Poetry In Motion – What More Can I Say?

Poetry is seen by many as a form of literary art. In their verses, poets find a way of suggesting differential interpretation to words, to awaken emotive responses. There are many forms of poetry which evoke singing, send chills down your spine or have the ability to make you laugh or cry. The intention will always be to move the reader emotionally with words. Poets use metaphors and similes to create a story which is patterned by rhythm or rhyme.

Most poets write about true events which may have changed their lives in one way or another. They may share with us many heart breaking or dark situations, such as the loss of a child or abuse from a parent. Their own emotions are gathered like rose petals in order to create something which could perhaps be seen as bitter sweet, leading us into a world where their hearts are ultimately worn on their sleeves. Then there is the euphoria factor where they sing about  sweet success,  their accomplishments in love or perhaps simply admitting to their own passions.

The ecstasy and excitement which is sometimes captivated in poetry can be truly spine tingling.  A few of my own friends are poets and after reading a very moving poem from Fiona Mcvie about losing her dear baby son, I really wanted to share some poetry with you. Poetry must come from the heart and there are no golden rules to writing it. Please enjoy the works of: Christian Curtis, Shaun Allan, Mary Murphy and Fiona Mcvie. I hope you find these poems either moving or amusing, either way,  I’ll let you decide …

angelbaby

My Little Angel Above

My little angel above

My heart sinks when I think that God took you away from me at 12 hours old …

He must have something special for you?

As it is just the good he takes and I know Nanna and Granddad will be looking after you up there

I know you are looking down on me

On your angel cloud

But it does not stop me being heartbroken

 

John-Andrew 24/12/1980 – 25/121980

Copyright ©1980 Fiona Mcvie

~

pheonix

Phoenix  

Fire, fire burn so bright

In the heartlessness of night

In the depths of darkest souls

In the fears that life enfolds

Fire, fire burn away

To allow the birth of day

To allow beginnings new

To allow false to be true

Fire, fire, friend of mine

Burn away my shadowed time

Scald the embers of my scars

Cauterise wounds in my heart

Fire, fire, embers glow

Keep my secrets we both know

From your ashes Phoenix rise

To a world with reborn eyes.

Copyright ©2014 Shaun Allan

~

dove

Is This Peace ???

When my heart beats
for that final time,
Is it your peace,
or is this mine?

When my eyes close,
always to remain,
Is the light i see
the almighty terrain?

Can final peace
be achieved at death,
or is this a myth
with my final breath?

Is eternity as is vowed by the lord?
or is it just nothing,
just one big black fraud?

Copyright ©2008  Christian Michael Curtis

~

flames

Summer Loving

The garden was overgrown now

A fire of wilderness

Where no man dare step

‘Cross the breach

Lest they burn with heart’s confess

‘I told him not to come back’

She cried

Though was more of a

Hesitant whisper

But he was there yet

Or his body was

She’d buried him with her sister

The summer sun shone

Coating the world

In a sheen of shimmering heat

But its reach didn’t reach

Into her shell

As her soul lay in shreds at her feet

At the jetty she’d seen

Her sibling and love

With a heat as hot as the sun

A deadly embrace wrapped in

Nature’s own clothes

Placed in her hand

A gun

Now her sister lies cold

And her lover so bold

Rots beside his lies

And as the sun sets

And the moon takes her hand

She looks on the garden

And cries

Copyright ©2013 Shaun Allan

~

crying

Hurt

The hurt in the child’s eye,
the pain in his heart.
Doesn’t she realise that what she’s done,
Has torn him, ripped him apart.

He needs to love, he needs to cry,
but yet he’s all alone.
She decided that her life came first,
maybe one day, she will atone.

He’s three years old and needs his mum,
but she is nowhere to be found.
She has moved her life on to pastures new,
with not a sorry, not even a sound.

This little boy, still has the love,
the love of a father caring.
Yet father is always at work,
so no time is there to be sharing.

He loves his dad, with all he is,
he knows that he is there.
Yet emotionally, he needs that loving touch,
the sympathy, the cuddles, the care.

Now thirty years later,
my mother now laying in rest.
This little boy inside me,
still hurting from missing the best.

You see, no matter how she wronged me,
I will always love her so.
I know deep down she had her reasons,
to leave us, to let us go.

Copyright ©2010  Christian Michael Curtis

 ~

red

Little Dead Riding Hood

 In the world of night

When light takes flight

And shadows walk

Just out of sight

A girl walks through

The forest dark

Where green sap oozes

From tree bark

She wear a cloak

With a pulled up hood

Its colour is

The colour of blood

She carries a basket

With a small patterned cover

A gift, of sorts

For her mother’s mother

She dances along

The windy long trail

In the light of the moon

A darker shade of pale

And from the trees

Where he hides

A lone wolf spies

The girl in her cowl

And he utters a low growl..

She’ll do nicely on toast

She’ll be fine with some wine

She’ll be tasty with gravy

When, on her, I will dine

And his eyes have a sparkle

As the wolf struggles to wait

As the girls carries on

Not knowing her fate

The wolf licks his lips

And sharpens his claws

And follows behind

On soft, padded paws

 A light in the distance

A cabin tucked away

Where the Granny of the girl

Lives out her days

The wolf sees his chance

And slopes off ahead

To beat the girl

To her Granny’s instead

He slides in the back

And before she could know

He gobbles the old woman

Down in one go

Copyright ©2013 Shaun Allan

~

HANDYMAN

The Yorkshire Handyman

Now I live in a council house

An’ so do all mi friends

We work all week

An’ do a spot of gardening at weekends

T’other day another friend

A lady up ar’ street

Asked me if I’d do ‘er front

I think she meant ‘concrete’

Mi wife was not too keen on this

She thinks I’m Jack the lad

Sometimes I wish I was

And always wish I ‘ad

Not satisfied when I said no

This lady ‘Mrs. Platt’

Then told me that she couldn’t climb

And would I do her flat

Well this might be mi chance

To get away from muck

I told mi wife I’m going out

I’m going to mucky duck

Arriving at ‘er bright front door

She said come step inside

All I’ve got is what you see

I’ve got nowt to ‘ide

She told me that she’d bin abroad

A fine time in Japan

So would I do her dining room

To match

I said, ‘I can’

All that year I mucky ducked

A lot for Mrs. Platt, that’s Jane

The following year she went away

This time she went to Spain

So out again came brush and paint

She wanted bedroom done

Some tiles, some ‘ats, some tambourines,

Some sea, some sand, some sun

A tried mi best to do mi best

It’s ‘ard her standing there

With castanets ‘un’ Carmen dress

An’ mantilla in ‘er ‘air

Next year she’s going to Germany

A place called Barden-Barden

I bet when she gets back

She wants a bunker in ‘er garden

Copyright ©2011  Mary Murphy

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