Soft morning sun shines through moist droplets clear
now radiating coloured prisms bright.
The almost silent brook is trickling near
as Autumn leaves float to the ground so light.
While pristine beauty now is all abound,
though some short years ago this was not so.
There were no flowers growing from the ground
the trickling gentle brook had ceased to flow.
With soldiers corpses rotting in the mud.
No fields of green, or pollen on the breeze,
just craters with the dead's own flowing blood
that soak the roots of what were once grand trees.
When fighting’s done, then nature plies her trade,
as once again the manmade horrors fade.
Two women at a table
As though divided by a wall;
Although one of them is speaking
There's no communication at all.
She speaks of the thirty years
Of her late son's passed life;
The other thinks of just five years
As first his lover and then his wife.
Poetry - My Microphone My Rules By Ruth Dixon
My Microphone, my rules
They be the fools
Who think otherwise
Who fixate their piercing eyes on me
Expect me to enunciate, antici ...
Pate exactly how they think it should be. Read more...
Poetry - My T.V Guide By Jody McKenna
If I managed productions
Of T.V in the day,
I'd change the title Loose Women
To Feminists in Pain. Pop Idol to Cheese on Toast
And Emmerdale to Drone Big Brother intoRead more...
Poetry That Fucking Cockerel By Catherine Scott
I'm going to kill that fucking cockerel if he wakes me up again
Every summer morning he's up at 4.00 a.m.
He's done this to me too many times when I'm relaxed and sleeping sound
So I'm sure you understand that of his flesh I want my pound
That cockerel's gonna DIE! Read more...
Poetry - When I'm Feeling Low By Laurenceaux.
When I've had a bad day,
or I'm feeling low;
or the world's overpowering
and I've no place to go;
and if I'm in a bad mood
and cross with myself,
and feel left on the shelf;
Poetry - Sammy's Point By Brian Hodgins
On the north bank of the Humber,
At a place called Sammy's Point,
The breakers torch began to burn,
What had made this city great?
The finest ships that ever sailed,
Manned by the finest men,
They knew no fear, tho' death was near, Read more...
Poetry Makeover By Mike Watts
There is much that needs fixing in this house.
Working a nostril with my thumb, I run my fingers
Over wallpaper that can remember cheap fuel, pound notes,
And me with thicker hair.
I move across carpet, worn and faded, like big game, shot and
Thrown down a hundred years ago.
Poetry - If I By Mark Walmsley
If I where a fish
I could swim away
If I where a dog
By the fire I'd lay
If I where a ship
Into horizons I'd sail
If I where a letter
Poetry - Administration's Curse By George Fripley
They fuck you up, administrators,
They don't mean to but they do,
And while you're drowning in your work,
They add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By administrators in the past,
Who devised the systems now in use, Read more...
Poetry - Sensations By Sylvia Robinson
As warm as red, as cold as blue
As friendly as green, and calming too
As vibrant as orange, subdued as black
As white as snow, before any tracks
As mellow as yellow, with lemony twist
As bold as purple, as grey as mist
As bland as beige, as glistening as gold