Category: Free poems (Page 3 of 6)

Bloodshot Eyes

See how she sits in the onion field and cries,
People pass by unconcerned as to why;
In an onion field she sits and cries.

Has she lost someone? Maybe they’ve died,
Is that the reason? Only we can surmise why;
In an onion field she sits and cries.

What torments has she endured?
Fear and loneliness prominent in her eyes, why;
In an onion field she sits and cries.

No one is interested nothing is said,
About the voices in her head, or why;
In an onion field she sits and cries.

Breda Ware

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

In mother’s eyes

The LOVE

Which never dies

Tied to platonic apron string

The LOVE

About which Plato did not write anything

Untamed time of hunt

The LOVE

One wants to stunt

Melody of marriage life

The LOVE

Sung by a silent fife

The one which is wanted

The LOVE

Romantic but always haunted

Hidden in poems, hidden in music

The LOVE

Never and always elusive

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

‘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