom window
and greet Mother Nature fair.
I thank her for my spirited energy,
and for putting Spring in the air.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2013

The Splits

THE SPLITS

We women
we straddle
not a man
not a saddle.

It’s the path of life
that tears us apart
one way is society
the other the heart.

No matter where we go
there is always the fear
did we make the right choice
between kids and career?

No matter which way we go
there is always the guilt
we are our own harshest critics
it’s how we are built.

We juggle and we muddle
we comfort and we cuddle
we give everyone all of our love
and yet it just never seems enough.

But the generations before us
and millions ‘round the world
could only wish they had what we have
so really, we should be told.

That we women are fortunate
to have this privileged choice
the freedom to decide
what is right for us.

So I pull my feet together
and drop the negative attitude
because right now I decide
to walk the path of gratitude.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2012

Domestic Bliss (An Ode to Mr. Mraz)

This is an ode from a housewife
as found all over the world
who swoons at your beautiful voice
and marvels at your de-frizzed curls.

Not a desperate one
with lots of bling and a nanny
but a slightly unkempt one
with too much hair on her fanny.

Who listens to you as she cleans up
the day’s beautiful mess
and attacks stubborn shit streaks
with the utmost finesse.

Who now leaves the car and
rides her bike to the recycling station
and has put her family
on a strict organic-only ration.

Who now bends herself
into an impossible pose
as she desperately tries
to touch her toes with her nose.

Oh Mr. Mraz, you’re like Jesus Christ
but with a Mal and a spliff
you preach love and light
as you shield me from the cliff.

Oh Mr. Mraz, you’re like Tom Jones
without the rasp and fake hue
and you make me want to throw
my daggy panties at you.

Oh Mr. Mraz, you’re like Fifty Shades
but a hundred times better
your words spank my tushy
with every single letter.

Your every note
strokes my bushy butterfly
as your voice carries me
to unprecedented highs.

Your music touches my heart
and kick-starts
a divine event
that can only end
in utter blissssss…

My cheeks flushed
I’m left in a quandary
but then I duly go back
to folding the laundry.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2012