Poetry in eMotion

Poetic society for all active poetry lovers

Category: Free poems (page 1 of 6)

Poetic Ghost

Poetic ghost

The lady from within the walls,
Has no need of wooden doors.
Freely roams from room to room,
Poised in silence ready to loom,
With dark intentions to consume,
No other reason I must assume.

Her incessant taping upon the wall,
Terrified, unable to cry out or call,
Was she invited? No! Not at all.
Silence ensures but wait there’s more,
As she appears from within the wall,
Dark as ebony, slender and so tall!

As she glides towards my bed,
Straining to hear what’s being said,
Persistent whispering in my head.
Paralysed, unable to move a leg,
Fear ensued, filled with dread,
Confronted by a living dead.

Breda Ware

Bronwyn’s Tale

Bronwyn’s Tale

Mist swirling in across the moor,
Shrouds the walls of the Great Hall.
A silhouette; childlike at the door,
Stands trembling unable to take anymore.
Swiftly running across cobbled ground,
With Stealth; mindful to make no sound.

Her plight would seem a torrid tale,
Placed in service put up for sale.
Condemned if found to a living hell,
To spend her life in a prison cell.
Escape she must; she cannot fail
Whom to run to whom to tell?

Fleeting feet cross frozen ground,
In the distance baying hounds.
The forest briefly mutes the sounds,
On she runs; fearful of being found.
In the distance, a tavern outside of town,
With a stable to rest in; to lie down.

Almost at once the warmth of dry straw,
Allowing a brief moment to withdraw,
To relive events that took place before.
That fateful night; a hand on her door.
Bleary eyed ignorant of what was in store.
Her weeping mother she’d see no more.

Rancid sack placed upon her head,
Dragged screaming from a comfy bed.
No words are spoken, nothing said,
Why hands are bound and being lead!
Bungled into a beer soaked dray,
Clatter of hooves, she was sped away.

A hand gently placed upon her head,
Eyes open slowly, ‘there’s old Ed’,
Sleeping contently on her bed.
Blissfully, aware to what’s being said,
‘Nay, lass tis now ten years or more,
They’ll be no knocking on our door’.

Breda Ware

Tilia

Tilia

Lime trees line the ancient streets,
Busy folk bustling beneath their feet.
Stature, serene full of grace.
Proudly standing whence placed
Flowers akin to bobbin lace.

Majestic trees bloom by far the best,
Supremely dwarfing all the rest.
Cascading on boughs,
As if heavenly sent.
With heady, sweet erotic scent.

Breda Ware

The Mill Tail

Etched memories; thoughts of many moons ago,
That time I desperately held on, wouldn’t let you go.
While; ‘messing about on the river’, how apt!
A favourite haunt of ours, that’s a fact!
At the time, maybe aged eight or nine,
Ignoring the prominent, ‘Danger’, sign.
Repeatedly told, ‘that it was unsafe to do so’,
Did we heed the advice? Unfortunately, No!

Losing balance, overboard you toppled and fell,
Immediately began the experience of a living hell.
Into the rivers grotesque murky depths,
Panic ensued, followed by a ‘sixth sense’.
I plucked you safely from her grasp,
Not a second thought, no need to ask.
Wet, bedraggled, in a state of shock,
Relief at what could have been: grateful for our lot.

Breda Ware

The Message

A friendly Robin stopped by yesterday,
Chirping merrily in his own quaint way.
With a charming message to convey,
Like he does almost every day.
‘Alas no longer with you, unable to stay,
Cruelly, abruptly whisked away.
‘Know I’m with you come what may,
Each and every new born day’.

Breda Ware

The Painter

You love to show
Don’t you?
To only him
Who
Can use the brush
To paint
You
So that everyone
Can see
You
Like only I
Used to
I can see
Right through
You
What you say
Is not
True
You make
Me feel
Blue
If only
I knew
You were
Like that
Too
But I had
No clue
When I fell
For you

I Had A Dream

I had a dream like no other,
In which you were a friend,
Not my brother.
I had a dream like no other,
In which we didn’t share the love,
Of our Sister, Father or Mother.
I had a nightmare like no other,
In which you were a friend,
Not my Brother.

Breda Ware

First Light

 

First Light

The dawn stretches and yawns,
With stealth like precision,
Eroding the ebony robes of the night,
Enticing the sun to once more rise,
With shafts of celestial light.

Nocturnal creatures burrow,
With haste into the ground.
Mindful not to make much sound.
For fear of their lair being found,
Despite existing deep underground.

The forest omits an eerie sound,
Of marauding deer all around.
A proud stag barking can be heard,
With vigilance he observes his herd.
Protection, being the optical word.

Breda Ware

Crossroads Of Life

Contagious now your smile it seems,
How often now your features beam.
A light has returned in your eyes,
With laughter banishing any demise.
You boldly commence to build anew,
A future mapped out primarily for you.
Frowned by others? possibly true!
Never by those, whom truly love you.

Breda Ware

“Invictus”

Independence, we possess with pride.
Never allowing disability to hold us back.
Victorious, with utmost effort to achieve,
Invictus, the equivalent aim of the games.
Courageously our comrades participate,
Together with soul and heart, take part.
Unconquered, alongside each we will achieve,
Steadfast in the knowledge of what it means.

Breda Ware

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