There’ll be a day, hopefully not long from now.

There’ll be a day, hopefully not long from now
when families will be reunited with cuddles and kisses 
not pixels on screens 
or live streams 
but people, together
and our hands will heal.
Friends will sit side by side, laughing 
as we occupy our favourite spaces again
signs saying ‘temporarily closed’ 
and ‘hope to see you soon’ on the doors
will go, and then we’ll have to book in advanced
to get that coveted window seat, like before.

There’ll be a day, hopefully not long from now
where we’ll relish the company of strangers
shake hands when we meet them
greet people on the street with hellos and smiles
and ‘how are you, it’s been a while?’ 

We’ll go outside and breathe in deeply,
not the stuff that flows in through our windows and doors
but the freshest air from the trees
we’ll notice birds and bees and flowers and we’ll see beauty
in things we’d started to forget to take notice of.

There’ll be a day, hopefully not long from now
when our neighbours will be out in their gardens
with friends round having barbecues
listening to tunes until late night clouds of reds and blues fill the sky

We will kiss with no delay and not think twice
about stealing a lick of chocolate chip ice cream
as we walk holding hands on a balmy day
We’ll head into town and hold doors open for others
and our lovers will move our hair away from our faces
as strands get stuck in our lipgloss
and we’ll all talk about things that don’t matter, together again.

There’ll be a day, hopefully not long from now.


there are times when I truly believe
that I have always known who you are
your tastes, your desires, your dreams
a triangle of colours
the person whose refection I see
in square window panes and puddles
and in the hearts of those I love
but the truth is that you, my dear
you are ephemeral and forever renewing
as fresh as the first raindrop of spring
a shadow that doesn’t fit
as old as you’ve ever been
or the concave of a spoon
a self-portrait drawn with invisible ink
direct like an arrow
a beautiful paradox
with more sides than a dodecahedron.

© Stacie Lee Bennett-Worth, 2019

Keep that fire burning

They said I should sell myself,
But I didn’t know how.
Writing reams, connecting seams of a future undone.
By societies ideologies and an unknown desire to be successful.
To make money, to be good.
Like I know I should be, but it’s hard to see why a girl like me,
should rise to the top; be the best?
I’ve seen doting teenage mothers, broken families and a society with benefits piling, finding joy.
The rest are filing for divorce, regulars in court, committing crimes and never doing time.
It hurts, when you don’t understand your place.
Hatred and greed, feeding tongues that don’t need feeding anymore.
Seems I’ve been blind.
Head in the transience of time, prancing my way through an education.
Now, a resurrection
Creativity once buried but never lost, and ignited now.
Like a Phoenix, burning bright, dancing and loving like never before.
Being scared? Yeah, scared.
Conforming? Conforming leads to yawning.
Dawning. Yearning. Keep on burning.
Someone might pull the plug, and I’ll lose it all.
But it’s my drug and I’m dancing this addiction.
To a life of creating, earth-quaking, knee-shaking, love making.
You’ll never bring me down.
Happiness, no less. That’s my success.
Throwing myself to the deep.
Taking what I was born to have,
what I was promised to be given.
By them, to keep.

© Stacie Lee Bennett-Worth, 2013