Leo - Star Sign Challenge
Like the sun that shines oh so brightly You’ll never mistake her for when she struts around. You’ve heard of a feisty cat, a royalty In the middle of the spotlight there she can be found. Don’t be deceived by her femininity and wit For she def
Forgotten
I think as we walk unbeaten tracks we sometimes see such graves yet they must have once been loved
The Zodiac
An astrological poem..lol
Choose Me Instead
There comes a point when you want to be someone's first choice.
A Bit Too Late
Just a thoughtless scribble.
twilight
forget the other got side tracted (thats my excuse lol)
Handsome Man Club
Bit of humor..
why
why
Untitled 3
The mask you wear breeds mystery The eyes of sheer intensity A dimming star with no reason or rhyme Purposely, constantly falling through time Who alone would stop this flight Through somber tales of endless night Rapt inside the c
Living backwards looking forward.
This poem shows my views on life in general, we try to reach out for an uncertain future believing various fallacies will bring us through, religion, hope, faith, belief, are not written in stone we make our own way in life and the direction we take is always unfamiliar as the promises of tomorrow brings, afterall tomorrow never comes, we live in an eternal present with only our past to guide us.
Window
This is an exercise in brevity with weight...
Rain
Rain . . . Softly falling down . . . each drop a symphony of sound . . . as it hits the tin roof . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap. It can sound just like a sad song with a slow beat . . . the kind that makes you daydream . . . and feel
The birth of music
we all have heard that lilting tune "the day the music died" but we all know that's not the case let's put all that aside let''s go to the beginning where the whole thing was unlatched discover now, just what went on the day the music h
Morning gold
I'm grateful for the silent time To think and make a plan When the morning world is mine I do because I can. I love the quietude of dawn Before the sun's completely up I rub my eyes and give a yawn And fill once more my coffee cup.
Spinnin round 45
I'd like to hear an old song today Spinnin round 45 I'd like to hear it in the old way Spinnin round 45 Let the music stir my soul Feel good and tap my feet Nothing like yesterday's rock n roll When every song had that beat The record pla
regrets
i spilled a coffee on the beach i saw a wasp land on my peach i took a swig of irn bru and thought of me, yes, me and you and how we laughed when the cyclist fell and broke his arm and leg as well but those days are gone and am back on datin
Strange Land
Woke up this morning to a strange day The year was 2013 Now life is lived in the strange way A way I had never seen Once I rode with the lone ranger And a close friend to superman But now I feel like such a stranger Living in a strange land
Under The Weeping Willow
There was a time in my childhood when I was bullied and tormented by the other children, all due to numerous surgery on my eyes. I loved the weeping willow and found a haven under it. I still have a soft spot for them. I am lucky enough to live just a few blocks from the world famous Rideau Canal which is almost 125.5 miles long, and has paths along it. BamBam and I frequently walk along it and stop to sit under a willow and watch the world go by. In the summer the willows are just magnificent. In the winter it becomes the largest skating rink in the world, at almost 5 miles from one end to the other.
Through the Window
im looking through a window made of silk and coloured stone my memory is hazy am i actually alone? i cannot turn my head my gaze is fixed outside lost in strange wonders of a plastic countryside i can hear a bluebird trilling its sweet v
The Way Of The Gun (Part 1)
This a controversial piece about the gun from it's humble beginning to it's ugly presence in modern times, written in December 2012 and now posted in January 2013, don't fall victim to....."The Way Of The Gun"
The Way Of The Gun (Part 2)
This is Part 2 of this poem as it was too long to post in one posting. so here is the conntinuing part to "The Way Of The Gun" (2012)
The Little Boy I Knew
My youngest brother and I were always very close and I remember writing this for him when his son was born. OH MY! I went to his house for Christmas this year and got to meet his new grandson. What happened to that little boy I knew??? He's now a Grandpa. Where does time go?
Nevermore
Can't wait to have time to write more!
A Little Girl's Dreams
I used to tell people that I grew up so far out in the sticks that the sticks got lonely. A one thousand acre farm, on a huge lake, as a child it was magical. But as a child you do not understand that your father is only foreman on the farm. That the farm won't always be there for you.
"Baking"
Hello to many of my friends here and gone, Life,s a funny thing xxSoph
Not Very Far
This one says it all
Fairy Tail
I want to live in a fairy tale, to love to be loved, to know that someone is waiting for me at home. I want to live with love, I know I have it somewhere in the world, waiting for me to find her. I want to live in a painting to be a beautifu
This army lark is a walk in the park
A wooded hill in Germany on exercise
This army lark is a walk in the park
A wooded hill in Germany on exercise
Memoreis of Vogelsang
Just remembering two days spent in a trench in Germany
Memories Of The Sydney Tram
A very interesting narrative-poem that reflects Sydney-Australia's history, the Government in later years regretted their mistake as the Middle East fuel embargo appeared in the early 1970s, forcing cars and buses almost off the roads through lack of available fuel, had they had the trams it would have helped emensely as they ran on electricity, had it happened 12 years early the trams may have survived and buses may have been scrapped, their Melbourne counterparts have always had trams, Sydney's last tram ran to La Perouse and souveneir hunters kept parts of the last tram which came back without lights, yes it happened that way as it is now all a part of history. The poems colours are the same as the Sydney Trams colours.
Intro.
When you stay down the road Your road your way your destiny blinking eye When there is nothing inspiring you for real No musics, no pictures, dreams to follow Tell me how you keep in your feet without a sunny shining pencil How come you no more
How Times Have Changed
One of my earlier poems, it tells of how times have changed in retrospect. it reflects different phases of my life.
'Emocity'
From empty hands To silent words To drying tears To a broken heart This half-empty glass Brought dreadful thoughts Uttering soundless screams Leaving a hollowed soul
Dream
Last night I dream about a dream about you Didn’t know how and why it had to be about you Last time I saw you was three years ago But still in my dreams you linger oh I asked myself all these questions “How did you happen?” “Where’d you come
Life Happens
The scream that reverberates in this maze From a mother in pain, a baby in her womb. Anxiety painted on the dad’s face Obvious enough without a need for a zoom Echoes of joyful glee filled the room A bouncing baby girl is born A promise of lo
Pseudo Everything
It’s a gloomy day But what can I say I miss you But do you miss me too? You said you’d always care And forgetting, I shouldn’t dare But I haven’t heard from you It’s been two weeks, I think so. Maybe you forgot what you said That goodbye
Through The Mirror’s Eye
As I watched myself carefully Analyzing the details of my body A flash of memory struck Neither did I know what to feel nor how to react I never gave you the wrong impression Always been honest to you about my passion I told you from the very
Undefined
I normally don’t confuse myself easily It’s been quite a while, I’m done with the crazy But there’s a sudden turn of events lately Not sure how this lullaby can play in my reality.. I can’t praise what I don’t understand Caught deadlock trying
From The Past
for a past flame...........
Dawn to Death
Relating the movement of love to the movement of a day. Again, this just came to me out of the blue.
Mad Woman
By the looks of your jumbled sticky hair Those deep dark eyes that breaks no stare One can never tell your mystifying story Of how you reached this point of wry glory.. You sit in one corner, talking to yourself Lost in discussion about all yo