Category: Twitter Poems

The blackbird,
with its yellow beak,
chirps a cheerful tune
on Sunday morning;
with anticipation,
it cocks its head to one side
and eyes up the bread
in my hand.

The trees planted on the clay slope
will stop the bank from falling
and will, in time, give us shade
and under their branches
the outcast shall find shelter
and the child his home.

There were gaps in the years
between the two friends,
some regrets, some sadness
at the chances not taken
but warmth and laughter too
and enough tales to tell
about the faces and places
gathered from the road
passing through

The poor man is nailed to the door,
his heaving ribs make a mockery
of the charge laid upon is all;
the earth produces an abundance,
sufficient for the poor man and I.

Intruder stalks the shadows
of distraction and deception,
lays waste our humble lives
and buries us in the tomb
of one thousand lies;
my door was locked,
the intruder carries no blame,
they didn’t even knock.

His heart is a coloured light
The switch is always on
His song a rainbow
Hovering in dark skies
He writes in chalk
A prophet of the sidewalk
He is a friend of mine
His heart is a coloured light.

The wall, the wall,
that endless wall of stone,
it casts shadows on our hearts
but is broken by the spaces
that let our eyes glimpse
the promise
of the other side.

In the fading light
of evening
a small yacht bobs
on its mooring in the harbour;
the cabin light is yellow,
watching from the shore
we wonder at the dreams
that will be dreamed aboard tonight.

His footsteps echo
on the wooden floor
of the town hall;
the elder statesman poet
delivers the poem,
signed in his own hand,
to the young man
on his 21st birthday.

The old man.
my mother’s brother,
saw out 102 years;
tonight his chair sits vacant
in the corner,
a glass of kahlua and milk
untouched on the side table.