Articles written by Sid de Knees in Creative Writing

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What is Helium

About me - Sid de Knees

Sometimes we write pieces and present with enthusiasm and extreme haste. It would seem Helium taught me this;

"we do live long enough to regret our actions".

"Post in haste, repent in leisure".

One thing I know about myself is at times, I am a complete wally.

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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Self-awareness: 2 of 235
Discovering Myself! Haunting whispers once oppressing, spring to mind for re-addressing, Asking why I didn't go, Why'd you stay, and douse the glow? That once from you emitted such, a glow that darkness, yearned to touch, and now a shadow of yourself, a sprightly soul, jarred on a shelf. In deep regret and solitude, echoes o... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Politics: 2 of 162
Do you send your own sons? I've suffered propoganda's grasp, for long enough and seek release, I need not see my nations sons, die for your claims of "war brings peace", these sons young mothers worked to raise, and sent to school, to grow and learn, should not be sent by men as you, to fronts to face the flame and burn, the... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Travel: 1 of 73
On shanks. Would seem the day is mine to play, all plans are made for staying in, while autumn grips my little isle, I'd much prefer to shake my shin, and raise my shank in search of views, up high above white frosted lakes. I'd tred along thin gravel paths, the mindfull walker gently takes, and find a rock, on high, to rest... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Hate: 3 of 200
Beware. I bear no consideration, for weak and feebly minded souls I am a beast and I devour, discarding people, blackened holes. I'll rise up if you give me chance and once I'm up know this my friend my power to destroy erupts and seeks to bring all love to end. All hope and all consideration, ever held will be destroyed I a... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Falling: 1 of 60
Mountain climber! My fingertips are stinging me, and down my arms a raging ache, My shoulders feel, an agony, though my mind tries, it cannot shake. My spine believes that death will come, and my hips glee as do my legs, my spleen and tummy muscle drum, support as my fraught body begs, "Oh fingertips, why hold on now? Why ca... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Death of a loved one: 10 of 599
The death of a sweetheart. I'd touch her cheek, and she would glow, her eyes bore a sultry gaze. Oh how I ache as I recall, my love of younger days! I'd touch her hand, and see a flame, rise high inside of her, and as her lips, moved close to mine, I'd feel my soul concur. We'd dance beneath, the midnight moon, make love unt... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Describe yourself: 5 of 294
I've got a look of Robert Redford, crossed with Steve McQueen, sing a bit like Elvis Presley, dance like Mr Bean! Often find my silver tongue, and twinkle in my eye, makes me when compared to most, an average kind of guy! I'm full of romance, will and want, and like a little drink, have a rather cheeky smile, and fetching ge... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Global warming: 1 of 52
Trying to ease, my cost! Generations yet to come, I'm sorry but it's true, The bill for people living now, will be addressed to you. As yours will be addressed to kin, you're never set to meet. Just as my kin of long ago, laid their bill at my feet. And as I write, so I address, these debts bestowed on me. As well as follow ... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Reflections on success, struggle, and happiness: 6 of 298
Though dim within us all exists. Since admitting addictions, I'd so long denied. I have found my way back, from my prison inside, to be free of my warders, brings joy to my mind, since my warders so happily, rendered me blind. I am led by a light, I found dying within. As I searched in my darkness, for death to begin. And I ... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Babies: 2 of 99
Grandson. He looks at me with glowing eyes, my T-shirt's nice and clean. Fresh canvas for his works of art, a lumpy winter scene. His bibs are never big enough, to catch his special works, they come delivered in a rush, of bobbing little jerks. All along my fresh pressed shirt, then down my arms and back, lumpy little blobs ... More..