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Poetry
Special
So you couldn't find me there. You may find me below.
For An English Rose
As our garden looks through the window,From the darkness to a room that glows,
Our hearts are filled with warmth and memories,
For we see a vision of an English Rose.
No ordinary rose was our English Rose.
Such a beauty with a touch of elegance.
Not known for her selfish ways,
Sharing in her majestic cadence.
Have you ever seen a rose drink tea?
Mr Kiplings says that he in fact knows.
For he has spent many an hour conversing,
With our courageous English Rose.
But alas our English Rose grew weary,
Tired within reach of the light.
As was our English Rose’s want,
She took to flight on a Saturday Night.
Our English rose now looks through the window,
Smiling, caring, and free of pain.
Watching over her own little roses,
Sipping Tea with Mr Kiplings again.
A Gathering of Kin
The Four came to the one,The four whom he had sired.
For three timing was too late,
His life was all but expired.
In a room silent and bare,
He was alone no more.
Although body was never to respond,
His spirit lifted this I saw.
Like a gathering of kin,
Being with him to the end.
Not thinking of him as a father,
But comforting a long lost friend.
The Lone Wolf cries,
Out aloud in the night.
For it has lost a mate,
Stolen away on this silent night.
You walked from the hill,
Of the old rugged cross.
You did carry no burden,
For naught was lost.
Welcome to My Parlour Said the Spider to the Fly
Welcome to my parlour said the spider to the fly; more aptly "Welcome to my poetry said the writer to the reader. For it as much the case for the fly as it is for the reader. If you were able to flick through the pages then maybe you wouldn't become the spiders next meal, but untangle yourself to fly away.But. To read the poems in depth, not to browse, but to read as if you were in fact the writer. Then. Then you would see a totally different world indeed.
You will be able to feel the raw emotion. You will be able to sense the fears. Visually seeing all the fantasies. Be entangled in the intrigue.
You can listen to, and hear, differing views on politics, the supernatural, and the ultimate question; are we alone?
You can be swept off your feet with the sweet serenades, and yet then, be brought crashing down by the broken hearts. Only to be lifted back up again with a love song. Be it of a person, country, or just the populace in general.
All in all, you would be caught in the spiders web. Not to become a feeble meal. But. But, maybe. To become a spider yourself.
See the person. See the Spider.
An introduction to my collection, many a year ago.
Shelter in Each Other
Bitter cold winter winds blow hard,Across the harsh unforgiving plains.
A coldness to pierce the warmest heart,
Tormenting those caught up in it’s path.
Unable to see the forest through the trees,
A decade would pass before the fog could lift.
Like overlapping snakes entwined without contact,
Criss and cross their own paths would twist.
The heat moves in and out of mirages,
On the lonely empty desert sands.
The sun burns deep into uncovered flesh,
Tearing at their faces in their hands.
No matter how unpleasant the weather,
Henry and Lyn have found their shelter;
With each other, for each other,
More so, they found shelter in each other.