The stream (all workshops)
The storm sent tiny missles to destroy my mood
Even though they struck my fortress with great accuracy
My roof protected me from the explosions of iciness
The armour of my sweater held
The wind howled like a thousand adversaries
I covered my ears with a helmet of wool
Peering over the window-sill
I saw the miniscule flares of bombs in the street-lights
Fortified by hot-chocolate
I gathered my courage and weapons
I was about to jump out of the trenches
When I heard the Man say
Write it down
Recite it in verse
Bind it to your heart
All that is gold doesn't glitter
not all fools are quitters
a loser doesn't know from the start.
Those who wander are by no means lost
Lovers don't always depart.
New shoots won't allow the old to wither
Dying roots weren't blighted from the start
There's a gremlin whose crying
for the love that lays dying -
He now regrets playing his part.
The storm had passed
wreaking havock
so it seemed
'til the birds roused from their nests
clouds made way for sunshine
blades of grass lushed the fields
a gentle breeze heaved a sigh of relief
so I thought.
before I realized it was my breath
hope had survived anguish.
I crossed my heart
feeling blood flow through my veins again
so it felt
watching the rapids rush through ravines
I whistled to the tunes of the river song
then paused to listen to the echoes
but there were none.
Crunch of fresh night frost
welcomes tired old feet back home,
heralding new winter.
A blank page staring
challenging me to fill it
with words of beauty
Mind searching for words
and thoughts to write in order
to form an image
Pen hand writes with care
to space and spell correctly
an eye-pleasing work
Then the moment comes
to share thoughts and words aloud
awaiting response
As We Age!
As age catches up,
I am now getting a feeling
We must write shorter poems
I won't say crisp,
Lest it once again causes,
A slip
And
In the minds of the elite
It gives them a chance
To lisp
.
from the ground
the ceiling looks so much wider
from the ground
its cracks seem much finer
the paint peels -
minute flags, off-white surrender;
the paint peals -
egg shells of heavy footed plunder...
revelation fall free
on this soul that has been bound
revelation fall free,
release this pretender from the ground
.
a pair of eyes
hopeful
anticipative
distraught
hysterical
red.
a wandering heart
a clustered mind
an agitated being
blue.
a mutual friend
confused, as me
distant, as the sun
constant, as life
necessary, as oxygen
yellow.
an angel
pure, as water
lighter than air
pretty, like her
white.
a future
-a muddled mess
a simple complication
uncertain, as death
hopeful, as eyes.
as a pair of eyes.
vague, and unclear
black.
whilst walking down some
street one day
a fellow came up to me -- began
a conversation
of many things we spoke
of life in general --
and life in specific --
he looked at me after a time
with
an odd view askance
I was crazy -- he told me
I was driving him crazy -- he said
I winked one wink
and rejoined, "I needn't drive you
crazy, my good sir, you're
within walking distance
of that particular destination."
I walked on down the road.
"WINTER'S TOUCH"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 6th November 2010.
Not snow
but frost with wings
of glittering silver
stir the grasses, roots,
and dying leaves with white,
in night's lamp-lit glow;
they sparkle, diamonds,
rich beyond compare,
their stiffened forms
made sculptures
by the air,
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