I love where no one loves, I have love for the unloved, Harm can’t get to me as long as I feel love, Only what is for my divine good can touch me, And in all situations remind me to love, As with love pain can be healed, Even the unseen pain.
When you feel like giving up,
And you just don’t give a fuck,
Just look up my number.
You don’t have to talk,
We could just go walk,
And I’ll be with you.
If you just put me on ramble,
I can talk and you can mumble,
While saying very little.
So if you need to vent,
Or just to hear my end,
Call and I’ll be with you.
These are crazy times, Times beyond belief, Some will be feeling fear, Some sadly feeling greife, And then there are those, Selfish few, Who think about no-one else, Those who clear the shelves, And seed panic among the rest, Please get a sense of reality, Habits…stock piling.. stupidity!
Some prophets are poets, Some write small sonnets, So here is me as a prophet, With my view on tomorrow. **** There is a storm here, It’s is very much clear, But it won’t be long, Until it is gone. *** We need to ride it out, And help those with nout, While the storm passes, Until it is over. *** Clear skies are coming, The way things are running, Keep Calm and Carry On, Until the Coronavirus is gone.
You know that fleeting moment, In which you see a bubble, There one minute, Popped the next, With little in the way of left. *** It mimiks a wave, Crashing on a beach, Where we know, For certain, The wave wont reform. *** Few things feel as final, As a bubble popping, A wave crashing, Loved one passing, Not to be remade again. *** Watch that bubble closely, Don’t let it leave your eye, When it’s gone, Nothing can, Put it back together.
Hello my dear readers, I have some exciting news to share. A secret project I have worked on, Has finally come to bear. You can now hear my poems, Via your little alexa device. Just ask for Pesky Poetry, And listen to the works of the Pesky Poet.
Poetry is fun, Poetry is silly, I can feel poetry in my… hand. *** Poetry is a goose, Poetry is a duck, I can feel I don’t give a… hen. *** Poetry is a hit, Poetry makes me sit, Some people couldn’t give a… verse. *** Poetry can be blunt, Poetry can be a stunt, Poetry isn’t a… hard thing to write.
Now the nights are getting dark,
And the nights are getting cold,
Mental health is affected,
But it may not show.
Men get ill too,
But is often taboo,
They suffer alone,
In silence too.
So here we mo’,
I’ll let it grow,
And let it flow,
Show off my mo.
We rarely see each other, But you are in my thoughts, Each and every day. *** When life has been rocky, You have always been there for me, Even when you are miles away. *** Let me repay the gift, You constantly give selflessly, By being there for you. *** When you feel overwhelmed, Just pick up the phone and give me a bell, Let me listen like you did for me. *** The world seems dark just now, But I’ll shine the brightest light I can find, Like you would do for me.
Will boys just be boys, Or girls just be girls, Or can’t people be people, In our small little world. *** Why do genders have to be genders, And not girls be like boys, Or boys be like girls, Or just let people be people. *** Can’t we look beyond the gender, And see the person, Who likes pink and Buffy, But is still a straight man. *** Care not for the sex, And ignore the gender, Stand shoulder to shoulder, And never surrender. *** We are all human, The same under the skin, Red blood flowing through, The veins in all of you. *** We are born the same, Have the same needs, Expel the same waste, And leave the same way. *** Love people as people, That’s all we need, Don’t act out of hate, Respect, love and be great.
Stephen, I would like to say, I feel what you mean, In all that you say. *** I writhe with language, And feel the play of words, Especially at the blank page, Where I can write my verse. *** There’s something exciting, And mystifying about language, Whether it is English or gibberish. *** A rhyming poem, Can get me going, I absolutely also appreciate, A good bit of alliterate. *** Never have I felt more myself, Than swooning over words, Like a tailor over felt. *** There is also an excitement, In that special moment, You hear a foreign phrase, And you just know it. *** So thank you Mister Fry, For this spectacular piece, That please my ears to eat.
You may not see me, My presence may not be obvious, It may feel like I’m not there, But I’ll always watch over you. *** In shade or in sun, When you’re bored or having fun, It may be blowing a storm, And I’ll be watching over you. *** As you sleep in your bed, Resting your weary head, Laying there dreaming of what’s ahead, I’ll be watching over you. *** And when the day is done, The sun has been and gone, There’s no-one left for fun, I’ll watch over you.
You once said I love you without force, Without pain, without remorse, What we had was special, But the bitterness came, First it was just arguing, Behind locked doors, then in public. *** I once said I love you without wincing, Without a sigh, without rolling my eyes, What we had felt right, But the cruelty came, And we drifted apart, Lived separately, Then moved apart. *** We once said I love you without spite, Without sarcasm, Without venom, What we had worked, But what finally came, And finally ended it, Was sharp words, and harsher jibes.
Am I dreaming, Am I alone, Could this be, Could we have won, Love is allowed, Love is not wrong, Society accepts us, Society moves on, There is still more to do, There are those who protest, Society will adapt, Society has already, Love has been accepted, Love has no limits, Could tomorrow be better, Could we love free, I am not alone, I am not dreaming.
I am the youngest I will ever be,
Yet the oldest I have ever seemed,
Stop the clock now,
And let time stand still.
For he is the reason,
Life is never dull,
But sometimes I need,
The clock to stop,
And time to leave me be.
But he marches on,
Tick by tock,
And tock by tick,
Endlessly marching to the metronome.
So cherish the time,
Because tomorrow as with now,
You will be the youngest you ever were,
But the oldest you have ever been.
There you sit, Across the platform from me, It may as well be, A world away. *** You don’t notice me, You never have, Our lives cross every day, But never our hearts. *** Have you ever seen me, Looking at you, Hoping you, Were looking at me too? *** I would make a move, If I only knew, Who you were, Or why I was drawn to you.
I feel you there, Hidden from view, You lift me up, When I am blue, You are with me, Every night, You whisper softly, You give me flight, I dream I’ll see you, But I wake not to, The thought of you, Fills me with warmth, You send me soaring, Like a sunlit dream.
It starts off like a trickle, A flick of the light, A trick of the eye, A bit of the blind, The it hits like a brick, Right at the back of the head, The throbbing, The light, The wishing for death, But after a while, It all goes away, The pain subsides, The brain relaxes, The main is over, Next is the mood, It’s up so high, It’s down so low, It’s all over the place, Not knowing where to go, And all that is left, Is feeling drained, That is my attacks, Of a migraine.
After so much time, Building a poetry profile, Chances are I’ve written enough, Done my fair share worthwhile, Even when times were tough, For a novice to write, Gives a sense of pride, Helping create my highlights, Impressing those where I bide, Just the thought of a challenge, Keeps me writing all night, Like an eagle with talons, Makes me want to take flight, No-one said it’d be easy, Only that it’d be fun, Playing with words like breezy, Quenches me when I’m done, Right when I wan’t to stop, Seems to be the perfect time to start, To write something that pops, Until the sky is dark, Verging on the redundant, With the chance of being bad, Xerographically showing what is abundant, Yearning to make you glad, Zooming me forward.
A poet without her pen, Is a poet without her voice. Muted and silent, For no-one to read. Unheard among the masses, Unseen among the trees. *** A poet without his pen, Is a poet without his power. Weak and feeble, Not able to help. Unable to fight injustice, Unacknowledged in the struggle. *** A poet with their pen, Is a poet at their strongest. Loud and visible, Speaking for those who can’t. Shouting for those in need, Screaming to help the world.
As the nights grow cold, the leaves on the trees grow weary, But the heart grows warm, and the legs grow steadfast. * Where the certainty of the winter, the lining of frost, and the snow falls, now grow the uncertainty of love. * The heart calls, the leaves fall, the mind feels, the wind knows, All will be well in the end.