Poetry Blogs (crypticbard)
Brian Blanchard on RACIST? (2 hours ago)
quiet rain-kissed bed
dewy blooms of verse caress
tempest shatters peace
poet on the run
pulls a Bachman manoeuvre
forgets all, save self
dawn's early light breaks
ever silently reveals
hope of reunion
Tuesday 6th March 2018 10:40 am
Tuesday 8th January 2013 12:42 am
Up to a point
pliant leaves will seep
into all its waters
until the cup overflows
so much as to stain
the meticulously starched table linen.
Then we shall face with reckoning
its true substance!
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Wednesday 2nd January 2013 11:05 pm
Another year about to end. Maybe the Mayans that made up that calendar had it better. As the year closes one is pressed to look back and gauge how it went. It's just another year, perhaps. Many things have transpired, and many more in the offing.
Just a few hours more
about half a day for the rest
for each timezone on the globe
we tear off the last sheet ...
Monday 31st December 2012 11:36 pm
Arise, and walk along these streets,
breathe and partake of the dregs
of the mighty industrial age;
paint the colours of its appeal -
toxic fumes that light the path
to days only just imagined.
Parted lips bare wisdom,
shatter the silence that shackles;
within parched throat, sealed
sounds peal from the belfry -
tender whispers caress
each unknown orphaned heart.
Wednesday 26th December 2012 1:04 pm
a leopard that ate parsley
paw in hand
waiting on the sand
for flying fish
to skip upon
as lazy breezes
pan flute recollections
of this Iberian summer
It's all about a leopard that munches on parsley. Apart from family, friendship is the the best relationship you ...
Tuesday 25th December 2012 11:59 pm
If sticks and stones can break bones
and bombs and guns can kill
then a poet's pen and words can likewise murder
but heals wounds in its sublime expression;
Our differences fade with each line of verse.
Being read, and quoted, and handed out!
That is the poet's true reward.
On shall poetry live, and within its soul
the poet in whose he...
Friday 12th August 2011 2:00 am
a grated gate by midnight's light
once fell upon a sorry sight
as rain washed out the scarlet stain
the skies bowed down to hear the pain
a voice without a body heard
the sordid tale its waist did gird
one witness found, torn leaf by leaf
Creation's glory sank to grief
a tale no word was writ nor said
into the ground the silence bled
a soaked and orphaned quill remains
Thursday 6th January 2011 12:48 pm