Poetry Blogs (poems)

Oh NaPoWriMo 
how you challenge me.

Calling me to rhyme on time
when I would rather procrastinate
with this talent of mine. 

A poem a day keeps the doldrums away.
Read it, write it, recite it,
makes no difference 
to me. 

Just do what you can 
with what you've got
and see how happy 
you will be!
 

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The blackness doesn't exist
With eyelids positioned, fixed
Closed
To all looking in
A mind that won't give in.

Spectrums of colour await
Films and events, 
Dissipate
Into moments that shouldn't exist
As the frequency demands it's existence to manifest.

The future and past 
Pour like an hourglass
With each grain of sand
Making moments of transcendent glam.

Moments defined by an anagra...

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Below is one of my children's poems called 'Disney Days'.

DISNEY DAYS

Warmer than a Sheep Dog hug
or happiness rolled in a rug;
dancing dizzy Dulux joy,
whirls and swirls and shouts ‘Ahoy!’

Brighter than a scientist,
the artist’s pallet shines and skips.
Free from Greenwich Mean Time days,
they demonstrate their West End ways.​

Talent dazzles, beaming light
into the insides of o...

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Terence Evans had little respect

For the life or the welfare of any insect

He swatted the fly with the rolled daily news

And stamped on the beetle in his Doc Marten shoes

Unfortunate spiders were drowned in the bath

Caterpillars were crushed should they dare cross his path

He bisected worms with his pocket penknife

Pulled the legs off cray-fly and then squeezed them from life

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The dawn never breaks, the sun never sets.

Dirty grey brown sky is as good as it gets.

Malevolent and brooding it hangs like a veil.

Twenty-three feet above the Arndale.

Where uncouth youth roam in packs.

Their flint like scowls as keen as tacks.

Malice and boredom forged the frowns.

On the not so bright future of Mediocre Town.

But don’t be fooled, these kids are scho...

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My rhymes form in clouds

over the arm chair

beside my note books

and the fire

My lines are captured

and preserved

in the remains of the forest

immortalised on its pulp
 

My words are held captive awhile

in the bright prison cells

where machines etch their pain

on smooth white sheets

My once quiet thoughts crash

noisily onto the leaves

again and ...

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So it's cliche,
write anyway.

So it's not 
gramatically correct,
write anyway.

So it doesn't rhyme,
write anyway.

Don't let judgmental
"experts" distort
your perception 
of poetry 
or silence
the part of 
your soul that
longs to make
sense of life.

Just write 
any way! 

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She is a star; but she is not the sun
As people love to bask in her glow
But they dont need her
And she gets lost among a million twinkling lights 

When the city shines too brightly
She is hidden 
The city sins on the ground ease the need to look up 

So she'll burn with all her might
Hoping her light
Won't be outshadowed by the night 
And outshone by the bright 

But when a star bu...

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