Poems

18 articles in category Poems / Subscribe

Oh countryside! So changed are thee,
where once we walked forever free.
Long motorways stretch out their greedy hands
to gather more of our fair lands.
From noisy airports thunder planes at pace
to choke the air from human race.

Give back to me the trickling brook and bank,
where many a carefree foot we sank.
A picnic tea, such utter bliss!,
with sun and peacefulness exist.

Take back no more of our fair land!
Please keep a place apart,
for some to find the peace of mind
that comes just from the heart.

England by Wendy R. Chapman.

Contact her at: thetalewagger@hotmail.com

Copyright reserved. No part(s) of these publications may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author.

Tthere is a child I used to know who sat,
perhaps, at this same desk where you sit now,
and made a mess of things sometimes.
I wonder how he learned at all . . .

He saw T-Rexes down the hall
and dreamed of trains and cars and wrecks.
He dribbled phantom basketballs,
shot spitwads at his schoolmates’ necks.

He played with pasty Elmer’s glue
(and sometimes got the glue on you!).
He earned the nickname–’teacher’s PEST.’
His mother had to come to school
because he broke the golden rule.
He dreaded each and every test.

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“Peace of Mind”

Carry me out the ocean, where my drifting thoughts flow free.
Guide them to a far distant land, that only the mind can see.
There I shall paint a great portrait, of what this world should be.
A place without senseless wars, and human poverty.
*****

“The Poet.”

Words flow onto paper like rain, forming giant rivers of unseen lands.
The very force guides us along a journey that holds of great adventure.
We are the explorers of the literary world.
We must find the courage to write what others are unable to,
with the greatest of passion.

A poet dreams and then must portray his visions upon the page
that lies before him.
It is the beauty of all things that inspires us to communicate in such a way.
A man does not wake up one day, and decide to become a poet.
It must live in the very blood that courses through his veins.

He is the creator of a world, only he has known.
He is the actor and director, of all that speaks out through his pen.
He is a man of all men, Visionary of all visionaries.
What you haven’t seen, he has.
What you can’t say, he can. For he is the poet.
****

Robert can be contacted at: poetic_bob_2001@webtv.net

In my dreams we meet, you and I
beneath a cloudless deep blue sky.
The meadow flowers here abound
and rich green grass lies all around.

This is a perfect, halcyon place
To greet you love – warmly embrace.
We linger here beneath the sun
our hearts and souls joining as one.

For hours we talk, our souls we bare
as everything we gladly share.
And we express our deep, true love –
but stormy clouds loom up above.

It’s getting dark, it’s hard to see,
I sense you drift away from me.
The air grows cold, what is my fate?
I awake now – sad and desolate.

By Jean M. Lewis©
Copyrights reserved Jean M. Lewis May 2000

 

Iit was a land so long ago . . .
the lambs lay blanketed in snow
and little children everywhere
sat and watched warm embers glow
and dreamed (of what, we do not know).

Aand THEN–a star appeared on high,
The brightest man had ever seen!
It made the children whisper low
in puzzled awe (what did it mean?).
It made the wooly lambkins cry.

Aand far away a new-born lay
warm-blanketed in straw and hay,
a lowly manger for his crib.
The cattle mooed, distraught and low,
to see the child. They did not know
that it was Christmas day.

The First Christmas by Mike Burch.
More poems plus by Mike Burch at www.thehypertexts.com©
Copyrights reserved Mike Burch March 2000

Copyright reserved. No part(s) of these publications may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author.

Jjeremy hit the ball today,
over the fence and far away.
So very, very far away
a neighbor had to toss it back.
(She thought it was an air attack!)
Jeremy hit the ball so hard
it flew across his neighbor’s yard.
So very hard across her yard
the bat that boomed a mighty ‘THWACK!’
now shows an eensy-teensy crack.

A True Story by Mike Burch.
More poems plus by Mike Burch at www.thehypertexts.com
© Copyrights reserved Mike Burch

Tthe essence of humanity is the soul.
Or the soul is the essence of humanity.
When we are born we are closest to the source of our being,
the pool or cloud of essence from which we come.
As children we see the world from a different perspective,
a perspective uninhibited by reason or society’s norms.

Children, to us ‘civilized’ controlled adults, sometimes seem monsters,
and unruly (not ruled).
They have a will of their own and abide by laws of their instincts.
They are truest to their own natures.
They see monsters we do not see, hear noises we cannot hear.

Ask questions we do not understand because our vision,
or hearing, our understanding and the knowledge
of truth has been hidden from us by reason.
Children trust as only nature can prepare us to trust.

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Wwe gaze above to study why
the stars bewitch and twinkle high.
Above, the moon, where man first trod,
almost seems to smile and nod.
Storm winds howl and blow, but clear,
then downy puffball clouds appear.

How poor we’d be not to behold
an evening sunset, red and gold,
a rainbow decked with every hue
and summer sky of cornflower blue.
Now is the time to plan and see
the World remain for you and me.

Let not our greed destroy for ever
this endless store of priceless treasure.
And then, perhaps, as time slips by
we’ll sit and paint the evening sky.

© Coprights reserved Wendy Chapman 2001

Approaching Night gently wraps
Her sequined cloak of glittering stars
Around a weary, troubled Earth.

Sleep now and Night will help to heal
The worried mind of anxious men
And respite bring to love rejected.

Problems of the day subside
Hidden in Night’s protective veil.
Come quickly Night and soothe all pain,

Refresh and make Man whole again,
Before the Dawn appears anew
Weeping once more her morning dews.

Night by Jean M. Lewis
© Copyrights reserved Jean M. Lewis March 2000

The backdrop is azure, like a deep blue sea, then slowly
drifting across the stage come gracefully, gowns of white, billowing
and floating light.
That breath of skill in every flight.
But alas, too soon,the line begins to waver and right there
before my eyes, dissolving slowly into strands of silk,
the ballerinas leave the sky.

Gathered Visions by Wendy R. Chapman.

She can be contacted at: thetalewagger@hotmail.com

Copyright reserved. No part(s) of these publications may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author.