Rebus
Gnarled, contorted, knotted weathered am I,
Stupendous stature ascended have I.
Severed, mutilated, dismantled I lie,
Noble comrades razed either side.
Sapped of life left to die.
Know me ; Who am I?
Breda Ware
Author: breda ware (Page 4 of 8)
Fields Of Gold
Walking through fields of barley,
Heads bowing as we part the way.
Lightly brushing tender delicate stems,
With whiskers like that of cats.
See how the poppies stand,
Green jackets, pillar box red.
Black eyed sentries,
On duty it might be said.
Phesants startled by our presence,
Squawk wildly, take flight.
Underfoot mice aimlessly,
Scurry and dart about.
The ground now hardened,
Scorched by the relentless sun.
Deep cleaths formed from earlier rains,
Still remain, like cruel scars.
A farmer stands, scythe in hand,
With a shotgun loaded by his side.
Hares bolt with fear in their eyes,
Alongside rabbits; run for your lives.
As fields of gold call out to be cut.
Breda Ware
While out for a walk, what a sight to be seen
As Ole McFly’s cousin, came hurtling towards me
Ole McMoucha, was his name
Who was thought to be, slightly insane
Driving a forklift at a frightening speed
Swerving very recklessly; indeed
Fearing for my life, McMoucha made it clear
He really hadn’t a notion, how to steer
McMoucha had that same, manic look
That Ole Macfly, his cousin took
With a glint in his eye he zoomed on by
That crazy McMoucha, cousin to McFly
Breda Ware
Love is like chameleon in that it takes many forms,
Given freely and received in different ways.
Once there it has a habit of spinning you around,
Rendering your senses numb, turning your life upside down.
Love in a marriage tender, passionate and real,
Each other’s bodies excitedly explored and revealed.
The smallest kiss renders feelings unexplained,
A pain, an urgency for it to linger longer or remain.
Lips which moisten with the briefest of touch,
Hearts pounding on each and every clutch.
Love of a brothers is powerful and strong,
Forever in your heart where it belonged.
Happy in the knowledge he knows you well,
A relationship that should be safe and sound.
Someone you take immense pride in having around.
Love of a sister a comfort ideally it should be,
Given warmly, a reassurance in that you know she will care.
Quietly without reservations to listen, guide and share,
Installed a belief in that she’ll always be there.
When life’s bumpy and your facing a tricky bend,
As a sister, you trust her, she’ll guide you through it to the end.
Love of a child is a miracle, a wonderful thing,
With laughter and happiness, warm feelings it brings.
Perilous uncharted waters lie ahead,
Unconditional love raging forever in your head.
Be it a delight in a daughter or that of a son,
A lifetime journey has now begun.
Breda Ware
Mr C
What right have you to invade my body?
You who was not invited but take up residence,
Like that of a parasitical worm, feeding off my flesh.
Travelling through my veins like a passenger on a train,
Alight in deep crevices to be nurtured,
By the very pulsating blood that keeps me alive.
Such is the dissimulation of your existence.
Permission of which was not granted in any shape or form.
Silently with stealth you creep depriving me of precious sleep,
Sapping the vital energy I desperately need.
My thoughts; gluttony comes to mind as you feed
I despair what form next your presence will take?
Enduring the hours and days of endless pain.
Is it your intention, perhaps, to render me insane?
A gauntlet laid down, challenging; you dare to make!
Well I’m here now, and that’s what truly counts
With no intentions, to be messed about.
Breda Ware
Spring is here, kick start to the year.
Snowdrops sadly gone to ground
Daffodils perform their final showdown.
Bluebells next take to the stage
Amongst trees waking from winters sleep
Blossom bursting forth everywhere
See it billowing gently in the air,
Cattle munch on jewelled dew laden grass,
Farmers early risers, performing their tasks.
Ewes roam on hillside,their bellies rounded and fat,
Lambs leap and bounce like scalded cats.
Mornings sharp, senses are roused,
Birds singing, make delightful sounds.
Breath of freshness evident all around,
Suns entrance dramatic from the ground.
Majestic, silent omits no sound,
Gently wakes up villages, cities and towns.
Grey blue tones followed by a blinding light,
Celestial display of her awesome might.
Gentle folk begin to rise,
Rubbing sleep gently from their eyes.
Ready to face another day,
While the suns up to ‘make hay’.
Tomorrow will bring another Spring day,
It’s brilliance and beauty as yesterday.
Breda Ware
‘Just Be’
Just be happy with what you’ve got,
Just be free and laugh a lot.
Just enjoy life passionately,
Just devour it just like me.
Just be there as a friend,
Just don’t judge, read to the end.
Just be there with tender care,
Just make sure your always there.
Just be what ever you want to be.
Just be a little crazy, like me……..
Breda Ware
Forget me not!
Thank you for my flowers,
The chocolates were pleasant too.
Thank you for the lovely cards,
With tender words, from you.
Thank you for that special lunch,
Such a loving, thoughtful touch.
Thank’s for not remembering me,
Thank you very much.
Breda Ware
Ole McFly’s Gipsy
Ole McFly that funny old guy,
What a funny old guy is Ole McFly.
Met up one day with him on his way,
With a gipsy by the name of Rose McFlay.
Bedraggled and unkempt she did appear,
Huge hooped earrings were in each ear.
With a mane of long grey mattered hair,
And eyes of coal which constantly stared.
The gown she wore was old and torn,
Her shoes holed; were old and well worn.
Quickly we bade each other, ‘good day’.
Eager they were to be on their way.
Off to the local Apple Fayre,
Two strange, peculiar happy pair.
Breda Ware
Ole McFly that funny old guy,
What a funny old guy is Ole McFly.
Rode by me on a rickety bike,
Frantically peddling with all his might.
Weaving and wobbling, my what a sight!
Cats scampering backs arched with fright.
Dogs barking, excitedly with delight,
At Ole McFly with eyes closed tight!
Not having brakes on his rickety bike,
Rounding the corner, such was his plight.
Landing headfirst into the dyke,
In full view of the Vicar, flying his kite.
Breda Ware