Less a poem more an outpouring...

The Guardian poem section this week is about "walking". I've had a lot to do this week and I've not been able to take time to really think about imagery and the right words to use, so instead I went for an outpouring into a tight structure. I'm going to add it anyway. Nothing ventured and all that!

I felt I'd represented the emotion anyway.

SHE AND I:

We walked here, She and I, when we knew no worry or worldly care,
Except where we would end up when we reached the place we knew not where.

We walked here, She and I, when we would share our childhood day by day
And in shadow of growling hills and besides glistening brook would play.

We walked here, She and I, when we confided each our teenage fears,
Voicing secret thoughts and dreams, interweaving our lives through the years.

We walked here, She and I, when we cleansed ourselves in timeless beauty,
Unaltered over the years whilst we'd assumed each adult duty.

We walked here, She and I, when we no longer found ourselves alone,
Chiling shadows falling on her, threat'ning to numb her into stone.

We walked here, She and I, when we knew that we would walk no longer,
Hearts breaking beyond all measure as death's claim on her grew stronger.

We walked here, She and I, when we sought solace in her final hour,
Bittersweet memories of beauty lived which we would share no more.

We walked here, She and I, when she lived again in colourful dreams,
Sadness soothed by embrace of green hills and sweet song of whispering streams.

...

GUARDIAN POSTER POEM - Me breaking the ice...

I wrote this really quickly because I wanted to post a poem to get started before they changed the subject again, but I know I could have done it a lot more justice if I'd had some time... I just wanted to break the ice and do this for the first time...

Growing old for her:

I watched her pass, she died so young
And I promised her I'd carry on
I'd live my life for both our sakes
So she would never truly be gone.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm growing old
In the mostpart just for her not me
It's getting harder day by day
To fight the grasp of frailty.

Behind closed eyes I see her still
In vivid colour and awkward peace
Forever framed in time and place
But tranquil in her sweet release.

Her serenity engulfs me too
And I find the strength to pursue my task
Of growing old as I think she'd want
But "How am I doing?" I long to ask.

**

First attempt...

PROPHET:

Glint in his eye
Burning red
Sharp spears
Aiming deep
Into the conscience
Of the people passing by.

Accusation in his finger
Gnarled and pale
Kept rigid
By hope and fear
Pointing like an arrow
At the world.

Conviction in his voice
Telling the ignorant
To guard the future
Well-worn words
Startling, yet
Bland through use.

Indifference in their faces
Meagre audience
No tolerance
Listening, but
Not hearing
Just killing time.

He has a vision and a mission
A message of reformation and redemption.

Desperation in his bones
Sitting hunched
On the pavement
Feet in the gutter
The lights of the cars
Glinting red in his eye.

*

Just starting out...

Welcome to my blog. A little bit of poetry from one a bit green behind the ears.

Hopefully you'll see some progression on here if you come back from time to time.

ALL comments welcome...

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