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The Poetry Thread

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Can I go fiirst? Can I?

A wish for the coming spring


The ground is hard, still full of frost,

The woodland glade is thin and lost,

No grass or fern will raise its head,

To look up from their chilly bed.

The naked trees, their arms outstretched,

Strive to coax life from its rest,

But all is still, no flora stirs,

No shoots between the roots of firs.

Its cold, and hope is hard to find,

In hoary, ice bound frozen times,

But hope is here, and can be found,

In this barren, weary, worn out ground.

For hiding, in the shade of oak,

Is springtime’s first beloved cloak,

A snowdrop breaks the winter’s skin,

And so the cycle can begin.

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A sonnet in iambic tetrameter

Wishing on stars

For half the world’s too far away,

I watch a stray stars heart burn out,

The lights of towns in distant lines,

Are such that bind this man to you.

And so I think that these faint sparks

Could lead by marks straight over seas,

And joining, town by tiny town,

Two souls brought down, my loves and mine.

So could these stars of this good earth

End our long search, dare we to dream?

Care they for us? Care they at all?

Or will they fall, clay dead and gone?

I wish that they would show the way,

And with my love my heart might stay.

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I don't know why

by -HH- from rawk

I don't know why an old lady swallowed a fly,

I could hazard a guess, at least I could try.

But one explanation I can't comprehend,

Is why 96 lives had to come to an end.

I don't know why the chicken crossed the road,

Though I do know a punchline that might crack the code.

But an answer that I can't find, for so many a nemesis,

Is why 96 fans died on Hillsborough's terraces.

I don't know why The S*n thought we'd lie down for their 'capers',

But I do know they thought that their lies would sell papers.

Though there's an answer that's missing without even a trace,

Why did it have to happen in the first place?

There are questions in life that don't even matter,

Stories and jokes that are just idle chatter.

But questions in death with authorities just passing the blame,

They matter because those who died had a name.

They were someone's daughter, someone's son, someone's wife,

And their families want to know why they lost their life.

They don't want a cover up, they don't want a fight,

They just want the justice that's the least of their right.

I don't know why it's so hard for some to stand up and be counted,

So they put obstacles up that just can't be surmounted,

Like the 3:15 cut off hiding an answer we've craved,

That of those 96 some could have been saved.

I don't know why it took a disaster so weighty,

For authorities to think about a football fan's safety.

Why people had to lose their sons and daughters,

To stop football's 'cattle' being put to the slaughter.

Did they not realise football fans; children, women and men,

Have the same right to safety as any of them?

Would they feel different if their child faced diasaster?

I think that's one where we all know the answer.

We know the mistakes that were made that day,

But if those questions have answers then someone must pay.

Surely there's enough that we don't know entirely,

For someone to open up a brand new inquiry.

An inquiry that involves events after 3:15,

Events that a courtroom will never have seen.

Then maybe the authorities can be said to have tried,

To have understood why those 96 died.

Because we still don't know why.


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Void, empty, hollow inside

My dreams have fled, my hopes have died

Existence has no reason

Life's just passing with each season

She was my life, my hope, my love

All is gone, passed by thereof

The hurt is such no one should bear

What's to life, why should I care?

I weep all night for my love gone

My heart is sick, for death I long

Mine eyes well tears for love that's lost

I'll mourn always for the great cost

But in each day Lord give me hope

Strengthen me so I may cope

Grant me wisdom to help me see

Thy great way and not just me.

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This is a sonnet I wrote for a poetry seminar I took my senior year in college:


Fierce beast awakens, rears high grisly head;

Pause… pounce, capture, torment, painful surprise.

Hooked arms clutch tight, weak shoulders quake, sick dread;

Vast awesome power: squeeze, freeze, paralyze;

No full departure, smug to lie in wait;

Sick tattered world under wicked control;

Insidious demon commands ill fate --

Swine dances elated, owns shaken soul!

Not solely satisfied to tickle, tease --

Deep burble from within, cast frigid chill;

Dig, gouge, chisel claws deep, grab, twist, tight squeeze;

Steal shallow breath, bask, revel in raw thrill!

Galled fury cease, breathe deeply, count to ten;

Foul brute may sleep but will return again…

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Here is my favorite poem from one of my favorite writers.

All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

- JRR Tolkien

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Mortal Temptations are the Roots of Sin

Walking along the cracked pavement of ever winding road

Darkness fills ones vision and thoughts

The smell of smoke and sundered Earth roll among his senses

Surrounded by darkened forests and tattered shrubbery

The road continues on, on as far as one can see

A bend in the road of time and space

Looking for a line to trace

The man looks for darkness’s cold embrace

Looking ever so for a way out

A gap in one’s tortured thoughts is not always of ease to see

Screaming in all directions

Reverberations throughout every location

The man stumbles on, fueled only by his animal instinct of survival

Something looms ahead, a change in the roads forward direction

He quickens his pace for fear of losing haste

Images blur before his face

Cold wind causes abrasions in his mind

Songs of sorrow fill the air

The air is charged with emotion

The faster he runs the closer his inner suffering comes out of the night

Demons of places untold scream his name

Beckoning for him to stop

But faster he runs on

The road breaks into two

He skids to a halt

“Mother, Father…God help me for I know not which way to go”

Crumbling down to his knees

The man weeps and pleads

Above a new light shines

Away from his hands come his eyes

From his mind come the lies

Upward further his gaze turns

To the sense of direction once yearned

Not as dark nor as stark

The outcome not as once feared

The man with tears in his eyes

Signals a thank you into the night

To the right he now veers

Sure this the direction he now deserves

Skies of stars and crepuscular glow

Down the road of self repair

He now ventures upon his newly awakened view

Into the distance he disappears

A new ambition within his heart

To not fall apart and not to give in

For mortal temptations are the roots of sin

Unknown author

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I will be waiting

our pot of love clenched on my hands,

at the gate of our homestead waiting

praying by the time you are on my chest again,

the curse will be like the wind past

your actions confessing atonement,

the flower of my heart,

the sweetness of my life.

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No Regrets

I’ve loved and lost and loved again,

Touched people with my pen,

Taught kung fu to hungry students,

Managed to mainly pay my rent,

Felt Mozart in my heart.

Drank Merlot in San Moritz,

Played football with my mates,

Witnessed a Jihad,

Caught codling with my dad,

Smashed windows with stones,

Broken bones,

Been alone,

Been joined at the hip,

Burst someone’s lip,

Destroyed a young girls heart,

And hated myself for it.

Walked on many beaches,

Heard the sea,

Scratched itches,

Made the perfect cup of tea,

Lit a fire without matches,

Cast a line into hopeful waters,

Watched time make a mother of my daughter,

Drank myself sober.

Read Tolkien, Orwell and Bill Burroughs,

Learned to plow a furrow,

Tried my hand at roulette,

Lost and won many a bet,


Cried when my cat died,

Felt shame,

Took the blame.

Denied god,

Driven blindly through fog,

Tripped out on acid in the Lakes,

Traveled one hundred miles without brakes,

Took a dive,

Took a fall,

And through it all,

No regrets.

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A trip to Hebburn Marina

The cod were running high up the river

So we rifled my dads rods and reels,

Bought some ragworm

And some frozen mussel

From the guy in the backwards baseball cap

Who was too old for that

And who promised that they would deliver.

We drove to the barrier, and parked

My mate set up the rigs whilst I

Sparked up a spliff

And got called, through the wind, a

Lazy git.

I laughed, and continued, knowing

That he would be grateful, later

We walked about five hundred yards,

Past a condemned jetty

A place we used to fish…

Back in the days…

So we set our lines

Deep in the Tyne

Then built a fire

To warm our wind scoured fingers

And caught some codling

And laughed at the size of them.

And didn’t mind

That we didn’t drag a nine pounder

Or even a one-pound flounder

Up to the sodden wooden deck

I was just happy to spend

A day in the elements

With my best friend.

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I enjoyed reading your poem. You are a talented poet, you should try and get this published :D

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Thanks Shaun, but its pointless, people don't like poetry any more, I have written enough to fill 3 books...its just not worth the bother.

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The bombs, those dreaded bombs!

They hammer our heartland night upon night,

An unwelcome rainfall

Pestilent pre-dawn


This is why I stand here, a mother,

At my door with my son,

My five-year-old son!

This is why I kneel to look into

Those eyes which trust me beyond reason.

You will be looked after well,

I say

And lie, maybe.

And hope you will find a good family,

A farmer, and a fat farmers wife,

My poor son your whole life

Is going to change on this day.

I hope that the school which is nearest your village

Has resisted the scourge.

I hope the schoolmaster is kind,

And he teaches you the three r’s

And a love of life.

I pray you will find friends,

Or at least one good one,

Who will show you where the ponds are

And how to skin your knees on the bark of trees.

So I kiss you gently,

On your soft milk cheek.

Try not to fuss,

And pray that this isn’t the bus

Which comes to take you away.

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Today I decided to write a poem due to this stormy weather.


Put together love and fear

and you'll feel something not quite clear

Often mistaken as selfishness

as your mind falls to restlessness.

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Getting on

Feeling old,
Think I’ve caught the common cold.
Got loss in my soul.
Need a remedy…maybe
A melody.
I have bruises without causes.

Got no goals,
None left, anyway,
Scored when I did,
Missed when I didn’t.
It isn’t the end of the world.
It never was.

Feeling old.
Wondering if that’s why I keep feeling
That God’s interfering.
I keep thinking that I should be believing.

Feeling old,
Trying to hold on to
Something which belongs to

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My goodness, thehipsta, there's so much in your little poem. It is a mixture of despair and hope. The mixture we all have in anxiety.

Poetry and good prose can reflect how we feel sometimes more than just ordinary words.   Regards.   J.

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I’m Jeremy Kyle

I’m Jeremy Kyle, I’ll
Take your terrible situation and
Turn it into a televisual sensation,
Got a kid who’s fatherless?

Get the lie detectors out.

The audience shout,
“He should have kept it in his pants!”
But we all know
It goes deeper than that.

And I will look for closure,
But mainly exposure.

So if you’ve had a really bad time,
Just drop ITV a line,
And cry baby cry, it’ll 
Very soon be fine.

Put your heart on my sleeve,
Grieve with you
And shout at the one who disagrees
With me, cos I’m
Jeremy Kyle
Open your soul on
National TV
But don’t expect me
To agree.

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Whatever we may think of this man I wonder why we feel the need to air all our problems in front of millions of people? Sensationalism? Maybe. Curiosity and pleasure in delving into other peoples problems? Or is it that we are so devoid of anything meaningful in our lives that we have to live it through other people. Soaps are a good example. We could be called secondhand people. Living our emotions through others. Distraction is useful in anxiety but, like all things, should be used carefully and not taken to the point where it takes over and the more serious issues are neglected. But people allow their personal lives to be aired in public so why do they do it? Not for money that's certain, but I feel it stems from a feeling of utter loneliness that is so prevalent in today's society. Nobody listens. Nobody cares. If we feel this way then exhibitionism is a good way to be heard and it takes the strain out of living. Keeping troubles to yourself is not good but your problems should only be confided to those who understand as on this site and others, or with a good therapist. These so called 'presenters' are in it for the money which can run in to hundreds of thousands in fees. They use peoples problems  to attain this wealth and are not concerned about who they hurt in the process. We encourage them by watching their programmes. Their audience ratings are important and we give them that satisfaction. But it still comes down to why we need these people to come into our homes via TV? What is there in us that craves this kind of entertainment? Perhaps it is, as has been said in recent posts, to distract ourselves from ourselves.  There is a lot more to the above poem than is at first evident. It says a lot about our society.   J.

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Folding clothes

My mind only allows me to
Do the thing it desires at
Any one given moment,
I stare blankly at screens,
And stare blankly through dreams.

And multitasking’s not for me
And choosing aint an option
And free will isn’t ever free, its
Sold at an empty auction.

Someone close to me said
We must look ahead, and
Not give up the ghost, but
Lack of concentration is a curse
I just read and re-read the first verse…

So I fold clothes ‘cos its easy
And there’s no forms to fill in
It’s just all
Neat and even.

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Hi. thehipsta. Once again thank you for a poem with so much meaning. We don't have to go in for elaborate verse to put a point over. It's about simplicity, isn't it? Just folding clothes is so simple.When our minds get overloaded we can't mentally relax. 'Multitasking' means, again, taking on too much. Overloading the mental system and wondering why we get anxious. We are distracted by our thoughts. In anxiety they are anxious thoughts. They stop us behaving  logically. "And free will will isn't ever free". So right.  We think we have free will but we are driven by our thoughts, our conditioning, our past. We are far from 'free'. To have a' simple' mind is almost inconceivable but, like Mindfulness, it allows us to go about our daily tasks free from extraneous disturbing thoughts. Staring 'blankly' is not about doing nothing. It is about the ability to see what is there and only that. To do what is necessary at the time and nothing else. To 'just fold clothes' is a meditation in itself. No distraction.  Thanks again.    J.  

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