Waxwings in the supermarket car park
Directing the traffic
Seagull on the trolley
Pushing his family to go Christmas shopping
Buzzard at Mcdonald's picking up
his happy meal
Blackbird prittle-prattling in the planted pot
Crows flick-flacking on a lamppost
Below a pied wagtail strutting its stuff
Busy birds bush whacking the red berried trees
Off the M5 motorway service station pit stop
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The railway embankment rises
From behind the gardens of the estate
A long corridor of brambles and green leaves
The pale, pastel barks of the Ash saplings
That still sprout and grow vigorously
Goldfinch carousel about the branches
Each limb is like a path to another town
Another bud is ready to burst into life
But now waits in earnest expectation
Of the spring
Biding its time
On the Strawberry line
I am conflicted, in two minds
Because on the one hand we are bringing
access to the countryside, linking up
the hubs and nodes like a network
Of underground roots
And on the other these natural corridors
will inevitably be somewhat diminished
By the human wish to spread its own branches
To feed its own systems of growth
And repair its own faulty pathways - the roads
Industrial, smoke breathing cars
That flash and wizz past the parapet of the
Once-bridge below
They will resurrect this bridge back from the grave,
And like an old giant remembering
Something of the spirit of the railways
Will come alive again
As people will walk their dogs along it
Will cycle their bring-a-bring bikes
and maybe the hedgehogs and squirrels
And scurrying things, will likewise
Cross the bridge and discover new worlds
beyond the boundary of the road
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Well the buildings they breathed, photosynthesized
In the forest of the city
Sky scrapers sprouted limbs
And stretched out to greet the new dawn
Bridges hummed in the wind
Giant bumble bees flapping their
Rotar blade wings
Danced between
These new plantations
Seeking out the giant flowers that the covered football stadiums
And Opera houses
Planes stood upright and preened themselves
Qantas
Pan Am, British Airways
Ducked and dived in the Hudson river
Where oversized water boatmen police boats rowed themselves
Up and down leisurely
Other plane-birds rolled around in the enormous dust baths of quarries
Cars became inflated beetles that opened out
mechanical wings and zipped here and there
And altogether elsewhere
The forests and the oceans breathed a sigh of relief
Because they could finally relax about
Keeping the whole planet going on themselves.
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Who are those cows in the shed,
Little calves lying on the ground,
tags in their ears
Mothers looking down
Begging
Shouldn't they be in a field?
Shouldn't they not be carolled
But we all like to drink our tea
With milk
Therefore here's a dairy herd
Who are those sheep in the field?
Can you imagine them long ago
Roaming around by themselves
No particular place to go
Ewes separated from their babies
Sadly bleating on
But we all like a lamb chop
Or a leg of mutton
Even more we are keen on a woolen jumper
To keep warm in
You can't say that these are natural
Man's dominion of nature
But we do what we can and we must to survive
Except now that threatens the planet
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
On the Rose dawn
Was when Christ was born
And Joy spread through the world
From the desert sands of Jerusalem
To the oceans beds of old Siam
Word was spread, yes word was spread
Jesus Christ was born
The birth of the great I am
In the rose dawn I saw the light
Like a flock of birds risen in flight
And shoulders of lamb tender to the bite
Born was Christ Jesus and the great I am
Following the flock and flecking the fight
Little blood spots trail along corridors of might
And he carries the cross and he bears a shroud of white
Holiest of spirits come in deepest night
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
I felt a new sun rising
And I knew it was so clear
Yes I saw on the horizon
That you answered not to fear
And you stood up to your enemies
And you went forth with love
And you knew just where the anemones
would grow down in the cove
And you fought for your love
You fought to live your life
And you never once did stumble
Nor did suffer kinds of strife
Yes you went onto the future
and you went on with bold heart
And you never stopped believing
Right from the very start
Yes you came onto the ocean
And you set sail out to sea
And filled your heart's devotion
With the hope of liberty
You met all those who would be
Who would be friends to you
And the yellow sun so lovely
In the circles that they sew
Come be a new horizon
And be then under the Lord
And shine on out your rising, sun
And shine on out your sword
And you can see on out the ocean
That the fish are clapping their hands
And they know that this emotion
Is a real thing for a real man
And they know that this is holy
And they know that this right
And they know that you will be there
From morning right through to night.
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
We don't realize we have have fallen
And raised the demon of War
Through worshipping the money God
Our own souls have become poor
And in each untidy corner, forgotten
And left sore
A little bit of darkness grows
And creeps under the door
Ill-gotten gains and more
Ill-gotten gains
What blood money
Can put our dignity to shame
For out the other side of happenstance
The colours soon will drain
Showering on the heads of ambition
Ill-gotten gains.
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.