Most Commented Work Poems (218)

riding within the white lines viewing everything in site,
air blowing in thy hair awaking me up from the night ,
visor pulled down fogged from my mouth eyes are protected,
watching the sun arise the light within my eyes sets a sparkle in thy sky,
riding along that road with your day in toe,
angry folk and happy folk smiling and arguing your fate,
leaving depo on the bike leaving home life behind,
a new day with sunlight possibly a storm for time,
danger is in thy eyes how i forget it for such a short time,
still once on that bike like a crow i follow a streight line,
flying free on the road working all day to go home,
how i hope ill continue to live to ride.

Iwas punished for my sincere love
With a knife in my heart
My heart bleeds so much
I can't stop it.

I was punished for my sincerity
With maany lies and dreams without reasons
Witha message which made me feel a clown
A clown of u enjoy with my true feelngs.

I was punished because I belived
Still exists someone sincere
But he wakes me up with a slap
Of his words on my face.

Little people in my head
close your eyes and go to bed.
Let me sleep for tonight
little people tripping with fright.

Close your eyes
and let me be.
No more sitting in my head
tripping with me.

As I smoke one more bowl
little people leave this hole.

Slowly i start ti decay away
slowly my life slips away.
Is this just in my head?
little people in mt head
close your eyes and go to bed.

It was a cold and dark december night,
A shedualled flight to U.S.A.
Terrorists with no concience,
Knew the passengers were not going all the way

Heartless in their convictions
In Frankfurt the bomb was placed
Never to see their home and friends,
So many innocent lives erased

The plane came down over Lockerbie,
Destroying homes in a quiet street
Death and destruction,a horror scene'
wreckage and bodies were strewn.


Few forgot the tragic day,
Or the 747 the iranians blew away,
The world expressed there sympathy,
reagan said his piece
the devistation of lockerbie
Carnage in the fields

The pilots never stood a chance,
as the plane fell from the sky,
WHY ?? in the name of politics
did so many innocents lose their life,
How could a bomb be planted ?,it slipped the security net.
The horror of a cold december night
The world just cant forget

Learners Folly


Amidst this eternal learned battle,
Where talent and skills do bleed
Entrenched in attitude, herded like cattle,
Confusion reigns in this their need.

Vociferous verbal blasts, scorched landscape
No virtue for my skills understood,
Oh to fly my distant escape
No solace here, this my mood.

Thunderous ignorance of this I teach
Ricocheting words, deafness abound,
Art from souls beyond their reach
No resonance interred, on this battleground.

Paul Gallagher 2008

As the painter put paint on the canvas with the brush.
The picture that is painted is a beautful sunset.
With a Pencil in hand I put my words to paper.
My words can paint thier own picture.
I write what I see from my heart.
That is how I preceive the world around me.
I'm an artist inmy own way, not like the painter.
Only I paint with words that have feelings.
The feelings of love, joy, sadness.
What gives me the most joy is when my words paint a picture of you.

When the black sky turns a brilliant blue
Reflecting on old glass in my windows
Set before the golden sunrise hues
Hear the rising notes of barnyard swallows
When the fresh smell of wet spring dew
Sweetens in the morning meadows
See how all the flowers bloom anew
Around my home in a mountain hollow
Know my deepest thoughts drift to you
And to our weekend dance that follows
After all the hard week in fields ensues
That starts where the hedgerow’s narrow
It’s such a prize living a hill farm virtue
Pulling stones from soil so shallow
But there’s none finer a place with a view
Smoothing good earth with my trusty harrow

The Painter

With a special eye, he picks up the the view
Deftly gathering each colour and Hue
Seeing his subject in a whole new light
He picks up a canvas, his face glowing bright

He sets up his easel, in just the right place
Affixing the canvas, with ease and grace
His palette close by, his brushes all clean
His mind capturing the subject, which is soon to be seen

His brush strokes can be light
Yet at times needed, are bold
Lovingly between his fingers
his beloved paintbrush he holds

His eyes darting back and forth
Keeping his subject in full sight
Capturing each minute detail
As the picture springs into life

All time and space stand still for him
He is driven like the wind,
Concentration upon his brow
For his painting is not a whim

To create a natural beauty
The texture, the tones of colour
As he finishes his masterpiece
His heart, could not be fuller!

It’s too bad about Harry
We knew it couldn’t last
He drove it way too fast
Gave it too much gas
He called it his own cherry
And rode it like a mule
Until he blew his cool
And played it like a fool
Now everyday we have to face the music
‘Cause every night we hear the same old song
We’re rockin’ in at sundown
And rolling out at dawn
It’s too bad about Harry
But the show must go on.

***

It’s too bad about Harry
But maybe for the best
‘Cause everybody guessed
He couldn’t pass the test
It’s quite a load to carry
It really takes a crew
For all that we’ve been through
We’re gonna miss him, too
But easy come and easy go is the way of things
Those who remain are who belong
He drove it like he stole it
But he’s gone, gone, gone
It’s too bad about Harry
But the show must go on.

Everyday I drag my feet
For a job I no longer like
Stressing, boring and thankless.
My boss is a rude, miserable man.
The staff are set to robotic mode

I'm different and feel I don't fit
Someone take me away from this awful place
Take me to where nature is full
Where my heart can beat normally
Where I can smile truly - not this fake rubbish I do
WHere I can find serenity in a day - I wanna be me.