Poetic society for all active poetry lovers

Month: November 2015


Ithat your ideology to kill and maim?
Shooting indiscriminately, to what aim?
Loved ones mowed down, your own slain.
All done, you declare, in his name!
Murdering innocents, your right, you claim.

Atonement for whom and what?
Listen well, you marauding, bigoted lot.
Languish in hell is where you will rot.
Aggrieved Angels will forget; not
Heed these words. IT MUST STOP.

Breda Ware

An English Forest In Fall


Went down to the forest one Autumn day,
Hours spent, watching squirrels at play.
Others seen scurrying around,
Such haste, gathering nuts from the ground.
Beady eyes urgently scan for more,
To take back to their precious store.

See how the forest proceeds to wind down,
Trees release their leaves, all around.
Floating quietly to the ground,
Bold colours of yellow, red and brown.
There to remain, no further sound.
At length, devoured, by the ground.

Silver Birch, its trunk peeling away,
Stands dormant awaiting warmer days.
Sturdy Pines, towering tall and lean,
With needles still predominantly green.
Rowan, with its berries full and red,
Ensuring birds are kept well fed.

Copper Beech, suductive you are.
Leaves of bronze on branches,
Spreading wildly out afar.
Unlike the other just as keen,
A rich complimentary green.
Mighty Oak, you stand supreme,
Lord of the forest, noble, serene.

Breda Ware

What a sight to behold


Looked out of my window and what did I see!
A bloke dangling but not from a tree.
Perched precariously was he,
High upon a steeple,
Quite a sight to be seen.
Such a brave soul he must be.

Hard hat upon his head had he,
Ropes holding him fast I could see.
Certainly not a safe place to play,
The wind blowing made him sway.
What was he doing on this dank day?
Quite frankly, I really couldn’t say!

Could he be fixing the roof for leaks?
Or testing the timbers that often squeak?
But could it be a birthday greeting?
That’s often left to just a tweeting.
Maybe just lights that shine so bright,
To shroud our village with extra light.

Breda Ware



Leila-mai Pinnock such a joy is she,
In her there lies a part of me.
Bubbly, happy, feisty and free,
The way I’d want her always to be.

Leila-mai Pinnock at times can be bad,
Grumpy, sullen, moody, gets mad!
Making Mummy oh! So sad,
While Nanna tells her, it’s a passing fad.

Leila-mai Pinnock likes riding her bike,
Peddles like crazy with all her might.
Left trailing, poor Nanna,
Way out of sight.

Leila-mai Pinnock has long black hair,
Unlike her cousin both whom are fair.
She plaits it, she ties it, also in a bun,
Leila-mai Pinnock can be jolly good fun.

Breda Ware

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