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The Poem Writer

A poem

Photo by Nicolas Messifet on Unsplash

Snapshots of the street in word pictures
memories of longing and heartache
words that can make a person’s heart break

Pictures of a family life on the page
generations recalled with nostalgia
journeys made in iambic pentameter

Writing in rhyme does not a poet make:
it is the observing, the feeling, empathy
caring enough to pen the difficulty

Maybe moody, or not, but thoughtful, yes
mulling thoughts over, writing drafts,
wood piling the words that make mes
s

Telling it slant, as Dickinson once said
from this angle or that, or both at once
writing tight, not wasting a word that’s laid

Don’t sacrifice a poem for the rhyme
words paint the image, not the slime

of sugar sweet saccharine sounding lines

Alliteration is one big part, the rhythm too
but rhyme can make the picture a shame
doggerel written in all but name

Who writes the poem, is an observer
of nature, trees, birds, the human condition,
writes truth and then it is no longer theirs

Published in Lifeline

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October

A poem

Photo by Boxed Water Is Better on Unsplash

October ends my grief for summer
It heralds cold weather and darkness
Some days are sunny and mild
No playing conkers as I did as a child

This year the trees are still green
September was wetter than most
but the clocks will fall back
short days start and end with black

An in-between time for me, then
neither warm but not yet truly cold
will I feel the seasonal sadness
I would give it up with much gladness

Transition is this month for me
hoping still some flowers to see

Published in The Lark

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Tapping Feet

A poem

Photo by Leon Liu on Unsplash

Skilled and taught and talented
Her feet in in one motion can produce
Several taps, and her feet flash
With great speed

Lithe and slender but every muscle toned
She remembers dances by heart
And the smile on her face is of sheer delight
As she performs to a mesmerized crowd

As one do the feet of the dance troupe tap
One sound made in the tap soled shoes
Their arms softly move up and down, side to side
There’s no better dancers in town

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Published again!…

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Fall Into Winter

My Silver Birch tree finally changes leaves to gold
green remained long after fall told it was here
flowers bloom still, colors in array
abuse of the atmosphere is something we will pay

A cold snap last weekend chilled my heart
winter winds work their way with driving rain
the damp dankness depresses my lungs
I thrive only in fine dry warm weather, wellness there

The coming winter fills me with dread, yet happy I choose to be
misery may love company, but company will soon flee
each day brings birth to joy in life
I will not stress, strain the time or lose myself in strife

Published by Lifeline

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Moonlit Dreams

Moon, you followed me every place I went
yet you are fading away from Earth
only eight inches thus far, but further?

Moon, you are my true love, soft Light you bring
we forget to celebrate you, except the Chinese
how sad for you, so you are departing us

Moon, if I could beg you to stay, my tears would not win
you must do as you feel right, as I keep
my gaze on your sphere, as we spin on Earth

Published by Under The Moon

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A Candle On My Window Ledge

Some evenings ago I lit a candle on my window ledge.This was something new to me. I light candles a lot, but never before by an open window.

The light danced. It flickered and guttered whimsically. It was so peaceful. I turned out my light and my bedroom was filled with wavering shadows, seductive light moving with the air.

I relaxed, I slept, and in the morning I was greeted by the still flowing light. I rose at once and put out the candle so I could be mesmerised once more in the coming night.

Many religions celebrate light as we lose it, but the Christian calendar does not until Christmas. Then we are plunged in darkness but begin to look forward to the second by second increase of light.

Jesus told me he is the Light of the world. I celebrate light in all its forms. The candle at my window is a new ritual for me.

I shall keep it going.

Published by Grab A Slice

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Watching The Butterfly

Children’s Poem

The pretty butterfly that catches your eye
began life crawling as a caterpillar
It changed in a chrysalis, a bit like a sack
Nature has tricks and that is no lie

Watch on the ground as well as the air
creatures help make food for you and me
Bees won’t harm you just see them drift
from flower to flower because they are there

Nature is magical, all have their place
Trees are breathing to give us clean air
Tell all your friends that you know this secret
ask them to plant a flower in a pot or someplace

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Why

We ask why? of God
But I think he asks why of us

Why have we destroyed forests
Put poison on the ground
Made war and slaughtered many
Why do we traffic people
Make slavery of them
And continue to sell armory

Why have we corrupted ourselves
We need to ask ourselves why?

Published in The Lark

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Talking To My Heart

My heart has made a journey, within my body
as well as a journey filled with love

I soothe my heart with pleasant memories
with the words of love spoken to me

Over many years, many voices in many places
some are beautiful, some are really not

I have sat in gutter with addicts, giving them truth
dined with the wealthy, slightly out of place

My heart does overtime, in my body, and also
with my loved ones, and the needy

I talk to my heart because I know it well
I ask it to take rest, and also do more

Published in KnowThelf,Heal Thyself

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Silken Ribbons

I always pretend to hear whispers of our world,
yet my mind always drifts towards that open void,
reflecting on kisses that undress the ache of my scars,

unfurling sorrows as if silken ribbons.
These will never wither,
but will be absorbed by you
when low moments come to mock.

And as time settles into evening,
your shadow will hang itself from my core.
And with sighs quivering between my lips –
my spirit will wrap itself around warmth of your body.
And when you stroke your fingers through my hair –
you will feel each aching breath of me.

Published in The Lark Written 2005

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Church of England

Photo by Cosmic Timetraveler on Unsplash

I’m a private person I admit, but I live in openness

No secrecy for me, no lies — my memory is not that good

Oh how you bewitched me and yet failed me all the time

You took the money I put as offerings, the meals I brought

The errands I did for those who needed help

You bewitched me and then turned your backs

Free me, free me from the doctrines of the Niceans

Erase from me the falseness of Constantine’s mould

Unbind my mind from the lies you teach

And the occult in which you play out your rules

No one could have been crueler, not even a demon from hell

No one expects betrayal and sell out from those who call ‘sister’

Is given stones when they ask for bread or trust

Shunned when visited by violence in your offices

In law we have ‘habeas corpus’ — due process, transparency

But I learn to my abhorrence, you practice the arts of darkness

Straight from the pits of hell, and until I realised the trick

I thought I was insane, crazed, and my beliefs confounded

I thought so many times to drive into the harbour, into a bus

To take so many pills I would not wake again and feel such agony

Which I thought to be visited on me by God — but he is good

My child is far too beloved that you should steal from her!

You formed a file about me which had a direct lie within

The words of those who knew nothing of the assault on my person

And the vague references made had no sense to me at all

– because there was no veracity contained therein

You branded me a nuisance, a whiner, worse still a liar

Hearsay poured out, but in the wrong context — gossip dead straight

I was bewildered by your questions because they had no relevance

To me or anything I knew, seven false allegations

Wipe my mind clean, cleanse me O God, this pain is yours

They assumed an email was from me, but no, my ex’s concern for our child

Because his account was born in my pc and thus an alias of my account

But Lord you were betrayed by your own people

I will not again enter the doors of established Christendom — it does not exist

You follow Constantine not the Lord or his teaching of love

Jesus did not come to start a religion, but to make the way to God

Open again, and to stand in the gap for us. Not ways of the dark

I will flourish, I will blossom and you have cursed yourselves

In cursing me. May God forgive you if you admit your wrong I cannot

And no one should be allowed to join your church, your dagger poised,

To stab and ignore if they should fall foul of your world of ‘Vicar is God’

Published in Know Thyself, Heal Thyself