Poetic society for all active poetry lovers

Month: November 2014

Not Your Friend

Not Your Friend

I sit beside you on your bed,
My hands gently caressing your damp head.
Eyes glazed staring into space, trapped in some horrendous place.
Crying out in child like burst, at times screaming which is worst.
Calmly whispering, I am here, your eyes open full of fear.
What’s the point, you sadly say, I can’t face another day.

Wide awake now body shaking, frail limbs and muscles aching,
Dark circled, sunken, lifeless eyes, evidence of your demise.
What will it take to make you see, how this is affecting me.
Look how much my heart is breaking,
Because of what you are taking.
All this sadly is of your own making.

Heroin is not your friend,
It’s not a means to an end;  rather a means to the end.
It’s got you firmly in it’s grip,
Seducing you with thoughts of another trip,
Like some temptress, filthy bitch.

By not listening to what’s been said, you allow it to enter your head.
Foolishly going along , playing it’s game,
It has only one aim,
Which is always the same,
To render it’s victim: totally insane.


A flying seagull, wild and free, unbound

Majestic in a way, circling Arthur’s Seat

Watching Edinburgh from the above

Omnipresent cry so easy to distinguish

Can’t resist the alluring sea constantly

A bountiful feast overflowing with fish

So wild and free, so wild and free

Soaring and vanishing in the distance

And you can see the photo here.

Zero to Hero

Starting as a trickle high in the hills,
Formed by rain drops falling on fields.
Some are clear others bracken brown,
Caused by the minerals deep beneath the ground.

Gently gathering speed an audible sound,
Omits as a babble,  tumbling down.
Dislodging mud, clearing its way,
I’m in a hurry, it appears to say.

Muddy now as it slows down,
Into a cauldron spinning around and around.
Song birds dipping their beaks and wings,
Carefully, so as not to fall in.

A branch from a tree snaps and breaks free,
Disturbingly: causing all on the bank to flee.
A weir ahead,  cascading water flowing  pure white,
Plunging down head long with all its might.

Now a stream no longer still,  in its pathway a Paper Mill.
Thundering under the old stone bridge,
Passing pretty cottages, and folk in the street.
With a burst:  into Bow Creek.

Tides high other times low:  still a lot further to go.
Following your voluptuous bends, now approaching the end.
Entering a river flowing fast like a dart,
It’s destination the majestic River Dart.

Tweaks and facebook page

Dear poets,

We would like to announce a couple tweaks and pieces of news:

  • you can now share the poems on the webpage via email, facebook, twitter and google+
  • you can also print the poems
  • moreover, there is the possibility to subscribe to our webpage to receive emails about what is going on
  • we have just launched our facebook page – check it out here – feel free to check it and share it with your friends

Enjoy our new website and more is on the way!

Adam, Marie and Jarek

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