Untitled poem by Denise Liverton.

In the dark, I rest

Unready for the light which dawns

Day after day

Eager to be shared.

Black silk, shelter me.

I need

More of the night before I open

Eyes and heart

To illumination, I must still

Grow in the dark like a root

Not ready, not ready at all.

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Alternative Summer by mauveone.

For our few days in Southport, 

We braved the wind and rain

to travel the M62,  (the most

beautiful Motorway in England.)

Joining the wind and rain,

All enveloping fog came down too.

Windscreen wipers were flip-flopping.

Lorries throwing up spray.

making visibility impossible.

We passed the boundary stones,

Exchanging our White Rose,

for their Red Rose County.

Now into Lancashire, we go

downhill, to our journey’s end.

And our holiday destination!

NOTE: This poem was written some

years ago when we had a wet

summer – unlike 2018’s heatwave.

 

               

 

I got Flowers Today by Chris Perry.

Chris Perry

22 June at 02:53

I got flowers today. It wasn’t my birthday or any other special day. We had our first argument last night. He said a lot of cruel things that really hurt me. I know he was sorry and didn’t mean the things he said. Because I got flowers today.

I got flowers today. It wasn’t our anniversary or any other special day. Last night, he threw me into a wall and started to choke me. It seemed like a nightmare. I couldn’t believe it was real. I woke up this morning sore and bruised all over. I know he must be sorry Because he sent me flowers today.

I got flowers today. It wasn’t Mother’s Day or any other special day. Last night, he beat me up again. And it was much worse than all other times. If I leave him, what will I do? How will I take care of my kids? What about money? I’ m afraid of him and scared to leave. But I know he must be sorry Because he sent me flowers today.

I got flowers today. Today was a very special day. It was the day of my funeral. Last night he finally killed me. He beat me to death.

If only I had gathered enough courage and strength to leave him, I would not have gotten flowers today.

This poem is dedicated to all the victims and survivors of Domestic Violence.

Add my instagram for more @chrisgqperry

#share for awareness

 

Green Bowl by Amy Lowell.

This little bowl is like a mossy pool

In a Spring wood, where dogtooth violets grow

Nodding in chequered sunshine of the trees;

A quiet place, still, with the sound of birds,

Where, though unseen, is heard the endless song

And murmur of the never resting sea.

‘T was winter, Roger, when you made this cup,

But coming Spring guided your eager hand

And round the edge, you fashioned young green leaves,

A proper chalice made to hold the shy

And little flowers of the woods. And here

They will forget their sad uprooting, lost

In pleasure that this circle of bright leaves

Should be their setting; once more they will dream

They hear winds wandering through lofty trees

And see the sun smiling between the leaves

 

Note: I have recently discovered Amy Lowell,

I think her poems are so good, I had to share them.

 

What my Lips have kissed…..

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII)

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 – 1950

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

Under my head till morning; but the rain

Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listen for reply,

And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.[1]

Garden at Evening-time 8.45 – 8.55 p.m.

I have Hay Fever,

Once the garden has been watered.

I sit, my breathing becoming

easier in the damp air. I feel the l

light breeze on my arms

I look around.

 

I see that in the still blue sky,

there are feathery clouds,

a shadowy almost full moon

waiting, waiting to come out.

Now that the sun is lowering,

the summer flowers in their tubs

are closing their petals, happy

the heat of the day is passed.

 

What do I hear? The Leeds to

London Train has just rattled

and banged its way passed the

back of our house, I can

I hear the traffic rumbling

passed on the nearby

By-Pass Road.

 

A more pleasing sound is

the baby Sparrow on the

roof calling for his mother

To come and feed him.

 

Bees living in a corner of

the Garage, from early light

they are busy going back

and forwards. I like the

sound of the

Busy, Buzzing, Bees.

My Garden. Flowers by mauveone.

My Garden. FLOWERS.

Weeks ago, my garden was filled

with the vibrant colour of flowers.

Reds, blues, white and yellows,

Poppies, Cornflowers, Daisies.

A riot of wildflowers

in a suburban garden.

 

Our house is on a windy corner.

The long-stemmed flowers buffeted

this way and that, they couldn’t take

it and laid their pretty heads down.

The following heat wave finishing

them off.

 

Now all I can do is to cut them

down and dig the roots out.

The garden looks so sad as I go

about, clearing bed after bed.

I take seed heads off to save –

My hope of next years splendour.

NOTE: This is one in a series of poems about my garden.