Poem 8: Coffee, please!

Open my eyes, first thought
smooth, dark bitterness tempered
by a dash of milk

A hit of caffeine
is what I crave, awoken
by my own dark dreams

The heat on my lips
is reassurance enough
to chase dread away

Poem 7: Father and Son

A man gazes at his son
Remembering
The words his father said to him:
‘You’re a chip off the old block.’

His son looks up, sensing him there
‘Pa?’
Oh, it’s nothing, I was just thinking,
I used to sit like that too.

Thoughts turn to his father, again,
Bloodied
He limped up the porch stairs to hear –
‘You’re a fighter, just like me.’

Everybody tells him, that boy is your twin
Yes,
He is my golden boy, of course I’m proud
The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

My father said much the same thing,
But
Then I grew, and changed, and left
And my father’s pride left too.

And so, I wonder, as I look at you
Will
I love you, when you are grown,
And no longer the image of me?

Poem 6: Do I remember you?

I might remember you
Though it is hard to tell
I think you were quiet
But you wrote rather well.

Ah yes, the redhead
There weren’t many of you at school
Were you caught smoking?
No, you wouldn’t break a rule.

Year after year,
So many come and go,
I’m sure you’ll forgive me,
When I forget to say hello.

Well, good luck then,
I really wish you all the best.
You seem very special,
Just the same as all the rest.

 

Poem 5: The Growing Vine

Observe the growth of the vine,
To understand what little time
We have, under this burning sun,
For soon you shall see none.

The years shall steal your health and vigour,
Weaken bones and diminish your figure.
But before you succumb to your earthly grave,
Remember – hope is not Time’s to enslave.

Fast grows the vine, without consideration
Of the dull, poisonous, creeping trepidation,
All creatures of a certain age begin to feel,
When the shadows of death become too real.

So live as you will, not as you must,
Do all that you can before you turn to dust.
And give no mind to the inching of time,
But seek the wisdom of the growing vine.

 

Prompt 5: Image prompt

Poem 4: Nineteen Twenty-two

It was the year nineteen twenty-two
And Ireland was free, after much ado
The English got the boot,
Long they may mourn their loot,
While the Emerald Isle reigns true.

 

Prompt 4 – Write a poem set a hundred years ago, or a hundred years from now.

Poem 3: Under that pink tree..

Vibrant, oh vividly, startlingly pink!
Or perhaps purple, or fuchsia, or maroon, I think?

Whatever shade it may be, the girlish child in me,
Delights in this absurdly bright pinkish tree!

Such silly, frolicking, fabulous fun
Could take place here, shaded from the sun.

Under the scattered rays tinted a rosy hue,
We will sip ciders and praise this glorious view.

 

Prompt 3: Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Poem 2: The woods

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
Though not all who roam within them sleep.

In my dreams I am the pretty red fox,
I sniff the night air and lurk behind rocks.

These amber eyes seek any moving shadow,
Perhaps a sleek rabbit entering its burrow.

Tonight, it seems, there will be no luck,
Into their cosy lairs my prey have snuck.

Over roots and mossy stones, I leap again,
Hurrying towards the welcome warmth of my den.

Prompt 2: Poetry Marathon 2022. Sample by Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” from The Poetry of Robert Frost. 

Poem 1: The ways of water

Poem 1: The ways of water

I have seen the ways of water
giving life, then taking it away

the gentle stream that feeds a village
swells to consume it within a day

innocent frolics in the bright blue pool
may become tragedy all too soon

mighty is the ocean that coveys you to shore
and mighty still, it swallows you under the moon

without the ways of water, they say
we would undoubtably perish

beware the dangers, but the fresh
free, flowing waters we must cherish.

 

 


									

Poetry Novice

This is my first time participating in the Poetry Marathon. For the longest time, I thought that writing poetry was only for people far more talented, intelligent and sophisticated than myself. Luckily I no longer give a damn, so here we go. I want to challenge myself creatively. I want to be more fearless. So whether my poetry is funny, ridiculous, amazing, embarrassing or just bad, I will be putting it out there!