• Archive of all Poetry Space showcases
Sensory Delight
On the corner of the street the willow stands.
My grandson took one of its slithery strands
Let it slide slowly through his little hands
Held it to his peach like cheek
Felt its texture while his father peeked
At him through a raffia curtain.
These are times when life is full,
Communion with growing things a thrill,
God’s Creation an Eau de Vie
Intoxicating, yet without price
All of us free to drink our fill.
© Tony Sainsbury
Confessions to an Errant
I wonder what to do with you,
shall i forgive your muddle-head,or
love your love for me.Or, squall
at your pallavery .
You a man; I adored as soldier.
You a man, as superman!
As i headed puerility, agonized;
you ‘fallible man’!
I know not what to do with you.
Shall I revere your heart?
That weeps for hapless,feels
for helpless. O! sweet father.
You and I like night and day.
Yet my repose was your lap.
Slumber creeped and fell day;
had you beside me ,lay.
I abhor your brag,sneak;if crash!
Pray of you- be more!The clock
ticks on, clue in and warn.
Me beg, dont grow.
© Poem & Image Cloud Roy
Shades of Midnight in Summer
© Azadeh K Taj
The moon
illuminates the edges of clouds
in the darkness
Silence fills the night
except for faint cricket sounds
continuously in rhythm
Stars twinkle
deep in the dark blue sky
Silhouettes of trees outline the horizon
A warm breeze flows
gently in the air
Heat rising from the ground
Smell of freshly cut grass
The aroma of eucalyptus leaves
Scent the air
The last bird calls
were three hours ago
Shades of Midnight in Summer
© Richard Bell
Nature of Destruction
Opening her mouth to speak
Flowers wilted around her
Leaves crumpled by her breath
Natural hum of the bush
silenced
With an angry scowl on her face
she exhaled again
Bark stripped off trees
Left naked and lifeless
Droplets of sap
Dripped off limbs
Squinting to see if anything was left
Breathing outwardly in attempt to finish the job
Colour sucked away from the landscape
Moisture evaporated the last chance of life
Energy was drained from what was left
The environment around her is now dead
Not quitting until everything has been lost
Crying by her self
Wondering why
She has to destroy everything
That comes near her
And now she’s alone
© Richard James Bell
Fading Away
Entering the battlefields,
Armed with weaponry,
Reassured by my friends,
”˜We will survive’
Walking down the trenches,
Feeling chivalrous but weary,
We take action from the front lines,
The guns are already spitting fire,
Bombs hitting our side, tearing human flesh,
Body parts flying around.
An hour has passed, no one is left,
To breath, I look around with horror,
Bodies lie like wooden dummies frozen stiff,
Slowly sinking in the mud.
Only one left standing is I,
All my friends have perished,
The enemy has won,
I mellow in absolute pity,
Bullet like tears stream across,
My face, I hide them with shame,
Through my terror shaking hand, as I kneel,
With great failure and disappointment.
I suddenly feel cold; I look down at my green uniform,
Blood sneakily climbs through the ragged torn holes,
Three sharp gunshots have pierced my chest,
Breathing has even become a laborious job,
Last image enters my mind, my wife and children,
As I shut my eyes I too fade away, loosing myself,
To the ground, I start to disappear, buried,
Beneath the mud like my friends.
Bodies have vanished,
Memories will never be erased.
© Neelam Sha
Tidal Change
Once I traded in fools gold
something for nothings,
when nothing
was something
in a world as big as a day,
now I search for
nothing
amidst something
in a world where I am a fool
or so you say
understand the beauty
the peace
the knowing,
of that which you do not require.
© Simon Bridges
Blouse
Slowly, deliberately,
Like peeling paper from a garlic clove,
He peels the layer from her,
Knowing soon the smooth,
Powerful flesh will emerge.
He presses gently
Here and there, feels it yielding
To his pressure, while
She lets her transforming aroma
Work it’s way into his mind’s food.
To get through that paper
He used a knife, sharp enough
Just to split the purple parchment.
There is no knife here, unless this sharp,
Insistent parting of the barrier
Worn against the world’s eye
By febrile fingers – she lets no one else
Do this – is, like love, a blade.
© Michael Docker
