Rebecca Stansfield
Rebecca Stansfield Poems
Clouds made up of sounds of violins, the white clouds that seldom move, if you stare for days.
The birds that never seem to look angry, even as the crows, eat their own friendships.
...
Battered face is bruised,
there that beauty hidden,
the woman sat in front of me,
ear phones in, blacked eyed, singing.
...
Foresee the day ahead of me,
the is rising again,
and all that was a burden to me,
is flying, again.
...
Tornadoes moving in like fire,
the baby of the night,
providing the mess it's causing here,
is waiting for a fight.
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The water in my eyes
The water in my heart
The air The air The air The air
The air that's in my soul
...
For some reason- I wanted it-
your home.
It's almost dinner time at one-
and I'm unnoticeable.
...
Barley sixteen and half unseen,
Who in battle engaged and never gave up,
When a sunset heights the air,
Tree's swaying, standing bare,
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Kissing beards
Holding hands
Dreaming whilst we're working
Of feet in Spanish sands
...
Who's to worry,
is it a fault of mine?
That you are snatching everything,
snatching my life and my time.
...
A timid man with a whole hole in his heart,
the birds powering inside of him,
and all that was a praying monster,
sit, sitting peacefully.
...
Black your heart-
your heart is hallow-
a cave for me to fly into-
where I sleep tomorrow.
...
</>Season soon arrives,
this that there place of cold,
running through us like a knife that cuts,
getting the better of us.
...
The man next door in the car,
not speaking in a way of laughter,
just speaking, to his wife.
...
Laughter is something that I see,
the man in-front of me,
laughing, always meaninglessly,
acting what I never want to be.
...
Oh I remember when my dreams were still alive,
how daily you'd angel me and save my life,
but now out of the window looking-
thinking about my future-
...
I once felt this feeling worse,
than how I'm feeling it now,
but never did it feel as if,
it would not go away the morning.
...
The Best Poem Of Rebecca Stansfield
The Kind Of Day When Violins Play
Clouds made up of sounds of violins, the white clouds that seldom move, if you stare for days.
The birds that never seem to look angry, even as the crows, eat their own friendships.
The kind of day when the sky, looks like a flying ocean, and you want to jump up into it, not realising that you cannot fly upside down.
When the monsoon is barley a problem, because you like the look of the rain anyway, because it looks like sunrays, sunrays from the sky.
The kind of day when the trees hardly seem to sway, even if there was a tornado, you'd refuse to run away.
And the crickets that you hear, as you walk across a field, are not crickets on a field but,
angles in a jungle.
When the earth moves and makes you dizzy, when you lay on the ground, and a tear falls down your face, that tastes of sugar and not salt.
The day when the hypocrites, never will seem right, because in your heart you know why, the storm that is supposed to look black, somehow to you today is looking bright.
That day when the music that usually makes you cry, is sweetening up your day,
because the tears are not stinging anymore, because they are happy- tasting-sweet.
Rebecca Stansfield Comments
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12/25/2025 4:30:14 AM # 1.0.0
