Filled with silent companions Yet they speak volumes Words their sheer mass Overwhelming to some? Ink blots on a page Make every word intelligible Staring through closed eyelids Imagining the end product Overwhelming to some? Words, their sheer mass Walking straight lines or raggedy paths From whosever pen Overwhelming to some? As a matter of […]
Author: @purpleandgoldpoetry
An old hand with fresh thoughts, sounds convincing?
Haiku
A dark winters day Feeling the pangs of old age Pierce him like a knife Poetry from The Man Shed 19/12/19
One day at a time.
Those family portraits on the wall above her bed She looks longingly at them, nothing is said Peeling back the eiderdown, lies down to rest her head Soon they’ll be around, this fills her with some kind of dread Pampering time they call it She would tell you in silent whispers – she thinks it’s […]
Writing is great therapy.
Writing is great therapy May not be for everybody Sitting down with the challenge of an empty page- Once the first word is laid down, continue stage by stage Not always having a ready topic Does not faze him anymore, nor fill him with dreaded fear It may not turn out to be a masterpiece, […]
Poem by Chikako.
Long since clouded over, This heart of mine has now cleared up Of its own accord- It is good to gaze continuously Until one has absorbed the moon. Poetry from The Man Shed 13/12/19
Shakespeare
“That time of year… When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. Poetry from The Man Shed 12/12/19
Today the wind had a bite in it.
Knowing a rainbow had nowhere to hide He sought solace walking in the woods. The trees on his tramp through the woods Busy with incessant rain fall. Their boughs shaking off yellowed leaves. The vapours, and the blended notes of Birdsong enhanced this constitutional. The various gifts the wood dispenses Manna for the writer within. […]
Clare McCotter, Admission
Originally posted on DODGING THE RAIN:
Dementia Tattoo She was there in the middle of it all – bondage trousers and slogan T shirts, oxblood DMs and time spread out like a multitude of stars. Hitting sixty now – her spiked hair Persian red, safety pins still gleaming the septum of her heart. Faltering rarely…
Where will it all end?
Life in the homeland must have been difficult If lying in a doorway taking insult after insult Was his only refuge This scourge which is ruining so many lives People from home and abroad not living But trying to survive The domestic animal and stock in a field Are, without distinction treated with more care […]
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