I am originally from Cornwall and currently live in Bristol. I work as an English teacher and also in catering. My hobbies include reading, music, films, travelling and scuba diving. I am currently writing poetry, something I have enjoyed reading for a long time. I am ideally looking for some constructive feedback on my work which would be a big help. I have been published in Reach Poetry Magazine, Runcible Spoon, Scrittura Magazine, The Big Windows Review and The Society of Classical Poets. https://www.poemhunter.com/christopher-laverty
Apple Blossom Girl She's in the field, not in the valley, and weaves a braid with fresh-blown flowers; she's in the woods - not forests shady - with nature's music passing hours. She's by the lake, not by the ocean, whose waters seldom know commotion; she's in the garden, not the moors, nor near the fall's majestic roars. She has not passed from storm to peace - no thunder ever shook her summer; when passing I will never cease to pause and hear this artless hummer. Serene her temples as a sage, though she's a dew-clad May in age; she's dutiful as honey bee, and labours lost in reverie. Around her mouth a laughter dances - I know not why – nor hunger to; my soul's transparent in her glances - she's ageless as these rocks in view. She's fragile-strong as swooning swan, as secret as the dappled dawn - when in her cottage she has gone her fountain ever trickles on. On Seeing An Open Casket Disturb her not – she is not far; she hears our voices – whisper low. Death does not her beauty mar - does not her candle wholly blow. Her features almost break in movement - her cheeks still hold their hues of pink; her lids might open any moment - her spirit hovers round the brink. She's gone not to some far-off land - this room itself rests her from strife; disturb her not then - as we stand not by a sight of death, but life. The Moonlight Hours We'll no more pass the moonlight hours by the riverside, or share a silence as we stroll beneath the colonnade. Or shelter take from sudden showers, or watch the settling tide, or lie still when we moments stole in some forgotten shade. Those tender days, of light and shade - the fading summer stole; and so we'll no more pass the moonlight hours by the riverside.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
The Horsemen of The North (17/09/2020)
To Friendship (27/08/2020)
The Village Plague (21/08/2020)
On Waking in a Valley in Aveyron (29/07/2020)
Two Springs (14/07/2020)
On Visiting the Aosta Valley (24/05/2020)
Could I Cast Spells (18/05/2020)
Old Tales I Have Turned (15/05/2020)
Thoughts on Home While Abroad (08/05/2020)
To Liberty (02/02/2020)
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