Poetry Blogs (farewell)
Little Annie by the dock
“Goodbye Daddy, sail safe
Here’s your key, I hold the lock”
Saturday 8th September 2018 8:51 am
What can you say when a dear friend passes away?
That they were good and kind and loved my many?
That they were respected and stood by their beliefs
And are sadly mourned by the ones who weep?
Though we realise this must come to us all
inevitably ~ how hard to accept when death
is so final. When someone you’ve talked to and
done things for has suddenly sto...
Friday 30th March 2018 4:00 am
And just like that, you're gone,
The memories fade away, you're lost,
No matter the action , the consequences are the same.
The thought of you not being here,
The thought of missing you,
Those are concepts I can't wrap around my head.
With fear I live the upcoming days,
Questioning my own existence,
Questioning my own rebellion, I slowly understand what you meant.
Friday 21st April 2017 1:00 pm
By: Ali Taha Alnobani
I'm to leave now
A tall ghost is carrying my bag
A long street is walking behind me
A mad merchant bought my smiles
And no water to renew the dusk
I can't have my step begun
Even if the rain washed my tears
I'm to leave now
Can I have a deep look at your eyes?
Can I take my dreams, your smile
And my dried red rose?...
Wednesday 6th March 2013 7:33 pm
My uncle, Gaston,
mum's bro (1-yr apart),
died whilst I cradled him
in the crook of me arms.
He lay there bliss-filled
Faint lustre of his boyhood charms.
It was a waiting game
& he was hanging on.
He held back the Ripper's blade
Unmindful that he'd had it made.
Friday 8th February 2013 1:00 am
A farewell to two poets that have only just passed on: Sandra Fowler and Sonya Florentino. R.I.P., dear friends.
Yes, I will try to be brave
just like you'd want me to be;
here I am waiting on shared memory:
Dear old friend, where might you be?
And where is it that we have arrived:
now we're quickly fading into oft-turned pages
that lay dog-...
Thursday 29th November 2012 1:35 pm
I am but the mottled bark
of a tree once firmly rooted,
peeled from its stately trunk
and within my hollow carapace
echoes an inert drumbeat
that keeps the cadence for
a march of ornate trappings
soon and sooner still, one day
this crepuscular orphelin song
resonant in its languid longing
shall surge with the rising tide
the sound of its condescencion
as it strikes th...
Sunday 25th November 2012 2:54 pm