The collection of Frida Narin's poems are not a nostalgic work; the past is not in the habit of painting romantic pictures. The boarders in Narins poems, from north to south and from east to west, are not lines separating humanity. The flags in the collection of Narins poems are not raised to separate the people of the earth from one another. These flags must be sown to create a carpet for childre...
Sunday 30th August 2015 12:14 pm
~~I was to write a poem, to tell you how I feel. But I feel rants are more raw, expressive and real. So here's a rant, just for you. My bubby pumpkin owl, my baby boo. It may rhyme from time to time, but the message of love will remain and you'll always be mine.
Savannah Sienna Rose. Such a name is so deep that it dwells within itself to decipher what it means. A name that is travels beyond two...
Monday 24th August 2015 5:52 pm
Tags: boyfriend,couple,girlfriend,love,poem,rant,relationships,unedited rant
Oh deep, dark depression,
my uninvited guest,
the persistence of oppression
is precluding my life’s zest.
The dark before sunrise
of a dawn that just won't break,
suppressed by a thirst for my soul
that only sorrow can now slake.
The wisps that you are weaving
are clouding my damp eyes,
a cold and cloying shroud
that’s covering all that I desire.
Thursday 20th August 2015 11:58 pm
Tags: CRIES,CRY,DARK,DEPRESSION,LOSS,LOST HELP,POEM,POETRY,SAD,TEARS
How can a lie
make the whole world cry,
yet they claim there is nothing to see,
where nefarious knaves
and the covetous crave
beneath covers so stealthily, free?
No thought for the plebs
as they weave dangerous webs
in a world already complex,
where the sins of the saints
have done nothing but taint,
confuse, deceive and perplex.
To forgive and forget,...
Sunday 16th August 2015 5:17 pm
May the ink that flows
from the nib of my pen,
forever entertain you.
With words of love;
of life and wonder,
like beams of light
through clouds of thunder.
May the blood that flows
through my hand as it writes,
forever reassure you.
With thoughtful verse
and encouraging rhymes,
to ease you through
your challenging times.
May the emotions that fl...
Friday 7th August 2015 9:36 pm
To feel her warm and gentle hand
upon your smiling face,
her tender loving caress is like
a sweet and soothing grace.
Teasing, as your fingers
trace a tantalizing trek
along her silken stockings
as you tenderly kiss her neck.
Gazing into enchanting eyes
so deep with dark desire,
whirling pools of life and lust,
dancing in dangerous fires.
A hint o...
Saturday 25th July 2015 1:46 pm
The whistle blows to sound the charge
and over the top they bustle and barge,
covered from head to toe in mud
and soon tainted with flesh and blood.
Up the ladder with slippery rungs,
a scream of rage from terror filled lungs,
adrenalin coursing through every vein
with the fear of not coming back again.
Knee-deep mud sucking boots from feet,
tangled in barbed w...
Friday 24th July 2015 2:55 pm
The stains upon the bar
tell of many sad tales
of love, loss and tragic lives;
and drink to drown out the wails.
Another washed out soul
seeks the solace of the glass,
to wash away the memory
of another broken pass.
another gambling god,
another weary player
bet his life upon the sod.
The rings around his eyes
mark the t...
Sunday 12th July 2015 3:53 am
Yes I Will Wear One
(lines written in response the suggestion that
those who are mentally ill should wear
wristbands to identify their conditions)
Yes, I will wear one:
or at least not admitting it,
as I back away,
hot tears rolling from eyes
spiked with despair
hollowed by time,
I will wave
both my arms
in the air, cry:
It's not me...
Friday 10th July 2015 3:48 pm
Tags: Abigail Wyatt,Cornwall,mental health,poem,Redruth,wristbands
The flickering light calls from
across the disused railway embankment
like a lonely beacon sending signals
into the misty grey dawn.
Quietly questioning a world
still wrapped in strong arms of slumber.
I consider sending an answer,
would that I understood its coded question.
I’m drawn into its intoxicating world by
the pulsating rhythm of its incandescent heart...
Tuesday 7th July 2015 10:15 am
I drove home from Sunday night folk club with a storm over my house in the distance. The beginning of this came to me.
Leaves and walls and windows spin,
a jigsaw broken by a falling sun.
the road home,
a breaking storm.
I wonder what we began.
There is no calm centre,
power and colour after.
Yesterday isn’t the journey,
Saturday 4th July 2015 5:04 pm
Tags: abstract surreal,lyrics,poem
How frail, in truth,
is the world that we tread?
Captains and kings
claiming calm sea’s ahead
as they’re riding high
upon their silver spoons
laughing, as below
the world withers too soon.
How thin the membrane
of life’s brittle bubbles,
building our barriers
and avoiding all troubles.
Do we wonder at the reasons;
do we hide or protect
as we inch to t...
Wednesday 1st July 2015 3:16 pm
A single word;
a phrase or gesture
can trigger a feeling
of wondrous rapture.
To be told that you're worth
more than the drifting sands
that daily slip through
your trembling hands.
To be surrounded
by such appreciative people
makes me want to shout
from the highest steeple.
Words of thanks,
so loud that you all know,
that for you, the ink...
Thursday 18th June 2015 11:01 am
The following was written by
my niece Cynthia Smothers Carter
and is used with her permission.
But I have come to the conclusion that
it has always rained on Memorial day
and I have figured out why.
The rain is the tears of all our fallen
Soldiers past, present and future.
Thank You for Your service and the
ultimate sacrifice You have m...
Monday 25th May 2015 11:03 pm
Graffiti grannies they are very canny
they never get caught
but their skills are highly sought
they spin a yarn knit and sow
There cover never gets blown
Statues get covered
As do park benches and poles
Even Chinese boulders
Well I suppose we all need something to do when we get older.
Sunday 17th May 2015 7:06 pm
Tags: dan hooks poet poetry alienpoet,graffiti,grannies,poem
Friday 1st May 2015 9:40 pm
Date: March 27, 2015
Subject: Call for Submissions for THE POETIC BOND V
Contact: Trevor Maynard, email firstname.lastname@example.org
THE POETIC BOND is an international poetry anthology published in paperback annually. This year the series is entering its fifth year, and expectation is once again high for this year’s crop of poems. Over 120 poets from 17 diff...
Friday 3rd April 2015 3:21 am
Tags: poem,poetry,trevor maynard
When my hands begin to tremble
You’ll place your hand in mine
When my eyes become hollow
That you’ll gaze into them
When I’m at a loss for words
You’ll kiss me so the silence
Can speak for the both of us.
Saturday 14th February 2015 7:18 pm
Wish I could turn it off
Voices echoing around
Wish I could reboot my brain!
I keep it all inside
All my worries
But I'm scared Scared I'm going to crack up
There's only so much I can think about
Keep it bottled up
Even though it's not healthy
I need to release the cork
Don't want to be in that dark place again
Friday 13th February 2015 4:03 pm
This is a poem dedicated to my birthplace and current residence of 28 years. i have dropped some odd and interesting town facts in there too.
From Hull To Halifax
I was raised in a town
where memorial plaques are outside houses
Fridges left out on country walks
and a guillotine used as a historical exhibit
But i love my town.
Hometown of Big Daddy
the cat-eyes too
We had a hand in Macki...
Friday 6th February 2015 9:07 am
Tags: Halifax,Poem,Punk Poetry,Tribute,Yorkshire
a poem i wrote about my uncoditional love for flames.
I like to play with matches
I like to see stuff burn
people think i'm tapped in the head
but when they gonna learn
the smell of fresh turpentine
is a scent i love to taste
Please give me your unwanted items
and don't let them go to waste
now some people are addicted to sex
and others like to steal
but the only i like to see naked is...
Wednesday 4th February 2015 12:57 pm
Thy pen; no mighty sword here preach
Where words, metallic, fall.
On blood-ink lines; stained city streets -
Oh time, thou horrors crawl.
Wrought freedom flits, it waxes, ebbs,
Whence censored bullets rain,
But fallow not among the dead
Doth liberty remain.
Copyright © Simon Austin 2015
Monday 12th January 2015 3:01 pm
Tags: Charlie Hebdo,Je Suis Charlie,Paris,Poem,Poetry,Terrorism
Alcoholic with sick on his shoes,
Sat on a brown wooden bench
In the middle of town
With his old dog,
Lacking good vision
Waiting for a meal
A dropped pasty or pie
A sandwich, perhaps rye.
I, was never taught in school
To be such a man
It was always
You could become a lawyer,
You could become a teacher,
You could become a business man
Never, you could ...
Saturday 3rd January 2015 5:03 am
Tags: alcoholic,Everyday,Life,Poem,poetry,society alcohol
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