Picture Perfect - poems

A Snowflake in the Wind

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 23:50:00 +0000

Down upon the Earth below,
A single snow-flake floats;
Flits about within the wind,
It for no-one stops.

Fashioned from the purest snow,
It falls to Earth from high above,
Patterned in it's perfect shape,
Doesn't have a single flaw.

For all the snowflake's perfect form,
But one has seen this snowflake fall,
And even so the detail's lost;
Have not the sight to see it more.

And all this flake knows how to do,
Is to be so very still;
Allow the winds to move it 'round,
To control where it should be.

The hapless flake's descent goes on,
And it can see the world,
But the ground looms ever near,
Be warned it's end is close.

As it's set upon the ground,
It's life just melts away;
It's been around for but an hour,
This pearl from heaven's door.

So begin now what you will,
Shine forth as does the brightest star,
Lest like this snowflake melt away,
'Way into the depths.

Poems and Procrastination

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Sun, 23 Oct 2005 17:18:08 +0100

And because it has been suggested to me I need a new subject to write about in poetry, I decided to write about nature. More specifically, the seasons. Even more specifically, Autumn - or as the Americans call it, through the astounding observation that the leaves fall from the trees during this season, fall.

Now, now. Before you think i'm anti-American and start carpet bombing London in the hope of hitting my place of abode, I will tell you all I fully intend on marrying an American girl. Why? I don't know. It's just one of those things.

Anyway, poetry. Here it is:

Autumn's Hand

Now from us the summer departs,
Uprooting itself from upon our hearts,
For who never loved it's scenery,
with blues, and purples, and all it's greenery?

Who disliked the roses red,
And all the colours in the flower bed,
Who didn't enjoy the warmer days,
And complained against the sunny rays?

Sadly, summer can't last all the year,
For in it's place will Autumn appear,
And over the earth it will pass it's hand,
To sweep away these colours grand.

The petals have faded from the roses red,
And all of their colours the flowers have shed,
The Autumn cold replaces summer heat,
And the sky with clouds is now replete.

But all is not lost when Autumn arrives,
For under it's hand the colours still thrive,
For when colours bright are swept from the land,
They are replaced with Autumn's own brand.

Yellows, oranages and that rusty hue,
Are placed on all trees within our view,
And their leaves which fall upon the ground,
Are taken by Autumn and browned.

Look at what the Autumn has done,
To grass once scortched by Summer's sun:
Autumn has painted it green again,
And revived it with all it's rain.

Enjoy all the newness which Autumn brings,
And all the colours it puts in things,
For now it's time to welcome Autumn here,
And say farewell to summer, until next year.
----------

Autumn Elements

Wind in the trees,
Leaves shake and fall,
Coats ruffle, put on with ease.

Clouds in the sky,
Brown on the ground,
Fallen leaves make a rustling sound.

Scarves around necks,
Boots on feet,
Stomp in puddles on outings and treks.

Umbrellas held up,
For rain fills the air,
Falling on those caught unaware.

I like this poem, actually. It's short and to the point. And it remains true to the experiences of Autumn.
-----------------

Live for Life

When's the last time you've admired a flower,
Taken the time to enjoy a Spring shower,
Touched the mildew upon grasses green,
Amd walked under a forest's screen?
- Or was there no time, to do all these things?

Did you ever chance to see,
The meandering flight of a honey-bee,
Or watched the beauty of a setting sun,
Before the Summer's been had and done?
- Or were you too busy, to notice the scene?

Have you ever watched leaves fall on the ground,
Listened to the wind's rustling sound,
Taken the time to admire the scene,
Where Autumn's paint brush has been?
- Or was it too much to do, to glance about you?

Ever wrapped up warm as can be,
And stood at the side of a raging sea,
Or even admired the brilliant sight,
When Winter made the ground all white?
- Or were you too tired, to make such an effort?

Please take your time,
Don't rush so fast,
Admire the beauty,
Around us so vast,
For one day you'll go,
Too late to see,
The earth around you,
With all it's beauty.

Just live for life.
----------------

The above basically means, just in case you didn't realise, open your eyes, you maniac! Too many people rushing too quickly. If you don't ever take the time to look, then how will you see? And there's so much to see, so much to notice. But it's all lost in the bustle of the day, because it doesn't even enter the minds of people to look and see.

The idea is that the first four lines of every stanza rhymes, and the last line breaks up the rhyming scheme totally. This ruins the flow of the poem, and therefore doesn't allow the reader to fall asleep in the lull of the tune, and is intended to make a little jab at the reader...it's as if the poem is saying "ha, you didn't have the time to look, did you? Of course.." in a sarcastic, dissaproving sort of way. Which should make you feel guilty.

If you found yourself saying, "actually, I did that" then that's the surest sign that you feel you could have "done that" so many more times than you did, but just didn't make the time...

Poems again

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Sun, 08 May 2005 15:20:00 +0100

And so i've been writing poetry again. I know, I know; a vice I have not yet trained myself to overcome.

Here's the latest, 5 poems to be exact. The first was written quite a while ago, the rest were written between 1:00am (very late saturday/very early sunday) and this moment in time (15:18 BST)

Beautiful World

Oh,
we live in such a beautiful world,
with many wars and all of the strife,
which epitomizes this life.

Oh,
we live in such a happy world,
with crime and abuse rising,
to levels unseen.

Oh,
we live in such a glorious world,
with wise lies deceiving,
and false hands receiving.

Oh,
we live in such a charming world,
where technology has exceeded,
our humanity.

Such a glorious place,
has anyone seen,
the place which shines,
with wars and want,
hunger and hurt,
fighting and fear.

Oh, we live in such a beautiful world.
-----------------

Sight of the Night

on a canvas dark the painter begins,
to paint the most glorious of things.

A speckle of light,
but not too bright,
emits a shudder of pure delight.

the painter began on a darkened sea,
but has created light to shine forth free.

The painter adds
ingredients three,
to add to the sight which we see.

a pinch of distance - it's a measured art,
one which pulls the strings of one's heart.

the tone of the paint,
a glimmering thing,
creates but all of the shimmering.

And now a pearl is placed on the sea,
to be hanging there so very free.

a pearl,
as white as could be,
it is a real glory to see.

And next, the most important thing of all,
without which this beauty means nought at all.

the finest of magic,
a glorious thing,
is added as a thousand birds sing.

(for to make this magic very strong,
it is the painter who adds the finest song.)

But what's the ingredient,
the magical three,
shall it remain but a mystery?

There is no need for the mystery,
but what can the final ingredient be?

The painter smiles and his face fills with glee,
for the final ingredient is added, you see:
A moment of romance, between you and me.

----

Night Sky

I look towards the starry sky,
letting out a quiet sigh,
'Tis the moon that i spy.

no rope holds it to it's place,
there it hangs about it's space,
hanging quietly with it's grace.

The sea of stars!
The shining light!
To look on Mars,
to see the sight,
of a thousand candles burning bright.

The canvas pitch black be,
of that everlasting sea,
spots shimmering so free.

this is the view,
that's what I see,
as i look towards the starry sea.
------------

Hope

Look at the wars around in this life,
look at the hunger and all of the strife,
poverty and misery, it is this which is rife.

Some blame humanity who can be evil as sin,
others blame Fate against who none can win,
but I blame he who controls it all.

Oh, God on high who knows everything,
with millions of angels who dont move a wing,
whom, we are told, your praises sing.

what do they sing when they see our earth,
how can they sing their praises of mirth,
for evil has this place been since it's birth.

God in his glory sits on his throne,
looking about to see what he does own,
the millennial countings are about to take place.

The angels on high look to creation,
and see what is under his domination,
hardly the products of our salvation:

a little part of abominations,
a thousands measures of disgrace,
and a million more of losing face.

and yet one little angel sitting on high,
who knows what will happen nigh,
heaves a glorious sigh.

For this little angel knows what will be,
it opens it's eyes and turns to see,
our planet which was created by He.

Looking past the misery,
looking past the pain,
looking to see what humanity may gain.

amidst the hunger and amidst the strife,
amidst the misery of this life,
it looks to see a special thing.

in the layers of dirt and thrown to the side,
amidst the hurt and trying to hide,
a tiny pearl of hope he gathers with pride.

hope for better things to come,
the hope of peace, the hope of life,
the hope of an end to all the strife.

Bring it to the creator who will smile,
who smiles a smile full of glee who says,
"Yes, bring it near, it's this, my beloved, which is dear."
-----------------

Repentance

An angel was punished one day, you see,
and came to the earth sad as could be.

He couldn't return to his place in the sky,
and so would let out a saddened sigh.

He travelled the earth to look and to see,
He wandered around for a place to be.

He could only return to his place in the sky,
If he found something worth more than his sigh.

The earth he would travel until he could see,
something of worth so in the sky he could be.

gold is of no use to those who dwell in the sky,
"but what's of more value than that?" he would sigh.

then one day he thought he could see,
something of value - but what could it be?

whilst flying about just under the sky,
he heard a girl heave a heavy sigh.

this was of value any can see,
a sigh of repentance: worth more than much could ever be.

And so he returned to his place in the sky,
holding aloft a little girl's sigh.

and now you know and now you can see,
how valuable repentance can actually be.
-------------

And that's it for now, dears!
My personal favourites are Night Sky and Sight of the Night (yes, very original names, but hey!)

The one entitled "Hope" does not necessarily construe my own opinions and/or feelings, though at times, I do feel that God has "millions of angels who dont move a wing" and the "a thousands measures of disgrace, and a million more of losing face" parts. Ah, well.

Then we have repentance. A cute little poem written for the deeply religious, the overly romantic, or the slightly naive. And where do you fit in? ;-)
------
I sent the poem "Night Sky" to a fellow poet who lives here and she came up with this rendering of it, which, as I see it, certainly shows me up!

I look toward a starry sky,
escaping my lips, a silent sigh.
Filled with awe and wonder, I take it in;
not the least bit sure where to begin.

'Tis the moon that catches my watchful eye,
no explanation can I provide.
No rope or belt fastens it there,
it just sits silently with care.

A sea of stars in the graceful night;
a thousand candles buring bright.
Although the canvas, black may be,
there shines pure light for all to see.

This is my view and what I see,
as I gaze at all that lies before me.
Its sheer beauty exists, untainted;
with envy, I watch the scene almost hated.

All of a sudden, we are one,
as I marvel at the wonders that God has done.
What a loving God he must be,
to release this moment unto me!

This time in nature I must savour,
as I find myself in His favour.
Again, what an amazing sight,
this cold and lonely, starry night.
--------
Compare that to my one, and frankly dear children, mine looks utter pants!

Bye, and enjoy!

Two Fish

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Fri, 25 Feb 2005 01:06:26 +0000

Swimming around is this fish,
care-free as can be,
such a little soul it is,
to be swimming in it's sea.

Though the bowl be big,
the little fish is brave,
it swims around it's waters,
eating food it's gave.

Around in circles will it go,
swimming through the water,
it does this every single day,
it's path gets no shorter.

But one day,
not more than a tails swish away,
it happened upon another fish,
looking through its dish.

The most beautiful fish he had ever seen,
this fishies skin lime green.
when he swam along his way,
it was of she, he did dream.

He chanced to see her many times,
as he swam along his lines,
he would stop and gaze back,
with increasing frequency.

There they floated both,
pressed up against their glass,
each gazing at the other,
under watery cover.

In their bowls they gazed,
atop a table by a lamp,
near a window by a sign,
written in words divine: "fish sold here."

Many days would then go by,
until a human wandered near,
issuing a litte sigh,
"I wonder what to buy."

Whereupon this humans eyes,
fell upon the gazing fish,
little did it suspect,
that through the water should come a net.

Torn away from his love,
he floats around,
atop unknown ground,
dreaming of his lime green love.

Many days would pass by,
he would utter a fish's sigh,
stop a little,
perhaps to cry.

For he knew that this was true:
he would never gaze,
through the glaze,
at his love.

Before you say "It couldn't be!
How know ye of this end?"
I answer thus unto thee:
That little fish: he was me.

(c) 2005 DJ
-------------------
No, not finding nemo...just another day in my life...

Promised Poems

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Thu, 17 Feb 2005 17:22:57 +0000

Ok, ok. Due to popular opinion (actually, due to a single reader armed with a torch and pitchfork) I have decided to stop being lazy, and copy and paste poems i've written previously and put it here.
-----------
Long ago,
in a far off land,
across the hills,
and past the sea,
there was a couple,
as happy as could be.

In a forest,
there they dwelt,
their love was honest,
honest as could be.

For many years,
there was no strife,
within their very happy life,
happiness their only wish,
and yet that was not to be.

Disaster unforseen,
a terrible event,
tragedy had surely struck,
when upon their happy home,
Death had lain His hand,
claiming her His own.

Upon her grave,
he dug himself,
he mourned his loss,
for many days.

The clock would tick,
and hours pass,
as he sat upon the grass.

Time had trod,
time had trod,
an entire week gone by,
he was in his usual place,
weeping by her grave.

head in hands,
face masked from sky,
'twas a winter's night.
Snow began to fall,
though he little noticed,
that this was ever so.

His pain, his grief,
had blinded him,
and he was unaware of all,
except his own despair.

Hours passed,
the man now still,
he could not move,
he lay atop his loved one's grave,
there's no one left to bury him.

And so it was,
the lover's end,
now a distant memory,
but that love they bore,
it does live on,
for that husband,
and that wife,
will meet again,
in another life.
---------
I haven't come up with a proper name for that poem yet, so it remains unamed here. Any pointless drivel...err...I mean....suggestions....don't hesitate to comment.

I reckon the poem is simple enough to be understood, and shallow enough for me not to type any explanation whatsoever for it. If you don't understand anything after reading it through a few times, comment to that effect, and I will then register how astonished I am that you can even read =)

Next up:

Men,
Go and learn this noble art,
Of how to win a lady's heart,
Bravely, as with any other art,
Nobly, 'til the very last part;
Loyal gravity,
And every hint of suavity.

Lead her to the moon lit paths,
Point her to the starry skies,
Guard her by your truthful words,
Free of taint and pure
From courtship's flatteries.

Yet be it only art,
Be sure to lose her heart,
Savage your own, for your part.
------
Yes, well. The above is based on Mrs. Browning's (that's Elizabeth Barret Browning) poem, which reads thus:

Learn to win a lady's faith,
Nobly, as the thing is high;
Bravely, as for life and death; --
with loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,
Point her to the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtship's flatteries.
----
I'm still debating with myself as to if I should make the adapted version of Browning one poem with the one below:

Women,
Honest, open and plain,
The only way to speak your mind;
Do to him what is kind,
Do not tag him along, behind.

When he pours his soul to you,
Leaving him at your mercy; --
When he says "I love you,"
Tell him only what you mean,
But do take care with your reply,
Be cautious with his heart,
As you hold it in your hands,
With every sigh,
Every smile and every frown,
Makes or breaks a man.
-----------
It's the same theme, sure. I wrote them together. But even as I wrote it, I didn't know if they should be two short poems, or one long one.

Wow. What troubles I have, eh?

I've written a few more poems about lost love, and am currently writing an "unusual" one...Here's one stanza:

"Blessed art Thou"
My lips said now,
"Who caused them to plunder,
Throw Your people asunder,
And plunge us into wonder..."
And here i stopped,
for it had begun to thunder,
the rain had filled the air,
and shame my heart,
for this ungodly prayer.
---

Basically, it's a poem about this person who "prays" to God amidst a congregation, perhaps keeping a two minutes silence, for the last World War, and the Holocaust (the 60th year of Auschwitz was not long ago, as you should know). It's incomplete at the moment, but should be pretty sombre when complete.

And that's it for now, folks. Maybe in the next post here, I'll post a few poems which i've already posted here, but in my blog...We shall see.

Until next time!

Poems

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Sun, 13 Feb 2005 13:10:05 +0000

Yeah, err. Welcome.
When I can be bothered, this will be my poems page :-)