Here are some of my own works, 2 of which have been published in anthologies which have been produced by "The "International Library of Poetry"..
The morning was dark and full of chill As I set out this day up old Calder hill We rumbled along, the carriage took a twist And then it appeared through the forest mist A yellow sphere appeared in the sky I thought of you I don’t know why It moved along travelling low Just ahead it moved real slow They say you bring sunshine everyday Was that you this morning guiding my way? It was I you saw up in the sky Gazing down brightly, bearing a shine A golden flutter surrounded by blue You looked up at me and I thought of you too Gliding along slowly showing the way Enticing you closer day by day You came up closer, but away I did fade The clouds were just breaking, blocking my way Will I see you again, travelling this way? Nobody knows, tomorrow is another day.
50,000 street kids and no birth control. Fighting for survival begging for money and food. Smoking cigarettes eating leaves. The people are strong but the world is weak.
Guilty, a word too harsh, but accurate may be. Emotions spinning into a whirl of misconception. Control, something I once knew but now it seems I have misunderstood. A force of lightening thrusts it's way beyond the limits of acceptable, Into the landscape of open minds. On a highway to independence, or a dirt ridden track of solitude. Destiny at it's peril must at once take control. Seeking a response to pursue the next step. A leap would be too presumptuous, A step back would surely open up the grave. A refuge of preservation we strive towards, and yet we crave our freedom.
The air was cold with a misty fog, On a bleak winters morn of saddened loss. Not a single flower blooming, or leaf on a tree; Not a bird in the sky, so lifeless and free. The cars are arriving, they pull up outside; The people are gathered awaiting the ride. Black clothes, pale faces, silence and tears, No talking or chatter, no laughter do they feel. People pass by they look but don’t speak. They continue with their lives, their own worries and grief. The journey to the church, so painful and slow; Anxious to arrive but can’t wait to go. A single bell chimes all through the grounds, Breaking the silence that surrounds. Inside lies a box of a life passed by; No reason, no answer, just a question of why? What once was a coffin made of wood and brass, Now remains a pile of smouldering ash.
When skies are no longer blue And the shadows stand bold And the key to the door is lost Remember to be strong and keep holding on.
There was a young girl called Marie Her pen one day she set free The poem she wrote Won everyone's vote It's now in the anthology.
Torturous reminders haunt my waking days The past will never be put aside, I can not leave it behind me, for you took so much away. A mistake you made so many years ago, you reluctantly sacrificed the dreams you built. Watching them disintigrate, crushed out of living truth because of that day when new life bloomed. Should I apologise? I think may be not, for what did I know, too innocently I was blessed. Alone and rejected, you gained little joy from what most would treasure for a lifetime. Coloured memories I keep in print, filed away under dust covered books. To contemplate a further glance would surely nourish the torrid flames within me. A book of lies, pictures with false smiles, happiness that was a misconception of rainbow blush. You kept it in so well, who would have known about my life in hell. The dungeon you called a bedroom with locks and chains which restrain my agitation. To shut away the truth for a moment. May be to deal with it later. And I wait until you're ready, but I waited and waited tolerating your ignorance for numerous years. But never were you ready to adopt my breaths of human existence. My Mother, who is she? For it's an age since she closed the door, her face I can no longer see.