 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
Poems |
|
|
|
I used to write a lot of poetry, some was very personal, some of it was just total rubbish, but when I was down in the dumps I picked up a pen and paper and wrote it all down. It used to make me feel better, nowadays, a babysitter knocking on the door makes me feel better :o) Only joking..........Anyway a selection, they may not be good for you but they meant/mean a lot to me. I was 15 when I started writing, some of my earlier poems are a bit naff, but no sarcastic commments please :o) |
|
|
|
1989/1990 |
|
|
|
10th January 1989
It is possible to feel lonely Even in a room full of friends, As loneliness stems from the heart And will not easily mend. |
|
|
|
9th February 1989
I met love one night Asleep in my thoughts, Alive in my dreams, I met you.
We loved We talked, We kissed, We walked....time never was.
I met love one night A sad, lonely; unforgettable sight. I love to love I've met love, I thank thee Now I know me Everyone come and see.
|
|
|
|
I'm refreshed Woken anew; I know now What all the pain is for.
I met love one night Alive together I shall remember you for forever. Forget me not and death shall be my happiness.
I know now I've met it. All you need is to love, to be loved. Loneliness was before I met you in dreams. I met love that night.
|
|
|
|
|
|
An observation
Comfort is found in the livng, Trust in the dead. |
|
|
|
11th June 1989
Jane Eyre
Innocent grief, Of what was never had. Pride stood tall Within her grasp.
Impossible selfishness Was aware, of the ignorant heart she did bare. |
|
|
22 May 1989
Summer Days
The summer days are here again. It's time for the pram parade.... to begin. Bonny spring babies All clad in white Trying to get dirty with all their might. Darling young mothers, Grandmothers too Carry a hanky, as babies get manky. An entourage follows wherever babes go, holding the bottle or nappy or a set of clean clothes. The frills and pink lace of days Sunny Summer parade days. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
24th June 1989
I am an island. Midway, between the land and the nothing. Trapped with all but thought. Winded seas engulf my arms. I drown. Unnoticed in our rituality. |
|
|
|
 |
|
|
HOME |
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|