This is a poem about loss.
Loss of holiday,
Loss of beach,
Loss of people to see.
Backroom stares
now were back at home
teddy stares
Am I any different?
Tag: quick poem
Love In Ten Lines
Loves fire.Natural intense
love abandons fearless chimes.
(Loves love is beautiful)
Prowess displayed in love
Knowledge unknown makes love
stronger in love than
ever a seeker. Love
your neighbour. A love
to ponder as love
takes over loves labours.
Love Quote
“This is it” A.M.W.
The Boy Without Legs
There was once a boy without legs
He went everywhere without them
He spoke to everybody he met
He pushed himself far on the track
And in schoolwork he did not lack
And he had lots of friends, he wasn’t missing those.
But when he sees someone run for a ball
Or walk with a loved one
In his stomach is a tight ball
That constricts and twists and hurts
And he watches the birds and knows
that where others go, man will follow.
So on he goes soldiering on without
the legs he lost when he was young
and into adventures on blades
Maybe, who knows.
There is a moral to this tale
one that’s hard to put into words
It’s more the feeling the little boy
without legs gets when watching the flight of birds.
Expiring
‘So, Did you find the new play inspiring Jim?’
‘No, I found it expiring rather than inspiring, I’m afraid’
————————————————————————
I have found my inspiration
I am looking under the ocean
And I am finding a respite
from the never ending light
And the train that is approaching
Seems to be encroaching on my skills
like the sea around Britain – further inland it goes.
I have found in her a salve for the unjust progression of time
Somewhere to rest my head and to breathe freely.
For a time spent reading what I might have written
had my path through life been different, if I had called
at different stations. Maybe I would still be waiting.
Perhaps we would have met at
a Virgo’s Dance and talked and drank without moving.
But in a dance we now are, me with her book and her with her writing schedule
that with a glance swift I did look, perchance to meet the authorly gaze of
the one of which I speak.
Now revived from a slumber deep
I have much to do and upon much I have relied so the
new will not be too hard to exorcise. My eyes!, my eyes!, my eyes!
Do not deceive me as page after page come before them
fresh to devour or skim over or to revise wisdom old
and new in a mental franchise.
