The stream (all workshops)
I want to be a great poet
Make you think and ask questions
Seek the answer to know it
Beautiful poems I want to write
Deep in your heart I want to touch
Bring what I see into your site
Can I get you to laugh and cry
Write my poetry on your mind
I want to write with conviction
To be able tell stories of rhyme
That makes me have to consider
How to write every line
With words new things I will try
Invoke an emotion inside
So you have an experience
Lay it all out on the line
He promised me ecstasy
I got sausage and chips
He promised me kisses twee
too short on my lips
He got down on one knee
couldn't get up with his hips
he promised me he was free
my ear his girl clips
A man began a regiment
of walking down the beach,
another counted grains of sand
and placed them out of reach.
The first continued walking
up and down the shore,
whenever he would raise his head
he'd see and feel much more!
Their differences seem rather stark
each owned moments, equally;
they parted in perspectives
for their own is all they'd see!
One could easily remember
each moment held by hand,
the other's souvenirs were visions
the counter couldn't understand.
behind the wafer blades
the poly lens bends the sky
all blue and laced
contrails of imaginative worry
sweep away in angles
the thick delicate dark
of night Mascara lick
brilliant shine
the dance of light
the luminous iris glow
catching bright
kiss kiss
and lightly shake
the curtsey bow
pleasantries take
Sit the order of dark
roast is arriving
bask in perfumes
colognes
start of mental divining
I open my mouth
To taste Selene's ambrosia
She pour it to me -
A cascade of silver rays
Overspilling
Its sweetness burns my eyes
Its bitterness
Stings my lips
- The pain
Makes me want to bite my lips
But I love feeling this tingling
Yes. Her wine is bitter-sweet
It's lonely to drink alone
I raise my hand
And ask for another cup
And once more
She pours it to me
In a graceful movement
Of her ethereal hands
She showers it to me
Feeling its coldness on my skin
Olympic Aleppo…
Who dares say we’re all the same,
as blood flows freely in Aleppo.
Will Russia or China take the blame,
as introversion creates another ghetto.
Syrian people fight in dusty streets,
praying that death will pass them by.
The great athlete who now competes,
wins a medal then decides to cry.
In Olympic Aleppo, games are started,
next up, dodge the hot explosive shell.
This is not an event for the faint hearted,
if your timings off prepare to meet hell.
A watery coronation
of sorts
today
Three 'Queens'
proud bows
sail to the
bay
Sparkling reflection
stock
their finest
regal hues
displayed
in Cunard's
Dock
Southampton's
proud dames
tread water lightly
to bask in reflected
glory
rightly due
The gleaming glamour
game played by
the seafaring
pilgrims
on their
transatlantic tale
so really nice
like swinging on a swing
a gal in mind
another like a ring
around the girdle of mine ….
singing like sing-a ,sing-a roses
all poetry disposes
what love of the breeze
will make you and her freeze
as the two of you entwine
to make sounds
like the hail’s falling on a tapered roof
then falling on your heads
making both feel nude
that’s the fun in singing
happy songs like the two do
winter flower inside the room
and the breeze outside
none can touch the other
It ticks like a clock
But a clock it is not
It beats like a drum
Till the rhythm is done
It cries like a child
For what went before
It all starts to happen
With a knock on the door
***
It swims like a fish
Lying grilled on your plate
It shouts like a boss
When you’re once again late
It sends you a smile
Wrapped up in a frown
It says to look up
When you have to look down
***
It does make a sound
When alone in the wood
It sometimes says no
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