The Poems Why?
Why, when the flowers greet us each day
With a myriad of colour, and a bouquet
Of scent that should gladden the heart,
Do we go our grumbling way without a glance?
Why, is the sound of birdsong lost to our ears?
The gentle sigh of the ocean, and the
Rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze?
When instead all we hear is the urgent beating of our hearts
Why, when the gentle rain falls upon our faces,
The sun warms the very depths of our souls
And a friendly dog comes to us for attention,
Do we not feel
like reaching out, to touch someone?
Why, when the lightning filled storm is over,
The crashing waves have ceased and ebbed away
And the heavens fill with mighty thunder,
Do we not shout aloud
and ask more questions, why?
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I must be dreaming
I’m not awake, yet not asleep
But still I hear you softly speak
You call my name, I turn to hear
But nothing more I sadly fear,
I must be dreaming
You came to me at work today
But then you’re never far away,
I feel you very close to me
There is a vision that I see
But then, I’m surely dreaming
I realise how much I miss
Your smile, the scent you wear, that kiss
So far away and yet so near
Your laughter ringing loud and clear
But no, I must be dreaming.
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A World Together?
Christmas joy and birthday fun
Opening presents one
by one
No special day to shed some light
The broken doll is held so
tight
Picnics, swimming at the beach
Friends and family
within reach
Windswept hovels in the sand
No one comes to lend a hand
A bruise kissed
better, then a hug
Playing games on a
cosy rug
Wounds so deep they may not heal
This game of life seems so unreal
Bath-time fun,
delighted screams
Bedtime stories,
happy dreams
No clean water, ragged clothes
Haunted nightmares with no repose
Schooldays
learning how to write
Painting pictures,
such delight
No books or joy to fill the breach
Is this what life has come to teach?
No cares or woes
no need to fear
Knowing mum and
dad are near
Afraid, unsure of what’s ahead
One parent ill, the other dead
Theirs is a bittersweet
refrain
Where only fragile hope remains
We have the means to
do so much
Let’s
give them more than straws to clutch.
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The Voice Within
Call it conscience call it faith,
Call it what you will,
But listen to it urgently
Lest your voice be stilled.
Nearsighted
What a joy it is to see
And yet, we are so blind
The blind man
sees
In his
mind’s eye
The things we try to hide.
Will We Ever Learn?
So much pain,
So easy to forget,
So many lives in torment,
So much is owed, and yet
So little understanding leads
So few to try and help,
So will we really ever learn not just
to think of self?
Wind of change
So much is cast upon the wind,
Words spoken in jest or in anger,
We should be
careful lest they
Yet again return,
For the wind knows
not
Where its journey
ends.
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Writers Dilemma
The page lies
waiting, patiently,
The writer must
be bold,
For on this large expanse of white
The story will enfold.
Do only what you can
But rest assured of this,
What’s done by any other one
For you, must surely go amiss.
The sentence is beginning
And in more ways than one
But dare not to lift your head
Before the work is done.
A thought that faded and is lost
Has gone forever more,
No frantic searching through your brain
Will it to you restore.
Put mind to rest and pen to paper
Relate to here and now,
That flowing words they will not stop
But wrinkle up your brow.
A second thought, a lapse in time,
The spell has surely broken
“Which way, oh! Which way now?”
The words are softly spoken.
A sense of urgency instilled,
The climax drawing near
What way to twist the final plot?
The pen is filled with fear!
A glimmer of perception seeps
through misty haziness,
The final stroke of genius,
The pen is laid to rest.
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How Do We Teach Our Children?
How do we teach our children not to do
what we have done?
How do we show the way ahead, yet
let them have their ‘fun’?
How do we try to teach them when our learning is in doubt?
How do we overcome these things, before time slips away?
How do we explain the wrongs that lead
to living hell?
How do we talk about the things we have
no words to tell?
How do we find a way to show this
world’s so full of greed?
How do we learn to appreciate the lives
they want to lead?
How do we help them understand what
life is all about?
How do we give the love we have for
them, anew each day?
We need to find the answers now
There’s much to do, while time allows
To teach our children, and theirs too
That only peace and love will do.
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Choices
The child born out of passionAnd lustful desires,Stands alone The child conceived out of loveAnd the bond of family ties,Stands beside him The feast eaten noisily with strangersTo satisfy an alcoholic hunger,Pollutes all who partake of it. The simple meal lovingly preparedAnd eaten in good company,Satisfies both body and soul. A life enacted out devoid of depthOf thought, or future plans, is goingOnly to a miserable end. A life that is lived in earnestWith dreams and goals of high endeavourWill surely be fulfilled. This world, full of greed and anger,Of hatred, fear and wrong desiresMust surely die. The world renewed, with peace and loveThe only true religion,Will surely yet arise. The time for change and new beginningsIs upon us; each and every one.Who will take up the challenge?Before a new day has begun Will it be you or I?Or, shall we wait yet againTo see what happens?And drown in a tsunamiOf ignorance, because we didn’t even try!
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The Tallest Giraffe
On behalf of
myself and my daughter Emma Taff
May I please be permitted to obtain your autograph?
At the same time do allow me to take a photograph
As I need to send this quickly to the Daily Telegraph
This poem of course refers to a very large giraffe
Round whose neck was a polka-dotted brightly coloured scarf
To put this on required a ladder and the zoo’s entire staff
And me, hanging round her neck, well! I must have looked
quite daft
But not to end this tale too sadly, I write another
paragraph
Just to prove after all there’s still time to have a laugh
Because there is a ‘little secret’ I can tell on your behalf
You see that very tall, tall lady, has a very tiny calf.
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Tears
Tears wash away the pain,The suffering, the anguishAnd the hatred--------So that more tears may flow
with joy, happiness and love
So cry – unashamedly
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When I Think Of You
When I think of
you –
I think of warmth and laughter,
When I think of you –
I smell blossoms heavy with dew,
When I think of you –
I feel your hand resting in mine,
When I think of you –
I see all the colours of the rainbow,
And when I think of you –
I just want to go on dreaming
Until the reality awakens me.
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As the Sea
I ebb and flowSwelling
with emotion,
My thoughts racing like a tidal wave
Seeking the distant shore, where some answers may be found.
Ripples of pleasure can be seen and felt,
Yet below great turbulence remains,
Gliding nightmarishly through a seaweed jungle,
Moving upwards to explode at its foaming mouth.
What fleeting patterns in my mind exist?
A sudden impulse – like a darting squid.
The flash of genius? Elusive as the silver salmon,
Yet hope, clinging like a barnacle, remains.
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Mixed Up Dog
With a mix of a spaniel and collie
Our jack was a bit of a wally
Since his breed was unclear
From his tail to his ear
We decided to call him a spollie.
Unemployed
There’s not a
lot to do
When nothing’s to be done
‘cept sit around and wonder
‘bout the stars, the moon, the sun
‘cos when you’re
bored, fed up,
cheesed off and unemployed,
there’s not an awful lot can happen
to make you overjoyed!
Cat-astrophy
A cat with a passion for tea
Was misty who was only three
She also tried whisky
Which made her quite frisky
Then crashed out upon the settee.
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Alone
The days seem
longer by the day
As yet another one begins,
I almost wish that this one
Would relieve me of my sins
Still the foolish hope remains
That better has to come,
The pot of gold at rainbows end
The answer to my dreams?
What halter round my neck is this
That chokes the will from me?
Restraining urges that exist,
Not letting me be free.
Time, laden with the weight of lead
Goes neither fore or aft,
The ticking clock, a time bomb
Lies waiting in my path.
But soft and velvet darkness
Come to meet me once again,
And in my secret hiding place
I know I have a friend.
All poetry and other written material on this Blog
is fully copyrighted © Billy Ross 2014.
No material may be used, copied or distributed by any means,
without the express permission of the author.
