Tag Archives: poem
Fears and tears
Tears come unbidden, unwelcome,
Blurring my vision,
But refusing to fall.
It’s the wind.
It’s a cold.
It’s allergies.
Anything but sadness,
Anger, frustration.
Throat clenches;
Chest tightens;
But the scream
Will not come;
Restricted in my lungs,
Blocked by still sealed lips.
So much pain;
So much sorrow.
The pulse quickens.
The mind races.
But legs remain static.
I run away
By running inward;
Afraid to cry
For fear of never stopping.
My silence deafens me;
Acrid saline blinds me;
Anguish deadens my soul;
And yet, I feel it all.
Cormorant (poem)
Strings of feathered jewels—
Kilometre long, wing-span wide—
Swing their way offshore,
Droplets of former slumbers
Cutting waves that break
A mere metre below.
And yet for all the activity,
All the life in motion,
Air remains calm and silent,
Noises of picine harvests
Forgotten echoes of
Never-ending plunder.
Lines cross lines,
Ballets borne on air,
Eddied whorls tipping
Extended wings askew,
Halting premature end
Of missioned journeys.
Home is the current’s flow,
The wind’s dance;
Time’s of no consequence
When birds take wing.
Fight to stay positive
I try to stay positive;
I try to stay upbeat,
As I watch cities aflame
And walls crumble earthward,
Whether through acts of Man
Or through acts of Nature;
Man destroying man,
Betraying them,
Slaying them,
Playing them,
For personal advance
Or simply fear of change.
I try to stay positive;
I try to stay upbeat,
As I hear voices raised,
Weapons of metal, wood, stone,
Wielded in white-knuckled fury;
The bastions of knowledge,
A cultural cudgel used to
Oppress them,
Compress them,
Divest them
Of their worldly goods,
Lives covetously shattered.
I try to stay positive;
I try to stay upbeat
As I watch Nature be raped,
Shorelines and shorebirds
Tarred for their feathers;
Ivory affectations shorn
From faces yet breathing;
Air given cancerous substance,
Stilling them,
Killing them,
Willing them
To the precipice of extinction,
Silent hillsides the new norm.
I try to stay positive;
I try to stay upbeat,
Hope my only option
In a world angry and mad.
We must heed the cries,
Must all feel the pain,
Must all see the anguish,
Lest the sweet sleep of death
Numb our senses forever.
And we must stay positive,
We must all stay upbeat.
In sights
Sad hooded eyes
Look me over,
Stare into me,
Searching my soul
For empathy,
A kindred spark,
Recognition
That we are one.
Lives held sacred,
Spirits unchained
Despite coiled wire.
Acknowledgement,
We’re each encaged,
Trapped by limits,
Captive of views
Held by others;
Defining us,
Confining us,
Refining us
To imagery;
A dull shadow
Of former selves,
Bleeding vibrance
To worlds of grey.
But hope remains,
The spark still burns;
Words unspoken
Continue tales
Yet unwritten.
Share my story
Of wilds now gone
That glow in eyes
Hooded and sad.
Seniority
(Source: BBC News Sussex)
The world wizzes by
At sixty minutes an hour
As the invisible old man
Shuffles by the store window.
Faces, buried in phones,
Are oblivious to his struggles
As early winter snows
And joints no longer fresh
Imperil every footfall;
Each step an exercise
Of will and forethought.
Hands palsy of cold and age,
Eyes rheum of wind and memory,
But the soul burns wildly
Despite bodily afflictions.
Crowds thicken and jostle;
The man holds his place
To catch balance and breathe.
And historied eyes rise
To catch reflections in glass.
The eyes that watch me
Are my own of blue,
But the husk that bears them
Is that of an ancient;
Frail and mortal witness
To a life eternal.
(Source: http://www.paularcher-uk.com)
A Poetic Proposal
‘A Poetic Proposal’ by debut author Julian Froment is a journey of love. Dedicated to that one special woman.
This is a collection of poems that plumb the very depths of that deepest of emotions, LOVE. Running counter to this is the on-going theme of angst and heartbreak that is present when two beings that are destined to be one are separated by distance, and in this case a rather large, wet ocean.
This collection progresses chronologically from initial meeting to final proposal of marriage, taking the reader on an emotional roller-coaster ride of highs and lows. The reality of the author and his intended living half-lives, together, then apart, together, then apart, is clearly evident throughout the course of this collection.
On Gossamer Wings
On gossamer wings,
On gossamer wings,
My heart it flies to you.
To be together,
‘till the end of days,
Is all that’s left to do.
Flying high,
‘cross the ocean blue,
To where it now belongs.
Cradled within,
A soul so true,
Amidst angelic song.
And soon now,
Oh, so very soon,
The body shall be along.
To join the heart,
To fill the void,
Back where I belong.
‘A Poetic Proposal’, which is available in both digital and paperback formats, can be obtained here:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Follow the author:
Review Highlights from Amazon
‘Reading this collection of poems made me feel like I was eavesdropping on the world’s most romantic marriage proposal’ … ‘If you are looking for love poems to share with your own lover, these are just the poems’ … ‘After reading this collection, I was ready to say ‘I do’ myself’ – Pamela Beckford
’The poems in this book are very romantic, emotional, well-written, and thought out well’ … ‘This is romantic poetry at its best’ – Chris McMullen
‘The poet freely admits that this is about his love life and dedicated to his lady, so you know you’re getting an insight into something private. That brings an interesting dimension to the poems because you know there’s a living, breathing story behind them’ – Charles E Yallowitz
Impermanence (a poem)
You have the write to know
I write about writing. I’ve seen dozens of blogs that do the same and suspect there are hundreds if not thousands more blogs about writing I have yet to find.
I routinely visit web sites dedicated to writing, reading amazing posts from amazing (and some not so amazing) writers. And I have two bookshelves dedicated to various aspects of writing, from dictionaries and tomes on prose to bound witticisms and opinions on the minutiae of character, plot and the perfect turn of joke.
I have taken classes on sketch comedy, screenwriting and story editing, and have listened in on dozens of podcasts and teleconferences given by the kings and queens of screenwriting—the latest given by Robert McKee. And I have recently started going to writing conferences, bending and rubbing elbows with writers established and in the birthing process.
All of this information and guidance has been invaluable to helping me understand my craft. But for all those thousands of hours of effort, I’m really not sure that any of it has helped me be a better writer.
In truth, I think there are only really two things you need to do to be a better writer:
- Write
- Share what you’ve written
Unless you’re willing to write, write some more, write yet again, and then when your body has given up the ghost with exhaustion, write again, you will never get better. All of the academic training and guidance in the world will not make you a better writer if you are not willing to write.
Writing can be like literally shoving fingers into brain to extract words
But writing is a very insular process, so it is equally important that you share what you have written…with literally anyone: your mom, your partner, your dog, the guy on the subway, the squirrel at the park.
How does the other party respond to your work? Are you communicating well? Do they see, hear, taste, what you see, hear, taste?
I am not asking do they like what you wrote. Personal tastes are just that. Rather, you want to know do they respond to what you’ve written…good, bad or ugly.
Oh, and I was only being half-facetious about the dog and squirrel…try it. You’ll be amazed at what happens.
Because most animals can’t read—I blame the current education models—you’ll be forced to read your work to them…the minute your work moves from visual to aural, a different part of your brain opens up and you hear whether you are affected by your work. Invaluable.
Love the internet for this stuff…”woman talking to squirrel”
So read all you want, whether online or in those ancient paper constructs we call books. Attend conferences, lectures, podcasts and classes. I applaud your effort, your drive.
But I reiterate…there are only really two things you need to do to be a better writer:
- Write
- Share what you’ve written
Good luck.
Creation (a poem)
A river is born
As the ball rolls,
Moisture captured
In upper strata,
Bleeding to layers below.
Impressions made;
Streams carved;
The universe is marked
By passing thought.
From irrigated channels,
Ideas unsaid find root.
Worlds are created.
Worlds are changed.
And life takes new meaning,
If only for a moment,
Until the ball rolls again
In fields yet untilled.
The episode that never existed
createdbyrcw 