Re: Poetry please.

Well done to your granddaughter, LF

Re: Poetry please.

Yes Mags she is the youngest of 5 grand children and I believe she has some of her grand dad in her.
She also won 2 golds in Taekwondo 4 weeks back so she as definetely got some of my genes in her. She kicks ass..
Her older sister of 2 years is a stronger fighter and keeps her on her toes so to speak I could not keep up with them these days.

Re: Poetry please.

Love your poems, Robert.
Your Grandaughter is very talented for an 8 year old, Longfellow.

Re: Poetry please.

I've put a couple on General Chat but these are a couple more of my favourites:

ME, OTHER ME

I had a voice inside my head that hissed and whispered subtle things.
I tried translating what it said, its rhythms, its insidious wings
That fluttered just behind my eyes, that washed my senses clean away.
And though it told me wicked lies, I thought it spoke not of decay,
Of horrors, but of angel wings.

The voice - I called it Other Me – crooning as a lover’s sigh,
Lulling me within my skull to instigate a mad reply.
And though it spoke of love of sorts, a soup of feelings round me flowed,
Yet still I could not break the code.
But yearned to tell the voice goodbye.

But now the Other Me has fled, inhabiting who knows what space?
And left me here becalmed and blank, presenting but an empty face.
Surrounded by some careful others, gentle handling of my needs,
Who never question, never judge and deftly dismiss past misdeeds.

I miss Other Me.


THE VISIT

I visit my mother, my thrice-weekly duty
And listen to worries and small discontentments
In her box of a room where she’s full of resentments;
“My savings are going, the meals are too bland,”
And I hold her hand.
Her gaze flicks distractedly wall to wall –
“Will you dust?
I’m sorry for making a fuss.”

And I dutifully do the needless chores,
And look with longing out of doors.

I visit my mother and rush past the others,
The vacant-eyed residents slumped by the telly –
The fretful whining from Connie and Dolly –
“Don’t sit THERE, that’s MY chair!”
Oh, God help us all.
And mum’s eyes brim with fear for the thought
That she might
Need the commode for the third time that night.

And I sit and I stare
And crave the fresh air.


SSSIZZLE

Sweet sizzling in my vein today, and everything seems brighter.
Insidious hissing in my brain, and life seems sharper, whiter.
My edges blurred, an inner fizz
That thrills and enervates alike.
I’m slower, dreamy, broken down
My heart’s all peak and spike.

Wondrous sparking round my brain, and shit! I’m God, I am!
The knowledge hurts my skull, the thought that everything’s a sham.
My eyeballs itch, my eyelids twitch
I hear a song, it must be me,
But coming deep within some other
Me, a stoned-out zombie of a bitch.

The racing heart tick tocks my life, and good stuff fills up my vein,
Luscious sleep fights alien limbs and maybe it’s insane –
But me and my fix, my whole box of tricks
Take me somewhere far off,
Out there, better world,
A whole other way to get kicks.

Re: Poetry please.

I really enjoy reading all the poems here .... keep it up folks

Re: Poetry please.

I can't remember which I've posted & which not, so bear with me if this has been on here before.....

Dipper Spring

I sat on the bench by the river
My binoculars on my knee
I didn't actually need them,
She was so close to me

Busily flying with moss in her bill
To the place she'd decided to nest
While her lazy mate stood on a rock
But she didn't take any rest.

The place she had chosen was high in the bank
Beside the waterfall
Her mate was leaving her to it
But occasionally he would call
She didn't answer him
And her expression said it all.

I could have stayed all day
Though I had to leave them be
Housewifely duties called
And I had to go home and get tea.

I visited the bench again
Later in that same Spring
On the bank of the river
Where the Dippers sing

On a dead tree branch under the nest
Four baby Dippers in a row
Parents were feeding them all in turn
They looked about ready to go.

Amazed that I'd seen them
Such a lucky girl was me
Something I've never forgotten
Which happened so unexpectedly.

Re: Poetry please.

Lovely poem Tiff

Re: Poetry please.

Thanks Mags.

Re: Poetry please.

She Doesn’t Need a Man, or a Goddamn Warrior~
She used to though…

She used to though…
Long, long ago.
She used to dream about it and make moonlit wishes on tumbling stars and hope that one day he’d arrive with his mysterious, full heart and laced-up combat boots, ready to fight demons and scatter his endless love.

But not anymore.

Now she needs space, and solitude, and wide-open doors.
She needs air in her lungs and to let life fully seep into the hollow of her bones, and pulse straight through the dusty chambers winding around her heart.

She knows the single path is not always easy—it can feel isolating, harsh, unforgiving, and it is racked in loneliness at times.

However, it forces her to dig far beneath the silken layers of her flesh and to question exactly what ancient potion, stardust, strength, and substance she is made from. And mostly, it makes her feel fiercely alive.

It provokes her to twist and turn, and the lone-wolf road urges her to courageously march onwards, untying and unraveling her knotted quirks and forgiving her flaws as she goes.

In the past, she has fallen for the honeyed charms of gallant men and for charismatic rogues who cleverly disguised themselves as fearless warriors with captivating words—but with their origami feelings neatly padlocked away.

They were temporary, wondrous distractions that caused her to waver and melt, but they burned deep holes in her chest so her guarded, restless mind refused them all and repeatedly told her, “No, this one may feel familiar but, darling, he is not the one for you.”

Although she wasn’t always willing to listen, a higher power inherently knew how to interrupt their callings and found a way to steer her back on track and keep her distanced from heartbreak and harm.

Yes, she feels wretched sadness at times, and there is an aching emptiness hiding in moments that catch her off guard. She craves intimate, soul-deep connections with curious, precious, magnetic souls, but she was meant for far more than to be tied down to one half of a flailing relationship. What she really needs is to breathe in mystery and flutter wild and free.

She is a hurricane within a tornado, and she has her own inner calming, invincible love that keeps her safe and tenderly protected through storm-fueled, long, dark nights.

She is her own silent muse, her own inexhaustible cosmic force, and she is her own goddamn warrior, alone in an entire galaxy wrapped in soft velveteen skin.

She doesn’t need candy-coated promises or commitments smoothly bound with a band of gold, and she definitely doesn’t need to hear four-letter words spoken with enchantment to know her worth.

She only yearns for the sight of the vast ocean, to hear the whisperings from leaves falling from trees, and to feel the wind tangling up her hair to know that she is loved.

She won’t tirelessly search, but if a man, or even a warrior someday appears and he doesn’t try to steal her magic and glow, then she will recognize him and possibly want him near—and though she may cherish and adore him, she will never, ever need him.

She is already everything that she needs.
~
~
~
Author: Alex Myles

Re: Poetry please.

MY DANDERS PERT

WE limp along our chosen road
Sometimes carrying a heavy load
Old age has now caught up with us
Once we could easily run for a bus
I never used to feel so old
It happens to us all
that’s what I’m told
But I never forget
Great & good friends
Through cell I have met.
Soon I’ll be an old age pensioner
Nurse Gillian too
Or did I already mention her?
Each day brings new adventures
Where’d I put my old age dentures
It’s no good pretending I think I’m old
I’m fresh as a daisy
No sign of mould
My minds alert
My dander pert.

The end,
RJ ©