Poetry Blog by michael shepherd

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Ann Foxglove on Sharing eternity. For the sorrowing. (Fri, 26 Feb 2010 09:31 pm)

michael shepherd on Sharing eternity. For the sorrowing. (Fri, 26 Feb 2010 12:21 am)

Ann Foxglove on Sharing eternity. For the sorrowing. (Thu, 25 Feb 2010 11:04 pm)

michael shepherd on Sharing eternity. For the sorrowing. (Thu, 25 Feb 2010 07:17 pm)

Ann Foxglove on Sharing eternity. For the sorrowing. (Thu, 25 Feb 2010 06:27 pm)

michael shepherd on Tough Love. from Saint Valentine. (Fri, 19 Feb 2010 07:37 pm)

Cynthia Buell Thomas on Tough Love. from Saint Valentine. (Fri, 19 Feb 2010 05:43 pm)

jane wilcock on Spring Cleaning (Tue, 26 Jan 2010 01:39 pm)

michael shepherd on Spring Cleaning (Mon, 25 Jan 2010 01:14 pm)

Cynthia Buell Thomas on Spring Cleaning (Mon, 25 Jan 2010 12:37 pm)

Sharing eternity. For the sorrowing.

It should be so obvious :
all the ‘eternal values’ which we may see
as worthwhile in our life –
these, we share with those who’ve gone before..
what else more worth the sharing ?

and share, more closely than we know to seek:
those whose ‘loss’ to us we mourn –
especially those so recently thought ‘lost’ to us –
they are the ones still closest to us :

they delight to hear from ...

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Tough Love. from Saint Valentine.

When those you most love
die
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .

When those you have most loved
up and go, without a word,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .

When those you would most love
want nothing to do with you,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .

When you feel that wha...

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The Tale of Emma Chissett

Emma Chissett’s
missed out lunch;
she’s suffering
a credit crunch;

Emma Chissett
checks out who
today is offering
three-for-two;

Emma checks
the cornbeef tins
in those illegal
‘sell by’ bins;

finds ‘eat by’ dates
passed ( hard to see..);
mentions this;
and gets them free;

Emma’s icebox
shelves for meat
holds tougher cuts:
chew first, then eat..

Emma’s sha...

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Through the net curtain

I watch her park across the road

with care and confidence, and without fuss,

his ego

 

for her, one more domestic tool

among the others, in the kitchen drawer,

the bathroom First Aid box;

 

for him, it’s an extension

of his manhood yet without

Y-front suspension or discretion;

 

she gets out; you can see

the ludicrosity of gender

played ou...

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Spring Cleaning

O Sun,
you speak in metaphors

shining with a wintry discontent
grey-yellow on this dust

that dodged your view
until today

or perhaps, you are yourself
the brightest fiery metaphor of all

 

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Being the Monna Lisa. Exclusive.

If you think it would be fun to be famous,

sit in for me for a day. And be cured.

 

Fame...builds you up

then drains you.

 

‘Celebrity’ – the very word

has built-in obsolescence..

 

then you have to appear in

cheap TV shows to keep it up..

 

At least back in Milan

we knew what mattered and what didn’t.

 

So I sit here all day, have my ...

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The Young Poet

Poetry was something else

written by others

and came from

somewhere else

 

but the poetry

which he did not know

called one day

in a language he did not know

 

so he put down words on paper

and threw the paper away

but the words did not go away

 

and he did not know what poetry should do

until he wrote the words

which told him

w...

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The Aged Poet. for Kealan if

 

When he was young

and life was poetry

and poetry was life

and girls made poetry

in his heart

 

he’d showed his poems to

an aged poet who

was quiet a while then

nodded his head and

smiled and

said ‘keep writing’

 

and he swore that day

as long as he could hold a pen

he’d write some sort of poetry

 

and so he did and so he ...

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in praise of a fellow poet

when someone’s doing
quietly
something which is
perfect in itself

then
to praise or to encourage
seems almost like
an insult
to them or
to perfection
 
I just wanted to say
what I’ve said
 
since you and I
share something which is
beyond the words
which we arrange
upon the page

to honour
‘something understood’

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Sunlight on white paint. For the New Year

The house across the way is newly painted white.
Right now, that’s all my being seems to need :

this winter morning, sharp, cold, bright and clear,
the morning sunlight pours across white paint;

contains a thousand messages, in me
interpreted.. or simply left to be..

this moment, that’s as much as being craves :
this morning’s glory; and I, born for praise..

even as I write, I watch the sun’s
whit...

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