I saw a bird
The bird it looked back
The bird was a duck
Quite quiet its quack
A limp in its leg
And a crick in its back
Broken, one wing
And an eye that was slack
The bird was a duck
Its leg it was lame
As I sat and watched
Helpless, I felt the same
He looked at me
Maybe he was a she
Perhaps this lame duck would take pity on me
I looked at this duck
Unwise to its gender
And bawled through four eyes
In most glorious splendour
At life's often cruel
And most wicked agenda
The bird gazed at me
With a curious spark
As if this was the day
For last walks in the park
And sidled right over
The brushes and bark
I looked at the bird
I fetched bread in my hand
I threw pieces its way
And they dropped on the land
And placed some in my mouth
A last meal, it was planned
We swallowed our feast
Whilst we chewed on the fat
Gaggled, giggled at geese
And we chastised the cats
And between us we laughed
And cried, of this and that
I must alas, depart
My intuitive friend
I'll think of you
When I'm facing my end
I'll think of my fate
It's due course you did bend
As I walk
Through the snow
My reflection inscribed
Crudely etched in your eye
Penned in one eye
That time will never mend
No one knows the bird
The bird lives in my head
I'm mournfully sure
That the bird is now dead
But as he came to me
She had something to show
The bird was at ease
As death's where we all go
They tell me there is a deer, roaming free
in the graveyard - I've never seen it.
I've seen a muddy dog haring, all paws and playfulness,
the dry husk of a fallen seed, now skeletal and fruitless.
A forgotten garden-seat swinging, couple-less in the breeze.
The aching of a stout ship, full sail behind a dusty pane. Read more...
Poetry - Fairytale Love By Katelyn Langston
I drown it out with happiness
I drown it out with tears
Pushed back into my memory
You find my biggest fears
Some could be considered normal
Some could be considered fake Read more...
Poetry Funny The Things That Happen By Pamela Scobie Photograph by Tim Green
I met an angel the other day.
He was sitting on the steps outside Wrangthorne Church
in his shirt sleeves
in the sunshine.
And d'you know what my instinctive, uncharitable thought was? How dare you?
Poetry - Poppy Power By Ted Harben
Do you ever sense the visions
in the poppy that you buy,
the countless squads of soldiers
ever cheerful, marching by?
See the bloody scenes of battle,
the carnage of the guns;
or watch the ghosts returning,
Poetry - Ode to a Tea Bag By Ruth Dixon
Tea, I love thee
You're yang to my yee
But when you're mint
You're not everything
You're cracked up to be
Tea, you and me
When I find myself in times of trouble PG Read more...
Poetry Casa Nostra By Pamela Scobie
He took her away from a house that had loved her
And told her to find another
So they could be together.
'You'll do it, kid,' he said.
So she did.
It was in need of affection and care
And he wasn't there. Read more...
Poetry - A Study of Mischief By Bronwyn Ellis
When sticking my nose into trouble,
Cured the bullies' thirst at school,
It was worth those shitty grades,
To know that I could still keep cool,
And deal out rebel stories,
To naughty pups half my size. Read more...
Poetry - Bonfire Night Memories By Simon Icke
It's bonfire night and the sky
is full of crackles and bangs,
brightly coloured lights.
The damp November air;
full of gunpowder and
the smell of fires
Poetry HU7 Part One By Kerry-Joe Pulford
Almost de-railed, too thin, too pale, looks quite scary for her age,
Hides behind the home page.
Best diet ever tasted,
Direct from How to Look Good Wasted.
Poetry - Cut Out These Cut Outs By Jan McGeachie
How effective will placing
Of serving police officers
Be, inside stores?
Will they deter
Those intent on shoplifting Read more...
Poetry - Pipe Dreams By Terry Ireland Photograph by Roland Standaert
Yet another empty shop;
another set of dashed hopes?
Maybe a young couple who
just didn't know the ropes.
I wonder how they felt,
what plans they had made
and how long it took
for all their hopes to fade.
Poetry - Budget Day 2012 By Terry Ireland
I suppose I'm biased
Being of pension age
Though I must admit
Not really feeling any rage.
For I see no real sense
In having a good bitch
For historically the poor are
Ever exploited by the rich. Read more...
Poetry - Pigeon Toed No More By Michelle Dee
The shell rifling through the feathers
buried in its back, the shock, the stunned shock,
the paralysis, the total loss of familiar flight response.
The avian behaviour, proof only
of existence, not of life.
Further penetrating shots.
Poetry - Six to Pay High Price By Patrick Henry
Six mainly Yorkshire soldiers who died,
Blown up in Helmand, and on the world press front page:
Heroes gone, to feed endless need for power and pride:
Senseless fighting for a poor, poppy-sown lost frontier land.
Might of Alexander, Genghis Khan, the British Raj, the Soviets:
Failed to figure how those ragged tribes had not kowtowed.
Poetry - It's OK By Jenny Halliday
I push the button, scroll, enter and wait.
Hoping, holding my breath just incase.
Desperate to see a message, praying,
to who? Longing for his return. Safe return.
Unscathed, untouched mentally
and physically by the demands of his job. Read more...
Poetry - Still They Fight The Fight By David Delaney
They walk the shifting sand
like those who went before,
now in that ancient land
still fighting in a war.
They once again defend,
the young answer the call,
joined by their Kiwi friends,
they're ANZAC's proud and tall
Poetry - Walk Away By Shaun Heesom
Walk away, seems it's easy for you
Take our dreams our hopes our plans
And walk away
Don't look back, you might not like the view
Take your words and lies, your nonchalance too
Just walk away
Go hide your face in your hands