My Poetry. Mysterious Girl.

He met her on the corner 
In a street by his Town 
a girl of no substance 
a face with a frown. 
He tried to get her attention 
she ignored his every word 
he didn't want to give up 
Looking feeble and absurd. 
Day by day he stopped
sometimes for a glance
going out of his way at times
Hoping to meet per chance.
Her very being enthralled him
never wanting anything more
determined to never give up
to even up the score.
But still she always denied him
she wanted to be left in peace
the surrounding mystery deepened
a jigsaw with a remaining piece.
One day he walked right by her
tried staring into space
her eyes were like caverns
deep black with no disgrace
The day had finally arrived
she vanished without a trace
was she in his imagination?
this girl without a face.

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My Poetry. Negativity breeds Contempt.

 We go through life 
 day by day 
 hoping it gets better 
 Along the way. 
 Meet new friends 
 who say hello 
 making the World turn 
 In its ebbs and flow. 
 But some are cruel
 poisoned by hate
 making life hell
 They self create.
 They can bring you down
 be negative, create hate
 Make your life miserable
 Drive you irate.
 For those we must lose
 go our own way
 think for yourself
 Have your own say.
 Better to be alone
 get on with life
 grow day by day
 Then die by the knife.
 Jealousy lives
 in this uncertain age
 its human nature
 Governed by rage.
 From when time began
 hate was born
 human nature shattered
 Ripped and torn.
 Be who you are
 don't copy the sad
 it's better to be nice
 Then to live like the bad.

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My Poetry. Man Bag.

I can’t go anywhere without you
you’re substantial in my life
feel naked when your not around me
you’re as close as my dear wife.

I fill you with lots of goodies
trapped in darkness for hours
you keep my bananas tip-top
And protect my lunch from showers.
My man bag is such a treasure
I take good care of it
careful what I put inside you
And not fill you with sӣ$t.
As the deodorant rattles with pleasure
the pens all jump for joy
you can only go with a man to work
Not a girl or a little boy.
I hope you last forever
into my golden age
and if anyone decides to steal you
I will blow up in a rage.

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My Poetry. The Migraine.

Silence in the room
is what you require
your head is spinning
You start to perspire.

Alone in the dark
the pain is immense
nothing is helping
To hell with expense.
Feeling sick
you cannot relax
round and round in circles
Migraine at its max.
Certain foods you eat
can make it worse
this horror in your body
A satanic curse.
You cannot see anyone
you need to be secluded
the slightest noise
Terrifies the alluded.
Eventually the pain
starts to depreciate
you can face the light
From the window grate.
You can cope with pain
but migraines bring you down
you cannot do anything
Expecting to drown.

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My Poetry. A lonely Flower.

How did this beautiful flower grow? 
Among-st the bracken and thickened snow 
pert and proud on barren land 
Amazed how such a miracle stands. 
All alone a singular treat 
void of emotion, treacherous feet 
carried by songbirds from a warmer clime 
Ignorant of wastage and sealed by its prime. 
Glowing so colourful sweet smell of perfume
avoiding the vases of humanities front room
grow old my flower be erect and assured
Carry the torch of environments cured.
Warm up my life and make me alive
bloom for eternity, germinate, survive
seed for the pleasure and love that you give
Grow for the goodness and promise me “live”.
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My Poetry. Animal Life.

Ever wondered what it’s like trying to SURVIVE
animals have that right so let’s keep them ALIVE
let them escape people who hunt for fun
Struggling to know when and if they shoot the gun.

Asking to be spared without having a voice
pleading with intelligence who really have a choice
wishing to be spared to roam and freely live
But the question on my lips is, DO ANIMALS FORGIVE?
We kill them for their meat needing to survive
How dare we think animals have a right to be alive!
I wonder if they think out loud “we do not hunt for man”
But maybe in the future that might be their plan.
They hunt amongst themselves they have to kill to eat
only cos they have to not because of a treat
getting pleasure killing animals is pitiful, and sad
We teach our children daily that animals ain’t bad.
God made this earth for all life to live hand in hand
I don’t think he realised what man had secretly planned!
We need to live beside the animals we love
From elephants to tigers and flying turtle-doves.
To hunt animals for profit is tragic and a waste
It’s bad enough murdering them for palates of human tastes
When we see there’s nothing left will we be content?
Or will we seek out other life to help the sporty gent?
Kill animals for food as we need to survive
But for pleasure and profit KEEP THEM ALIVE.

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My Poetry. A Woman s work is Never done!

Up at 6 another day comes 
time to get the kids up for school 
breakfast is always a chaotic time 
All for one, sometimes the rule. 
Toast for Johnny, cereal for Sue 
While dad shouts "where's my phone"? 
Tammy the cat mewing at my feet 
The kids all grump and groan?. 
Sue shouts aloud, cereal has spilled
the dog licks his lips in delight
Johnny complains, no lunch prepared
Johnny Kicks Sue with spite.
Get the kids dressed, iron a shirt
turn the dishwasher on
hubby groaning in the background
at it from dusk till dawn.
Breakfast is over, time to go
dad drops the kids at school
little Joan sits with her empty bowl
at least one of them is full.
Joan at nursery time for my chores
the vacuum is ready to go
dusting around the numerous bits and bobs
Forgot to wash the baby grow.
Shopping to do, clothes to prepare
the maintenance man is due
sitting at home. freezing to death
its a wonder I don't have the flu.
The boiler packed in, no heat or water
The usual drama of the day
I wonder how much it will cost this time
it ill probably come out of my pay.
Just as I think I am finished for now
its nearly that time again
collect the kids from school and nursery
and plenty to do after then.
Grab a coffee read a mag
then hang the laundry out
prepare the dinner feed the cat
that's what its all about.
By the time I settle its bedtime
I am dreaming of peace in my life
but who would have it any other way
its the chores of a Mother and wife.

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My Poetry. Weekend Dad..

We are used to seeing you
day by day
the sound of your voice
And what you say.

We sensed things were different
lately, there’s no smile
your words full of poison
Nasty and vile.
Still, you stay
while living apart
anger in your sleep
Fast beating heart.
Despite this we love you
the best dad around
your life complicated
Unbalanced unsound.
We sit at the table
not a sound can be heard
we look at the walls
Feeling absurd.
Why do you both live
In pain and strife?
Once a happy couple
Husband and Wife.
Our school life suffers
too tired to study
drained, uninterested
Dirty and muddy.
Now when we wake
you are not here
The house is silent
Frighteningly clear.
No calls or letters?
To make our day
Why blame us?
Is what we say.
Are you happy Dad?
We need you to call
we want to see you
Desperately is all.
Now you are called
our weekend Dad
life is unfair
Mum has a new lad!
We go to the movies
play games in the park
we are all together
But there ain’t no spark.
Mum has a smile
seems happy again
sleeps more soundly
Not like back then.
We see you both separately
its better than before
it took many years
When you walked out the door.
Now we are grown
we now understand
you did the right thing
And life is now grand.
You with your life
mum on a high
everyone smiling
Life going by.

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My Poetry. Never given a Chance!

The door was never opened 
slammed shut in every place 
he wanted to work badly 
To spare him from disgrace. 
All his friends were working 
 but still couldn't find a job  
 OK, they had qualifications 
 He was taunted and called a slob. 
 Incapable of learning at school
 no diagnosis could be found
 back then it was never recognised
 The difficulties would astound.
 Poor teaching and ignorance
 was to blame for all his plight
 people were ignorant
 It wouldn't happen overnight.
 No one knew Dyslexia
 he didn't even understand it himself
 chastised by his parents
 Scared to be left on the shelf.
 Suffering through ignorance
 his life would be wasted away
 no one understood this boy
 Or what he had to say.
 In this age of recognition
 kids can get help at the start
 so do not suffer in silence
 Or think you are torn apart.
 Employers need to be compliant
 some people learn at a slow pace
 with training and support
 They will welcome and embrace.
 Discrimination is against the Law
 even though, there are loopholes
 Employers can do as they please
 To fill their experienced roles.
 The rights of many are scrutinized
 in an age of impatience and hurry
 no one has any time these days
 Hence, understanding is blurry.
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My Poetry. Having a Bad Day.

When the weather is crap
you have a good moan
you feel all you do
Is grump and groan.
When you awake each day
You’re not quite yourself
had a bad night
Impeding your health.
As the day goes on
you hope you will find
you will become cheery
It’s all in the mind.
But right at the moment
worse for the wear
lookout everyone
Bother me if you dare.
Things get your goat
all through the day
nothing motivates you
Keep out of the way.
Later on
you see some light
you’re passive and relaxed
Don’t want to fight.
Its called Human emotion
sometimes you smile
when you think back earlier
When your mood was vile.
Back to being motivated
at last, I have changed
back to the sunshine
No more enraged.
So when you’re down
count to ten
keep your cool
unlike back then
Ending the day
in a positive mood
fight the blues
Try to be good.
Smile and grit
your teeth and grin
have a good moan
Take it on the chin.

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My Poetry. Technology, Good or Bad?

What did we do before technology?
Things were simple yesterday
children played outside then
And had fun in their own little way.
Adults would communicate
at the dinner table each night
televisions a pipe dream
Kids would play fight.
People would play cards
smoke filled the air
no sight of a PC
Corners looked bare.
The days of writing a letter
has vanished without a trace
people were very creative
spoke face to face.
Now we have email
or sending someone a text
no more writing paper
Old-fashioned in context.
Kids glued to game stations
no creativity in this age
brains fried, becoming a recluse
Constantly in a rage.
Knees bearing laptops
nothing else exists
imprisoned by technology
Typing long boring lists.
No conversation no” how was your day”
all caught in an unreal dimension
electricity meters running at a fast pace
Beyond anyone’s apprehension.
What happened to the days when Families
Played board games or got some fresh air?
Fast foods and the internet
Caused this realistic nightmare.
Technology has killed the old-fashioned ways
nothing left except microchips
tapping away on the pc or phone
Without even moving your lips.

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My Poetry. Growing old Gracefully.

You remember when you were a lad 
things you did were brave 
swinging from the highest tree 
Six inches from your grave. 
Back then you could run, fast 
play ball forever and a day 
sleep would come when it had to 
Your hair was natural,  not Gray. 
They say the new fifty is forty
in this new millennium
but sometimes it doesn't work that way
You're not at your premium.
Your bones creak, your neck gets sore
bending down is sometimes a task
you try your best to live younger
While reaching for the oxygen mask!
To be healthy you need to be careful
you may deal yourself a blow
like cutting the old nails
On your unreachable big toe.
When you shower and glance at your figure
it's not as it used to be
the muscles are getting flimsy
And you struggle to properly see.
Some people grow old gracefully
just accept it as it comes
growing old isn't necessarily a draw back
Or receding mouth gums.
But when it comes to memory
things you can recall are quite clear
the good things that happened in your life
You will always hold so dear..

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My Poetry. Nothing in the end.

 Viewing the World through a microscope 
 at times, you don't like what you see 
 unbalanced, unfair, shameful 
 Determines how it must be. 
 It depends on where you came from 
 to determine life's fate 
 being born into hardship 
 is sometimes what you hate.
 Some are born into grandeur
 poverty they will never know
 wealth through the blood
 Lots of dough.
 Happiness doesn't mean riches
 if your satisfied with your lot
 just think of the homeless
 In case you forgot.
 Money doesn't buy health
 or can make you live forever
 we will all die one day
 Whether, rich, poor, or clever.
 Just be who you are
 live your life in peace
 don't worry about tomorrow
 Or when life will cease.
 We are all governed by time
 and one day it will run out
 there are no pockets in a shroud
 Or a voice, to scream or shout.

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My Poetry. The stalker.

 He hides behind the bushes 
 spying on his latest prey 
 who knows why he does it 
 No one can say. 
 A mind so torn with infatuation 
 scared he will be caught 
 remaining in his camouflage 
 to which his mind has brought. 
 For weeks, he has been watching?
 His stalking out of control
 insecurities blind him
 dodging the odd Police patrol
 Innocent distractions
 fixated by his actions
 Will he ever let her know?
 He fears for her reaction.
 Eventually she notices
 him glancing from the trees
 Who is he why is he here?
 She starts to feel the sleaze.
 In the morning she opens the window blinds
 to face a brand-new day
 when she closes them again at night
 He will not go away.
 In his mind this is innocent
 as he confronts her wanting to speak
 I wonder if she will think bad of me
 Will she think I'm a freak!
 But alas the fear grows fiercer
 he cannot find a way
 instead, he looms in the shadows at night
 And continues in the day.
 The stalking over takes him
 he cannot live his life
 he wants this girl so badly
 Will she be my wife?
 His stalking days are numbered
 as the Police close in on his trail
 and once more is arrested
 And held without any bail.

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My Poetry. God bless single Mums.

A mum to three young kids 
no support, working alone 
there isn't enough days and hours 
no time for a good old moan. 
A young girl herself 
when she had her first child 
a shy quiet girl 
not known for being wild. 
Innocence lost at thirteen
not contented with just a kiss
passion overtook her
responsibility a miss.
She was lucky having her mum
either in person or on the phone
inexperienced she would call her
but the seeds were already sown.
Deserted by the Father
as soon as he found out
he disappeared out of sight
she had to go "without"
Jessica loved her kids
and tried her level best
a single mum on benefits
every turn a means test.
No partner in her life
she struggled every day
but that was her life from now on
and it was here to stay.
She reflected on her life
dreaming of what could have been
but she wouldn't change her lifestyle
or the fathers the kids never seen.
She looked at her kids in pride
as they grew up happy and content
It was hard hard work at the beginning
but for her they were all heaven sent.

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My Poetry. Sun shine days.

After a long cold winter 
it's nice to see 
the sun in its glory 
It makes you feel free. 
The heat is better 
plants starts to grow 
we all go crazy 
To the garden centre we go. 
The barbies are fizzling
the aroma is cool
moistened mouths 
Makes you drool.
t shirts and shorts
with the odd Jesus sandals
wearing your socks
Facing the scandals.
Semi clad folks
burning under the sun
screaming and shouting
All having fun.
Tots with sun hats
protected from rays
splashing in pools
By the heat of the days.
Dogs puffing and panting
the heat is their pest
jumping in lakes
Trying their best.
Three days of sunshine
not a cloud in sight
a wonderful summer
Glorious and bright.
Who needs abroad
when we have weather like this
save all your money
enjoy the bliss.
The question on our lips
Is will it last?
It makes people happy
We all have a blast.

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My Poetry. The Ice cream van.

 Jingles heard from afar 
 as he drives into our street 
 a magical vehicle on four wheels 
 Racing to give us a treat. 
 Ice cream so delicious 
 and change to buy a sweet 
 those days were so spectacular 
 nothing could you beat.
 Shouting up to mum
 to get a couple of pence
 the din was overpowering
 even standing on the fence.
 The World was your oyster
 as you chose your fav ice cream
 this little van of wonders
 Was a child's lasting dream.
 Sometimes we would have enough
 to buy a sweet or two
 contented and happy those days
 And your mates were happy too.
 He came around our street
 twenty times a day
 but your parents were very dubious
 To give their money away.
 Money was tighter then
 but the luxuries were sometimes had
 it stretched a little further
 Even got money from your dad!
 The jingle could be heard for miles
 as you ran to greet the man
 with treasures over spilling
 From the little musical van.

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My Poetry. Driving with care.

Driving in a concentrated state
your mind is always alert
things can happen suddenly
You have to be an expert.
Animals or kids
can pop out from anywhere
no matter how fast you’re going
Always take good care.
Still, the road is mundane
wary to change your disc
a female driver putting on makeup
Not caring about the risk.
Watch carefully in your mirror
be patient with other cruisers
people who have road rage
Are mostly all-around losers.
Dangerous driving can kill
Because you don’t concentrate!
Better being safe than sorry
Before it is too late.
Keep your speed to a minimum
when nearing any schools
children come out excited
They don’t care about the rules.
For some driving is a living
but for many, it’s a to b
stick to the highway code
It’s there for all to see.
At the end of the day
you in a “killing” machine
but with careful, safe driving
You will always be seen.

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My Poetry Charity clarity.

Bric a brac shoes and clothes 
dishes ornaments or mags 
things you have you do not want 
Even old used rags. 
Charities put bags through your door 
and you fill them every week 
but still the bags lie for ages 
Grow mouldy and they reek. 
We do not take this item
sorry we don't want those
I am sure the needy everywhere
Their life they had not chose.
I want to make money
but do not want certain things
like that old standard lamp
Or the ornament of the lady who sings.
So what is the point of me?
Am I here to help the needy
I will pick and choose what I want
Because I am so greedy.
So take your well-used items
and throw them in the dump
now I am wondering why this country
is facing a financial slump.

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My Poetry. Raindrops the only sound.

 The only thing I hear 
 are raindrops on the glass 
 the forefront in my mind 
 Is the pain which I amass. 
 Deep as it cuts, it never mends 
 it casts more doubt in my heart 
 solitude is a thing I could never face 
 So much as we now part. 
 I close my eyes and you appear
 your always in my heart
 The days are nights the nights are day
 I don't know where to start.
 and still, silence fills the air
 With only the sound of rain.
 When I reach out to you in the night
 Emptiness fills me with pain.
 Be happy in your new life
 where sunshine fills your day
 text me when I'm alone
 Make my sunny day Gray.
 Desperation fills my body
 as I kneel upon the ground
 whilst silence fills the air around
 Raindrops are the only sound.

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My Poetry. Culinary magic.

I am in awe 
at how you look 
well prepared 
from a marvellous cook. 
A plate thats 
like a piece of art 
who would believe
this tasty start.
The aroma deliciously real
the best food today by far
plates empty and ready for more
it deserves a culinary star.
The starter was a dream come true
beautiful to the eye ,a treat
My eyes are in love with you
your golden colour is sweet.
The steak was beautifully done
it melted in each new bite
the potatoes were roasted perfectly
the vegetables just right.
And now for the final course
a plethora of fruit and cheese
yes I will have some more
try to stop me PLEASE.
My stomach feels relieved
content with an awsome meal
an artist would have been proud of it
It really was unreal.

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My Poetry. Colour me in.

In a World of utter contempt 
the limelight is stolen once more 
what is happening on this planet 
Open your mind and let it explore. 
Hatred still has a major part
I suppose they are a minority
goodness finds a way to defeat
And duly take priority.
What difference does any of this make
why do people act this way
time and time it happens too much
Each day.
Colour, sex, or creed
religion or politics discussed
who really cares about the bureaucracy
Is important or a must?
Be brave, embrace everyone
no matter their sexual choice
and so what if they are coloured
Everyone has a voice.
We grow tired of bigots and racists
in this millennium, give it a rest
more important things to worry about
Going through life is a test.
So welcome everyone as a friend
show this awesome World you care
no matter the colour or religion
Let them live and always be fair.
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My Poetry. Day by Day.

 When you smile 
 people smile with you 
 when your sad 
 The World will be blue. 
 Try to be kind to each other 
 And you can only feel cool. 
 Be a pain in the ass 
 Don't follow the rule. 
 It doesn't cost much
 To say hello.
 Smile at one another
 let the love easily flow
 Be positive in every way
 and your time will be pure
 be down and negative
 And it's hard to cure.
 If you like singing, sing aloud
 echo your voice up to the sky
 harmonize loudly with the melody
 And your voice will surely fly.
 End your day with a smile
 recall your day in your mind
 close your eyes and sleep
 Because today you were kind .


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My Poetry. Traffic jams.

Late again what will I do? 
Traffic held up 
another long queue 
a glance at your watch 
nerves uptight 
engine overheating 
Something not right. 
The car Crawling slowly
legs stiff and sore
radio blaring
In and out of the door.
Clutch up clutch down
brake foot numb
shouting and screaming
No nails on their thumb.
stop-start stop-start
Will it ever end?
Wondering how long
The queue will extend.
Cyclists passing cars
smiling on their way
extending happy greetings
"Have a lovely day"
Anger on faces
swearing under your breath
tooting horns in madness
A fate worse than death.
Chance of repeating this tomorrow
my nerves won't take the strain
another way I have to go
in fact, I'll take the train.
Here at work, late again
the office stands at ease
the boss looks over his glasses
"come to my office Please"
trying to explain is hopeless
as usual, it falls on deaf ears
Traffic jams are unnerving.
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My Poetry. Dangerous acts.

The atmosphere intense
you need eyes at the back of your head,
take your eyes off the ball
And you are sure to be dead.

Women’s covered faces
expressionless and cold
tears running from their eyes
Females are young and old.
Terror covers the streets
young men on rusted bikes
not knowing who to trust
Dodging all the spikes..
Bombs going off in faraway streets
screams can be heard for miles
camouflaged by smoky fields
Bodies lying in piles.
Our unit sheltering from terrorists
everyone is always on edge
a man grasps on a towering building
Then falls quickly from the ledge.
Fires set everywhere, smoke is thick
a place that never sees the light
touring for many Years
Daily you have to fight.
Hospitals are full of wounded people
medicine is desperately low
doctors covered in blood and sinew
Nurses running to and fro.
Bodies piled up ready to burn
It’s a nightmare will anyone waken?
Children wounded as young as five
Scared, tired, forsaken..
The fight for freedom goes on
and always the innocent suffer
armies will always give chase
and be used when they need a buffer. 

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My Poetry. Have you ever.

 Have you ever wondered how 
 You could survive without your friends? 
 Let them know almost every day 
 That to you, they may depend. 
 Have you ever sent them flowers 
 with a message "you are adored" 
 Or even told your closest friends 
 Without them, you'd be bored? 
 Have you ever saw a rainbow
 And imagined a pot of gold?
 Made a wish with a shiny coin
 Make money tenfold?.
 Have you ever had a feeling
 That something could always go wrong?
 or wondered why Samson
 Could ever be that strong?
 Have you ever loved a person
 or argued with whom you choose
 or wanted something badly
 Like a fortnight relaxing cruise?
 Have you ever noticed the poor old man
 With his shabby dirty clothes?
 Or ever wondered why Rudolph
 Has a bright red nose?
 Have you ever chose a meal for the night
 Or decided to take away?
 Have you ever got the kids to bed
 To enjoy the rest of your day?
 Have you ever decided on the menu
 For the TV late at night?
 Maybe watch your favourite soap
 Or settle for the fight.
 Have you ever wondered how
 We can fill in our quiet day?
 Listened to all objectives
 Of what people have to say?
 Have you ever wondered when
 This poem will ever end?
 Maybe now or maybe never
 You will read it coz you're my friend.

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My Poetry. Come dine with me.

Standing by the window
tears flow from my eyes
losing you was criminal
But hardly a surprise.
I met you many years ago
you were always in my life
in every dish, I chose to cook

By me and the wife.
I peeled your outer shell
to feel your slippery skin
but you slipped between my fingers
Then fell into the bin!
Shredded in my Pot
your aroma filled the air
the smell was so delicious
colours light and fair.
When I attempted to eat you
horror entered my mind
I couldn’t eat this onion
the one that made me blind.

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My Poetry. Unspoilt land.

Mountains tall, rivers flow, 
Tall Trees proud, colours aglow, 
Whistling birds, melodic in tune, 
High banked sand, in the shape of a dune. 
Waterfalls pure, sweet-smelling air, 
Animals living, without being scared, 
Sounds of nature in its own domain, 
Growth so thick, lots of rain. 
Fish a plentiful, in rivers of gold,
will never be caught or ending up-sold,
The unspoilt land, can it be true?
Where the grass is so green, and skies are blue.
The only sound alive is life at peace
days very long a slow-release
nature at rest and left alone
No exhausts or a telephone.
Fruit-bearing trees tall and proud
Enough to eat if you're allowed!
no taxes, laws, just animal rules
Were nothing matters, undisturbed pools.
No fear of loss in its very slow pace
miles away from the old rat race
wake up in the morning to fresh cool air
Living off the land and all it can spare.
Tall green grass no need for mowing
viewing for miles the sun is glowing
wildflowers growing carpeted throughout
Even if it's arid, or a lengthy drought.
Visited by the few, unspoilt land
left to its vices mountains grand
a dot on the map, no one insight
Purely magical an ocular delight.
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My Poetry. Galaxy.

A pilot on an endless flight
Is amazed by the wonderous light
gathering momentum as his aeroplane glides
Watching the flow of the ebbing tides. 
Conquering space in a moment of glory 
telling his children endless stories 
were he not to be in outer space 
We would surely know by his contemptuous face. 
Searching for life in another dimension
tossing aside all his worldly tensions
engulfing the magic of natural light
Recording the memories of a wondrous sight.
Dream on Pilot your time is here
conquer your dreams cap all those fears
a melody arose in a heavenly tune
Tinkling stars and a blinding moon.
Closer and closer your destiny veers
a man and his mission engulfed by his tears
his dreams now are realized
how could he forget
That mystical moment he lovingly met.
Thank you for Sharing me.

My Poetry. I forgive you.

When you forget to call my name 
I forgive you
when you don't put out the trash
I forgive you.
When you argue night is day
I forgive you
when you fail to come collect me
I forgive you.
When you use all the hot water
I forgive you
When you use the last of the milk
I forgive you.
When you fail to kiss me goodbye
I forgive you.

But for the pain you left inside
I will never forgive you.


Thank you for Sharing me.

My Poetry. A Mothers fear.

 An old woman cried all through the night, 
 For she lost four sons in a bloody fight, 
 Their voices still heard, in a distant past, 
 Born so quickly, and died so fast. 
 Fought for freedom, a right to survive, 
 Worked so hard, to stay alive, 
 Born in tyranny, starving and meek, 
 Women and children, hungry and weak. 
 Clansmen hunting around for food,
 The rest of his kin, gathering wood,
 Mud huts leaking, raining hard,
 Fires dying, wood is charred.
 Freedom distant, lives are lost,
 Counting the sacrifices, mourning the loss,
 One day they will sing, depression will lift,
 Hoping that God will shower his gift.
 Death shall be rewarded in a life of new,
 The old woman sad, lonely and blue
 Remembering her sons, who fought and tried,
 To make life better, and live with pride.
 Many more deaths, when will it end?
 For rights and freedom, in which we depend,
 will it come one day? It’s so far a dream,
 Where reality rules, in a slow running stream.
 The spirit is willing, the flesh is weak,
 But death is reality, for the lowly and meek.
 For our freedom they fought and died
 Our women are widows and so they cried.


Thank you for Sharing me.