Tag: Short Poem
The principal’s office, a land of despair, the mighty ruler’s evil lair. Where she sits amid the cries and yells, an ogre in a living hell. Where darkness reigns and nightmares spawn, and to which the naughty children are drawn. The principal’s office, a place of delight, where things that are wrong are always set right. Where she smiles and offers cakes, assuring they … Read More The principal’s office
At the markets, a place to be, what a lot of things you can see! The greengrocer is there with his apples and plums, selling his fruits with a merry little hum. The baker is there with pastries and cakes, nibbling biscuits in her breaks. At the markets, a place to be, what a lot of things you can see! The jeweller is there … Read More At the markets
Arguments flaring with no real fuel, setting alight figurative buildings for the sake of ones enjoyment. The opponents coming with a spread of answers and questions to throw in her direction. Alas, my Queen, she may fall this time if her sharp tongue does not sneer in the right way, or if her words are mellowed and empty. My fair Queen, do not revel … Read More The Queen of arguments
Wondering about what could of been, Living what I wonder. The bars that keep me out of harm, While crushing what defence I have. Rhythmic clanks and metallic tastes, Wrap me in their cold clutches. Clammy fingers blocking vision, taking away a world that could have been.
Years ago, in Gallipoli, Young men fought for you and me. Digging their trenches, and living it rough, It’s the least to say that conditions were tough. But on they fought, body’s weary, Life didn’t seem very cheery. But when the war was over at last, Something happened, quite a contrast. On Flanders field which was dotted with graves, Flowers grew, pure shock they … Read More Anzac Day Poem
No. No. No. My reflection ripples, teasing me. I bite my already bitten lip, as my chin quivers. My eyes dart. I take in what’s on the surface of my mirror. My frizzy, untamed hair. My squinting eyes placed smack bang on my way-too-round face. My fatty thighs standing next to each other like two, enourmous pork sausages. My pasty completion. And my tummy … Read More Ugly
Faded thoughts washed with newness Engraved in ink alone it stands Stumbling I reach to stop the falling of years The questions unanswered that burn deeper than any brand I try to help the moment stay longer, I beg it not to leave me alone Alone and vulnerable to the pains of things etched into stone