Read Poetry Online From Inspirations
THE FAMILIES OF SPRINGHILL
The decades fore and aft, of the two world wars
Was also to suffer the deprivation of the depression
And to add to the sadness of loss of life and limb
Of fathers, sons and husbands due to the carnage
Of the so called Great War to end all wars.
The unimaginable suffering and hardship was to
Forge a generation of unfathomable togetherness.
My mother, father and our grandparents
Also, us nine siblings lived, ate and slept
In a one bedroom and living room, no kitchen, no bathroom
No electricity, no gas supply, no running water
Talk about togetherness, the outside toilet was
Shared by the four families occupying the misers building
Our meals were cooked on the large open fire
Which was raked out, set and kindled every day
Our water supply for cooking, drinking and washing
Was fetched by the families carrying enamel pails
A mile round walk to and from Johnny Blues spring well
The well of life, the well of hope, prayers and songs
Togetherness was the very essence of life then
Alexander Baird
“Dedicated to the Bairds, Lairds, Lindsays and Pettigrews who shared the Misers Building in Springhill.”
Alexander Baird said: "I was born in Renfrewshire in 1932 and started writing poetry in 1971. My poetry is forged by every facet of life and my ambition is to have a book of my poems and short stories published. I would have liked to have met the great actors of the 30’s, 40’s, 50’s and 60’s before the deluge of filth swamped the film industry. My greatest fantasy is to be transformed back in time to the life and times of the great poets of the past two hundred years."
A WALK IN THE MIST
Clear tracks, quieten the mind
spread like fine rain, spider’s webs of quiet
Light streams flow on the road’s skin surface
soothing the eye, no irritation, no niggling thought
the body’s beat is one
with the slow rhythm of a wet winter’s day.
Trees, devoid of leaves
fling their silent hands towards the sky,
arteries of tracks, veins of sodden trails
spread their pulse northwards,
their contours falling and rising
with the pulse within my throat.
Fog and mist, assure the wrap around
of sound, no step, no stealthy creak save the pull of breath.
Just foot that follows foot,
the shrug of rain falling.
Fine tracks and sodden trails
spread their threads across the land,
leading, to a fine intersection with the soul.
Pat Mackenzie
WATERS OF THE WORLD
Silent and graceful
Flows the country stream
On its travel to the river
And the journey to the ebb.
The Atlantic and Pacific
Kings of the oceans
Watching over troubled waters
And treasures of the deep.
The beauty of the cascades
And giant killer waves
Lay prey to coastal waters
And tidal floods of fear.
The waterways of the boats and barges
Shorelines of the beaches
The thunder and lightning
Bring forth the falling rain
To purify our planet earth
With all its living life.
Jim Carlin
A SMILE
A smile is a tonic
A smile is a treat
A smile can quell an argument
Or begin a romance sweet
A smile can remove many obstacles
Make the word plain, obsolete
For a beautiful smile
Is much more effective
Than any cosmetic cream
So next time you go out, remember
To give one away, or even several
For remember wonderful smiles
Are absolutely free
Joan Kernick
ANGEL AT MY SHOULDER
Conjure up an image of Heaven and earth
Embraced with wings to let us know, mankind still has some worth
A vision of hope and peace yet to come
To the wisdom and compassion, let us all succumb
Drops of rain are angel tears
A healing balm to banish all our fears
Soundless spirit enfold us, touch us with your unseen hand
Turn our thoughts from bitterness, spread love across the land
Smell the sweet smell of Heavenly flowers
Not the smell of pain and fear
Angel, we are unafraid, knowing you are near
Your message if we listen, is clear as a bell
Bringing people from the wilderness, out of the jaws of hell
Let each child grow up within your light, protect and guide us all
In the shadow of great affliction, we are listening for your call
We know that you are there, please help us in our plight
Dear angel, bestow upon our world, your luminescent light
Christina Clarke
FLASH OF BRILLIANCE
The rainbow, iridescent, beautiful and ephemeral
Flits
From the rushes and dives effortlessly
An azure flash of power and grace
Eager to fill the hungry awaiting beaks
A sun drenched orange dash
Long tapering beak
Bright watchful eyes
This beautiful and majestic bird is indeed
The king of the fishers
Judy Edwards
Judy Edwards said: "I have been writing poetry for over 35 years and my dream is to publish an anthology inspired by my Christian faith, my life and nature. Both my husband and I love painting so we travel home and abroad capturing on canvas our love of our surroundings. One might say I try to paint with words and crystallise the essence of my senses in detailed and descriptive work. I have now had six poems published with United Press."
MEMORIES OF A BEAUTIFUL DAY
In my mind I recall
a feeling of total tranquillity
in Bute Park on a summer’s day,
sky as azure as a Dali masterpiece,
the Taff sparkling as if coated in silver
and the sun warm on my contented brow.
I floated like a balloon in the somnolent air
as the soft wind caressed my youthful hair.
But then I feared such perfection
and with the angst the moment passed,
yet I’m grateful for that summer’s day
when all my troubles dissolved
like a sudden summer shower of hail,
mimicking winter but doomed to fail.
Guy Fletcher
THE BLACKBIRD
One particular night, I couldn’t sleep.
My heart was heavy with dread.
The hours dragged on, I was weary,
Tossing and turning in bed.
As dawn broke and creatures began to stir,
I opened my window and then,
I heard the most beautiful sound,
The blackbird was singing again.
There he sat on the topmost branch,
Without a care in the world.
Singing his little heart out, inspiring all who heard.
As I listened, entranced to him,
It’s as though he was trying to say,
Each new day is a gift from God,
Please try to see things my way.
I sing because I am full of joy,
I’ve a family to care for you see.
And I know that God is watching us,
He’ll care for you and me.
I got out of bed and faced the world,
My troubles fading away.
I thank God for the blackbird
And remember each new day.
Christine Steele
HETTON BIG CHAPEL
Union Street Methodist Church is 150 years old
If its stones could talk many stories would be told
Of miners arriving, faces covered in coal dust
Quarrying stones to build a church that was a must.
Hetton Coal Company lent a horse and cart
For use at weekends, so they played a part
In encouraging miners by supplying sand, stone and lime
To create a church that would withstand the test of time.
The earliest choirmaster played the violin
Whilst choristers learned new anthems and hymns
Until 1862 when a harmonium was bought
Lasting till 1878 when a pipe organ was installed.
For over a century Good Friday concerts have been winners
Local choirs participating along with guest singers
Performing oratorios with pride
Enthralling audiences from villages far and wide.
Many services of marriages, deaths and christenings have taken place
With many local families joining the faith
Some continuing God’s work as local preachers
Others becoming Sunday school teachers.
Doris Turner
TODAY I SHED A TEAR
Majestic bird of prey you lie,
Hooked beak, snagging
Hard soil. You rest silent,
One feathered wing outstretched.
I’ve watched you soar on wing,
Gently rest on warming winds.
Seen you glide, as you surveyed
Sprouting fields below for prey.
Today a large grey
Blanket, faded horizon-edges.
In slurry-smelling fields
I found you. I shed a tear.
Were you shot, poisoned?
Did you feel the tear
Of rooks talons or magpies savage beak
While in mid flight? Your under belly vulnerable.
Grey feathered bird, I shed a tear.
I will miss your plaintive cries
While on my walks. Now forever seeing
You lie motionless, on dark brown clay.
Dorothea Carroll
Dorothea Carroll said: "I’ve always had an obsession with words. My writing has been influenced by my 32 years as a theatre and clinic sister. I’ve been married to Leo for 52 years and we have two daughters, four grandchildren and a great, great grandson. I’ve always kept a journal. My work is mainly about life’s experiences, plus my obsession with animals, especially my labrador dogs. I’ve written 100 poems and twenty of these have been published.
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IN A SENSE
Above all physical horizons are the heavens
Life on earth evolves through multiple sevens
The itch of consciousness, servant of Soul
Hints more truth and beauty beyond each pole
But when masters say, look within
How often did we try to begin
To raise consciousness by going deeper
Arousing soul, the earthly sleeper?
Or raise consciousness by going higher
While paying attention to saving Gaia?
To integrate all the levels with earth
Pay soul’s debts by seeking self-worth
Love all along so lessons won’t repeat
With soul’s clean sheet, in a sense
The journey’s soon complete - so forward hence
Christopher Gilmore
Christopher Gilmore said: "I love loving, loving people, nature, the cosmos, laughter, learning and alliteration. I’ve loved scribbling away since I was eight years old, mostly writing poems influenced by Wordsworth. As a professional actor, I empathised with a range of characters, especially in Shakespeare. I’ve written and directed 12 plays, including musicals, and written 15 books. As an OAP and having taught all ages, I’m still pioneering pension-centred approaches to whole health and happiness, both in writing and wherever invited, in workshops. My latest novel is Alice In Welfareland (Robin Books ISBN - 1-904843-32-8). All my works are available on www.christophergilmore.com."
THE PLANET BEYOND
There is a place beyond the stars
Where rainbows light the sky
There are no weapons
Only love and peace
And there go you and I.
Where all is calm
No harsh words said
No bad thoughts
No tears are shed.
There is a place beyond the stars
Where rainbows light the sky
With stories, music, poetry
And there go you and I.
Christine Rowley
THE PROMISE OF SPRING
The sun is shining, the sky a bright blue,
Over everything there’s a golden hue
Telling us spring is here to stay,
Myriads of flowers opening every day.
There are yellow catkins on the willow tree,
Blossom trees in bud for all to see.
Soon to open into glorious colour
The forsythia and cherry couldn’t be fuller.
As summer draws nearer the scene will change,
Different flowers appear, to rearrange.
The pattern of gardens everywhere,
Rhododendrons, azaleas now appear there.
The fields are full of buttercups and daisies,
At the sight of them, our spirit raises.
We start to think of holidays and where we’d like to go,
Or the gardening we have to do
And what we’re going to sow.
As the seasons follow one by one,
We realise with dismay another year has gone.
Jean M Wood
LESSONS FOR LIFE
Inspired by my Mother, I’ve led a happy life
She taught me the values of right and wrong
And to be strong in times of strife
She taught me to sew, and cook and clean and always keep a good house
To always try to wear a smile, and never be a grouse!
To be considerate to others, and always understand
That not everyone can be the same, wherever they live in this land
I listened to her every word, I did as I was told,
So now I’ve lots of knowledge to stay with me till I’m old!
To this day she still inspires me, and though there’s now an empty chair,
I know that she’s still with me, and always will be there!
Jan Imeson
Dedicated to my mother: my friend, my inspiration.
ALWAYS ON HAND
One person in my life, I wanna talk about
Sometimes she makes me crazy, makes me shout
After hurting my back, in my life was just rain
Deep down inside, I felt such shame
After the accident, I lost the courage to drive
Passenger in the tanker, I was lucky to be alive
I couldn’t bring myself, to get back behind the wheel
I had my licenses, it wasn’t a fair deal
And there she was, always on hand
Hand out to me, to catch me as I land
She gave me strength, to face this fear
Facing each driving lesson, with a slight tear
She has moved me, in more than one way
Without her support, I couldn’t get through a day
You’re more than my sister, you’ve helped me cope
Showing me so much love, giving me hope
Michèle Wood
INSPIRATION
Think of a kingfisher day or night
This creature inspires me to write
It flies with beauty, elegance and grace
It glides along within life’s pace
It lives near a riverbank within woodland and trees
It seems to live with such freedom and ease
If you manage to catch a glimpse of this bird
For it is rarely seen and hardly heard
When you see its colours reflect in the river
It may for a second ruffle and quiver
It quickly returns to its elegance and grace
Then resumes its journey without a trace
So if you want to be inspired
Live like a kingfisher, and get all that is desired
Pauline Kirby
NORMANDY
Our veterans are in Normandy
To commemorate those who died
Not one of us can ever imagine
A close friend dying by your side
It’s important for our comrades
To return to Normandy every year
And pay homage to their old pals
Then of course, will shed a tear
Nations must always remember
The many who lost their lives
Without our wartime veterans
Our parents wouldn’t be alive
Now we must teach our children
Especially those still at home
That all our old wartime soldiers
Shall never, ever walk alone
Somewhere in our world today
There will always be a war
What we must all remember
All those that have gone before
Janet Woods
HERO
Look, see him smiling like a king
High up on his regal pedestal,
Reality denies truth only lies ensue.
Keeping your ideas alive, feeding our imagination.
Inspiring us to climb new heights,
His feelings insignificant, forgotten.
Hero or star, ours to mould and shape
Like a statue of many visions, hopes or desires.
Husband, lover, friend, any as we wish
Our puppet, our clown at our request
Fuelling our fancies, filling our dreams.
Creating a new world, a castle in the air
Somewhere far from daily existence.
But reality cannot maintain fantasy
Adulthood hastily arrives leading us astray.
Forgetting him, losing him in our thoughts,
Taking us to challenges anew.
Look, see him frowning like a fading king
Reality allowing him to breathe.
Martine Gafney
SORRY IS THE WORD
Sorry is the word you cannot spell
Unlike any other words, expressions,
Mood of I am and I will, and any amalgamation of those
Phrases, variations, strings revealing tastes and desires,
Whereas, there is the weight and burden of actions
That the word sorry cannot bear, no matter
How loud and clear you can declare,
One single word has lost the meaning,
The depth, the underpinning sense,
The muscle and the strength.
Sorry has turned light, groundless with the threads too loose and untied,
With connections far less tight, like a worn out mesh,
So the words holds no water it being shallow, false and feeble
Tower of straw, no bricks and mortar
Betrayed in time and used again in timeless occasions
In any of those strings, phrases, variations.
Yet, the irony is still here.
Heavy as the knowledge of mine is the shallow of the word
I’ll still listen.
Katrina Day
BY THEIR FRUITS YE SHALL KNOW THEM
He believed them to be scholars, benign and curious.
Their tone grew harsh.
These were inquisitors, censorious and furious.
His writings were above criticism.
These texts were not of his invention,
He did not their words select,
From the wit and tangle of his intellect.
His hand was guided by divine automatism.
Blasphemy! Heresy!
The very words he spake created his confession
Deemed these man appointed guardians
Of Our Lord’s intention.
With the skills of their vocation
To break dissenters was their arrogant boast,
But with dreadful irony, they did themselves confound,
Quenching the spirit of this humble scribe
Endued with the Holy Ghost.
Geoffrey Martin
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TO BE SO MOVED
Oh to be free of all care
To be keen, with a zip
As the nip in the air.
To be gay, to be sad, to be lost, all unseen
And uncalled from the nymph of the flare
To linger in heights
With the moon and the stars
Hear a train rumble softly below,
And see mile upon mile
Of lights from small cars
Silent passengers move to and fro.
What is the key-note
To rest in such bliss?
Enough close encounters
Can settle the score.
And for minutes we’re free
To respond to the muse
With pure energy flowing once more.
Ann McNair
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