Poetry Blog by afishamongmany

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entry picture

In evening light at still of day

Shadows are sweeping time away.

A man through his window sees it all,

The fading blue, the shadow fall.

At the upper edge of vision

Perfect pearl, divine precision.

As hidden jewel in tapestry,

Shines the orb through the trees.

Two thirds round, white edged, sharp and clean.

The last third blurs into the unseen.

Precise imper...

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Meeting Greeting

How are you?


Oh, you know,

The tides of time

Wash along my coastline

And one day

The cliff of my existence

Will crumble and tumble

Into its waves.


How about you?


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existancegreetingssocial interactiontime

Three Times

Three Times


On a thunderous evening

In the still of the storm,

We bounce our baubles of time-passed

Upon tables animated by waved forks,

Dis investing the plates

Of their succulence and garnish.


In the chilly morning, outside

We say again, “Autumn is here”,

Putting away our ideas

Of what the world should become.

We break the earth and rake together


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Starting Blocks

I was born in nineteen forty four

When black and white films were the norm

And the black and white bloody world war

Was in the last bloody phase of its storm.


But what does a babe know of such things?

A mother's breast is all that it cares.

Her steady gaze to bask in,

Her voice to soothe its tears.


As child I saw the bomb torn sites,


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beginingschildhoodgrowing upthankfullnesswar


entry picture


Stairs going up, stairs going down,

Spiraling stairs going around, around, around.

Which ones to take, which ones to leave,

Ladder or snake? Where does it lead? What is achieved?


Sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down,

Sometimes you just go around and around.

Nobody knows the troubles you've seen,

Nobody 'cept Jesus.


I passed a man coming...

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On Being a Poet

Poets are renowned for navel gazing and being introspective. Here are three poems to prove the point. But hey, all navels need an occasional inspecting now and then. :)

The Unpublished Poet

He took a clipboard and a ballpoint pen.

He sat in the sun and then …..

He gazed at the sky, the inexplicable clouds,

Listened to trees sigh, untranslatable tones,

Thought of all that he...

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These two poems I think pair up well together.  The first written to celebrate the birth of our first grandchild five years ago, the second written last year after a visit and time spent with him and his two brothers.

Nathaniel's Villanelle

Now welcome into this world little one.

You know no-one, nothing yet,

Yet from Him who knows all you come.


Your father, your mother als...

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birthchildrengenerationsgowing up

Here is the News

We take your faces to paper our walls.

We take your stories to hang in our halls.

We are the presenters, presenting the truth.

Believe us or not, it's up to you.

But most do.


We take your thoughts and turn them around.

We tell you which investments are sound.

We are the impartial in-telly-gents.

Believe us or not, it's up to you.

But most do.



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information warmediapropoganda

An Ode to The Puppiteers

An Ode to The Puppeteers

Your marionettes, so nimble, so well known.
The show's real cool when that fat lady sings
Those moody blues to mellow toned trombones.
But tell us, who is it who pulls the strings?
The Quiz-Master with twinkling eyes, smiles sweet.
He tells us, we could win the million prize.
That honey coloured blond is baking cakes.
The treacle tart looks good enough to eat.

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deceptiongrapes of wrathpuppet masterspuppets

An Amazonian Proverb

This is dedicated to all who have entered or are thinking of entering a poetry competition.

An Amazonian proverb screeched by a flailing bird

By all the forest creatures one balmy day was heard.

A multi-coloured parrot flying just for fun

Fell towards the river and into it did plunge.


An Amazonian gentleman canoeing by the spot

Turned to his companion and said - not a lo...

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Home is ....?

Is that our home, there, where we hang our hats?

There, where we boil our eggs and stroke the cat?

Knowing each cranny of our ingle nook

We turn the pages of our well thumbed book.

Home, sweet home!, yet, there is still an unease.

Cat-like it comes, our peace to paw and tease.

Close the castle door! Put the kettle on!

This is my chez-moi!, - for, how ever long?

We stand at...

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Ding! Dong!

Hello to this, for me, new universe of WOL. This poem was 'uninspired'. I was give the first line as a challenge to see if I could make a poem from it. Can there be good 'uninspired 'poetry?

Ding! Dong!

Who's that ringing my doorbell?

That ding-dong-dinging's hard to ignore.

Better get out of my shell.


Have they got nice stuff to sell?

Or are they collecting for the poor?


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doorbellout of my shellvillanelleWake up!

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