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2009 Poetry Theme Challenges#14 Leaving Home |
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I am a birdwatcher and I have spent the last few weeks of lunchtimes watching a family of kingfishers, last Wednesday
the chicks fledged the nest to start their own lives, without mum and dad. This is not the first time I have watched a nest
but it is the first time I have done so as a writer. It certainly has inspired me and I have a fair few notes to work from.
The challenge is to write a poem about leaving home whether as human stories or a tale of nature. Happy quilling Jem XXXX |
Leaving Home |
Maryse AchongBlack brothers as we celebrate today, I feel a sadness deep inside of me For those who waged a war so valiantly For rights you now abuse so casually; You dishonour them in the greatest way. back to list |
Divena Collins Grains of time, passing slowly through, Flowing through life, particles of sand, the sands, that flow from tidals anew, hour glass anewed, good fortune in hand, take this hand, lovers destiny, reviewed forever renewed, from the sea,to the land. Neptune rules the waves of the seas, the seas, whisper legends to be told, once told, sailors sung shanties with ease, easy to please, dark rum in the hold. oceans behold, in a briny sea breeze. natures breeze, where destiny unfolds. back to list |
Jem Farmer Childhood holidays, just me and my dog, wet smelly dog and muddy welly boots, a boot camp of life away from city fog, lost in the fog we were hunting for coots, little cootling ducks are dangerously wild, in the wild back garden of a town child. ----- Salute The final farewell hurts the most, but always should be said clearly, no room for close, even nearly does not suffice. I pay dearly for art, but words no longer cost. A picture forms a thousand words, but no image appears in letters, I'm tired of being in fetters restrained by form and post setters, in ink I fly free with the birds ----- Upon the Mat A gentle hum of rock -a -bye, the thoughts that flow inside my mind, relax they say, let go, unwind, the words are there for you to find, upon the mat, a silent sigh. Inhale the world, let it mingle, then breathing out, release the junk, with closing eyes the mind sunk to see another floating monk, as aged limbs start to tingle. And later thoughts shall jar to life, as stabbing pains begin to creep, between the smiling flowers, weep as eyes open from peaceful sleep, upon the mat, no words are rife. So swap the pen for coffee pot, rejuvenate an ancient heart, then sneak upstairs to study art, and leave the words where minds depart, and pictures fill my vacant spot. back to list |
Ryter RoethicalGone are the care-free days of our youth, Youthful days when all was so sublime Those primal days when word was proof Going along the paths you chose to climb With each climb, Time, and Fate was aloof Truth blown away like the sands of time. Some people are born with the silver spoon A wood spoon for others in life's pantomime A pantomime where you are a chosen goon But a goon that survives what ever the clime Sometimes others have perished before noon Their lives blown away like the sands of time. ----- Guestimation  All creatures leave the nest this is a fact of life, Well before maturity sets in, so they will learn. Why do some humans cling to their to their brood Treating them as if their whole life is of concern And keep them weak protecting them from strife. I hear you criticise me saying I am rude It is a fact, that tempering requires white heat And air conditioned protection provides naught Then leaves them wanting much and incomplete Leaving us wondering why the world is screwed. Without morals and values all can be bought Old fashioned ideas aren't politically correct But bad manners and rudeness is over rife I've been there, done that and now I can reflect The future, wondering, what has this brought? ----- Leaving the Toybox  The music being played is sad now, Swiftly Kanga wipes away a little tear, And even Wambi has a little sniffle. She has gone away and they miss her, Even toys have souls and feelings you know. It began that first day they saw her with me I knew they were also under her spell But I didn't mind they had fallen for her. Now this sad little band is just a shell Each one lost, and sharing the misery. The bright colours of the toybox Look drab, lifeless and insignificant. Eeore has found his tail in a corner And just cast it away as unimportant Owl is sad and speechless with shock. An hour is too long without her concern And days have far too many hours. They must wait until cloth hearts can heal But my heart does not have those powers Will it heal if she should ever return? ----- Loved for a while Even in the moonlight thy scent arouses me But I will not reach out and touch thee Lest thou scratch me and send me away Looking at thee I would much rather stay. With the morn I shall gaze on thee again And carefully cut thy barbed stem Wearing thee pinned closer to my breast For a while, til time and tide does the rest. ----- One Day a Week One day a week I saw you As you began sweeping The decrepit house That my heart had become With a tolerant smile You who spanned the universe. Now one day a week. Lulled into sleep By the whispers of morality My lust awakens for no one It has been swept from my dreams By apathy and a brush of your hand Far to often Now one day a week Once you held me in the palm of your hand I counted the hours until I saw you. Even the seconds Desperate Pathetic. Too many days a week Love is such a squirming, useless thing When it comes from the inside And meets no lips to catch it It dissipates into the atmosphere Like silent gas Hanging there like a dull cloud No longer one day a week. ----- Quest for Truth  Cover your eyes and really see things The wind blowing the rain across the window Sliding across the glass crashing on the frame Looking now with the eyes your ears endow Leave a feeling become aware what others bring. Cover your eyes and really touch things How empty a room is without love there, And the fullness and warmth of one that has. The feeling of touching someone who cares The difference in life twixt winter and spring. Cover your eyes and really hear things The silence of a warm summer night Mother Earth breathing, warm and content The dripping of rain after a short shower Creating puddles and all the rippling's. ----- Waiting for a Day  Because I could not stop for death Death left me to my own device A device that looked for one of wealth This means I put death on the ice That kiss of ice and that final breath The final breath I've now missed twice He kindly stopped for another bloke Or else why am I still around Still around and almost still as broke Hidden in the smoke when life is sound I sound it out carefully and have a poke A careful poke not wanting a rebound Someday I will hear that gentle tap A tap heralding my soul's timely end An end from this my earthly lap A lap that will give me time to send That I intend to take that final nap And clap and greet him like an old friend. back to list |
Nia WynneYou came into the world a darkling bay Whose dam was fleet as a misty deep dusk, And who knew that you'd grow into a rusk Of strength and speed, sire of unreckoned husk So great, you left pastures greener, they say.  back to list |
John Willowdown The big house on the hill used to be full of parties and lights but now only weeds and spiders go there to dance, dressed in the sad exhalations of days that once were, blood-red poppies in their hair. The Lord went off to Flanders to fight and all his servants went with him, to fight men on horses to fight men in tanks, men in their thousands, fathers and sons, men of high and low rank, shop-keepers, husbands, Lords and their heirs, poets and doctors, tall, short and average, dark-haired and fair. On little, flowered hills they fought the attack, with bayonet and bullet and bomb, around them fell shells and comrades were killed and few of them ever came back. In the house on the hill, beneath the white moon, a pale shadow still prowls the grounds - a faithful old soldier, too old to fighht, that waits for the Lord to return. He does not see the spiders and rank weeds but sometimes, inbetween the trees, he sees the pretty young women, wives, sweethearts and daughters, dancing where the garden used to be and hears the brass band lightly play. "One day, one day," I heard him mutter and light his pipe, "the Lord will come back from fighting and there will be bright lights and gay balls in the big house upon the hill and I can go home and put my feet up once again, wearing my old dog-eared slippers and throwing bits of steak and kidney pie to Jeff where he dozes infront of the fire and annoy my old Missus. But until then there's the distant hills and woods to watch and enemy shadows and moonbeams to catch, signals to decipher and secrets to keep - a man can't afford to sleep on his feett! When the Lord returns he'll hold me to account." "Hopkins," he'll say, "I hope you've held the fort while I've been away?" "I've done my best, Master," I'll say. "Good enough," the Lord will reply, "now put that silly gun down and come inside and have a dram, my good man, you look as cold as a monkey's you-know-what." "Thank you kindly Sir," I'll tell him, "that will nicely hit the spot!" back to list |
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