andrew149 Poetry (264)

Pools of changing hue,
Rippling halo’s of reflected street lights,
Through curtains of rain,
Your eyes sparkle blue.
You’re standing there in the winds restlessness,
An oasis of calm before the storm,
Watching the dark clouds against a velvet black sky,
Exuding intoxicating peacefulness.
Your gentle voice mingling in the breeze,
Of the same that was scorched by the desert sun,
Or raced along the snowy plains in Arctic freeze.
I hear you in my heart,
Brought to me on the whisperings of trees,
Though we’re thousands of miles apart,
Separated by lands, mountains and seas.
Not lonely but alone,
Ever constant in my mind,
A miracle, just for being,
Always you, my love, my home.

It may hold something like a "Good bet", (A "Hot Tip")
Though it's contents is supposed to be,
Three fifths of American rubbish...(American for Rubbish..trASH)
Though, part of it can be underneath high tea.....(Tray)

Well there you go guys an gals...told ya it was easy...XXX

Why here, this little corner?
What is this place we all gravitate to?
To me, it is living proof, that no-one has to be alone,
Even after years they return,
They’ve hit that wall, they can’t sleep, the midnight oil to burn,
Until they’ve written that verse, that poem,
That one that seems to bring peace, yet, less sleep,
Where perhaps, personal blessings are given,
Important things, thought about to forgive which in turn are forgiven,
And…..There we sit, no longer alone,
Logged in….Putting words together one by one,
The old familiar feeling, welcomed, as it creeps in,
Here….Where hearts can be mended,
Where fragile souls and feelings are tended,
It’s relaxing, stable, comforting,
Its……HOME!

With a WHOOOOOSH……and a WHIZZZ,
Scattering snow with a fizz,
Children looking anxiously, for the slightest sign,,
He is skimming ‘cross the sky, performing tricks with time,
While mere mortals are out in the night air shivering,
He is squeezing down every chimney delivering,
Or even the smallest gap….some think this an impossibility,
As not all have chimneys you see, not in the city,
But, as at the same time, he is both here and there,
With speed his cloak of invisibility, he gets everywhere,
On every child who believes, he will call,
As surely as frosty winter follows fall,
To all in the neighbourhood,
Especially to those who have been……
Extra specially….. Good!

Stage magicians?
Most just learn tricks of the trade,
Illusions to fool the mind, are all that’s made,
And for those that say true magic doesn’t exist,
Let the non-believers be with their disillusions,
Their doubts will always persist.
Look deeper... Not at the stage magicians harmless lie,
Past that……Look at the young face filled with joy,
The wide smile on their lips....The twinkle in their eye…..
And for those that never look that far, who have never seen,
That’s tragic!
For they have missed in that short moment,
True Magic!

Fairies drift aimlessly by,
Butterflies, flutter by,
Bees clambering over buttercups,
Daisy chains and dandelions,
A penny tossed in the wishing well for lady luck.

A beautifully floaty summer dress,
Open air sonnets, an ale shared in the shade of a tree,
Sandwiches of salmon and watercress,
Conversations of……Oh! ….”Just this and that”,
Broad smile from under the wide brim of a linen hat,
All for the company of two, who, just want to be.

Present and past, memories of summer,
Memories for just one’s self, or maybe,
A future, one and another.
Pleasant things we don’t let go,
Memories made to last through the years,
Through the disappointments, through the tears,
The months of biting wind and winter snow!

Teacher
....................
There were always clouds in my day,
But you made the sun shine,
Through too much work, not enough play,
The pile of books I was hiding behind.
I didn’t know that school could be fun,
I never had the time,

Class
....................
Thank you for being there,
Thank you for taking the time to care,
For teaching us right,
For making us feel bright,
Making life a good dream, from an awful nightmare,
And….
For showing us, knowledge is something beautiful to share.

Mortals and bricks and steaming streets,
Back to back tenements,
Behind boarded windows, tramps and downbeats,
Low strung power cables that no longer buzz,
Sputtering candles, replace the light,
Where electricity was......
Before the bulldozers came!

Sunrise.....It's getting lighter,
Death lays cold in a tangled heap,
AK's magazine's empty,
It's shoulder strap, still wrapped, around his wrist,
A victim of his own thinking,
That "Unbelievers" lives were less than cheap,
He was no Gods freedom fighter,
He was only his own terrorist!

I have seen the face,
The face, that looks as old as the Great Oak,
And eyes, youthful, as wise as the world,
Steady, in watery sockets float.
Ruddy lips, a chalk white complection stained,
Creases where tears,
Tears of thousands of years, have drained.
Ears, that hear the heartbeat of the earth, as she breaths,
Ancient clay smoking pipe clenched between his teeth.
A huge shock of flowing white hair, his crown,
Atop a world weary and worried frown.
As he stares into the flames,
Watches, see’s the past history of our foolish games,
The Oracle of Asgard,
The keystone, or card, to this rickety house,
Who searches our souls and dreams as stealthy as a mouse,
Leaves no footprint nor sound,
No echo of footsteps in the silence pound,
No trace,
But for a momentary, ghostly, smoky, apparition of his face,
Aye lad, once seen never forgot,
Be ye grateful that three score years and ten is your lot,
That you don’t carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders,
Nor watch in the flames as mankind in his folly smoulders,
Or feel the pain,
Of the failure of war, again and again,
Looking forward to the day when he too can pass,
The day when man is at peace, with the world and himself…..
At last!

Oh transport of delight,
Take me through this one last night,
I pray to the lord my soul to safely keep,
All through this final night of sleep,
So I may wake in the morning light,
And, see all my presents under the tree lit bright!

Thank you Father Christmas....
PS...I have been good this year, Honest I have.

First…A single knock…Then two,
He’s here at last,
Ghost finder extraordinaire,
Fred Aloitious Prenderghast.
He’s a sort of spirit “Google”,
Know’s what’s what and who is who,
It’s even said…He has a direct line,
To….Shhh…You know who!
Don’t get me wrong,
He doesn’t exorcise and banish,
The last thing he would want to do,
Would be to make a loved one vanish.
He’s got potions, precious metals and powders,
Even a velvet cloaked crystal ball,
Though if you were to look into it,
You would only see you as a bloated reflection, that’s all.
He loves his spells and effects,
All his doings,
If you were to ask nicely,
He would even give you a tour of Pompeii’s ghostly ruins,
But, how does he do it all?
You may very well ask!
It’s not your average job,
No mean task!
I bet no other living man could tell you,
No priest, nor pastor,
Neither will have the faintest idea,
An inkling of the answer.
Just look through last century’s who’s who,
It’s placed up there on the shelf,
And from it you may surmise…..Fred Aloitious Prenderghast….
Is…No longer of this world,
And, resides on the “Other side”, Himself!