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Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Towzer

Towzer

 

Just a glance, a smile,

stirs his tail to thump.

 

My old grey muzzled friend

heaves himself up, steadies himself,

 

plods across the flagstone floor

rests his heavy head on my lap.

 

We sit in the twilight.

He warms me.

 

What days they were, when we flew

laughing – leaping the long

 

sun tumbled bands of hay

Joy snapping at our heels

 

I smile again, we sit and stay,

While I fondle his deaf ear.

 

 

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Frost Faeries

 

They came on the chill of a windless night

with faces of glass, diamond eyes, startled hair –

the air crackling and splintering

before their icy breaths.

On brittle wings they hovered

 

and with spindled fingers etched in ice

upon my sleeping window

intricate fronds and filigrees, unicorns, dragons,

demons, whirling divas, souls of songs –

Sunlight-captured, burning bright and clear.

 

Waking now, I still hear strands of laughter

as they skate away –  stealing

those far flung crystal  mornings.

 

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I was delighted and amazed that this poem was highly commended in the ‘Fire River Poets’ poetry competition. I’ve been invited to read it, plus some others, at a ‘Winners Evening’ in May. It’s very exciting but also quite daunting.
Here’s the poem…(it’s a villanelle by the way)

Wordless Dream

I dreamt that you were with us all today,
so vivid and so real you seemed to be,
you smiled, you never spoke, just turned away.

You buttered toast, and laid the breakfast tray.
You boiled the old range kettle, made the tea.
I dreamt that you were with us all today.

You never stopped, nor saw the children play.
Instead you polished all the cutlery.
You smiled, I never spoke. I turned away.

Your face was drawn, your features gaunt and grey,
but still you cleaned and worked on endlessly.
I dreamt that you were with us all today.

I begged you please to stop, to rest, to stay.
You placed your age-worn hand upon my knee,
We smiled, we never spoke, we turned away.

A tear slid down your face, I saw you sway.
I wanted you to stop. Stay here with me.
I dreamt that you were with us all today,
you smiled, you never spoke and turned away.

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Clever Words

They are all too clever by half –
these words.
Distilled to small hard jewels
attempting to dazzle.
They chink on the page
hard, heavy, cold.
Empty.
Too clever by half.

No resonance
to warm the belly,
fire the blood,
move the spirit
or billow a rainbow in the mind.
An intellectual rattle
Clang, clunk, clink.
Too clever by half.

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A poem for these wet summer days…

 

Summer Lies

 

Splishy splashy sloshy days

wrung out, strung up, hung out to dry

on dismal damp summer lies.

 

Rotting strawberries, mounds of mould

beneath wet leaves. Bowed and broken

flower heads, hanging limp, all but dead.

 

Rolling, boiling, muddied stream

tumbling headlong in between

bulging banks, brim full. Bursting.

 

Squelching, belching, sodden fields

turned now to new wet worlds,

where sentinel trees stand stranded.

 

On the green, where party picnickers

should have been. The grass is flattened

churned to mud.

 

The carousel, draped in plastic,

hides fantastic flying horses, unicorns,

dinosaurs, now bedraggled, damp. Distorted.

 

Bright bunting slaps and smacks, hangs slack.

A river playing down our street,

a gurgling, dripping, drumming beat.

 

Again the rain, the waters rise.

Sandbag dams – front door reprise

of dismal drizzling summer lies.

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A sonnet for my niece Chloe; written after shopping for her wedding dress.

 

Chloe’s Wedding Gown

 

A cascade fall of satin fairy-tales,

still drape from golden rails. A silken stream

of  ivory, of pearl. Lace flower trails

between soft organza and love’s young dream.

 

The robe, a puff of candy floss delight,

adorned with sequins, pearly beads and bows.

The veil, a froth of voile, bejewelled and white.

The sparkling shoes revealing painted toes.

 

But this is not for you. You will decide –

no glitz, no glam. On fancy frills, you’d frown.

Just fresh wild roses, flowers, for this bride

to hold before a simple long white gown.

 

For that’s all sugar spun, a pretty trim.

Your beauty Chloe, comes from deep within.

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My Blue Mug

My Blue Mug.

You sit there,

Upside down beside the sink

Draining.

A dribble of stale water,

imbued with left-over lunch, grease,

soap, slides secretly

over blue porcelain

leaving an unseen trail of lies.

 

Yet to my friends

you appear clean, bright, fun

who wouldn’t choose you

to hold their favourite drink,

Lapsang, Ceylon, Earl-Grey.

Columbian, Kenyan,

Brazilian blends,

who wouldn’t choose you?

 

You were a welcome gift.

A firm favourite.

But you soured the milk,

scorched the tongue,

tainted the tea,

embittered the coffee.

 

Still your blue porcelain shines,

But should one turn you over

Look inside –

They will see the stains.

The fine hair line cracks.

The rings of grime.

Once I loved you.

Now you are no longer mine.

 

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