Fox on a Boat

Shared with Poets United -- Chemistry Class We make rocket water bottles and set our hands on fire without burning them. Our crazy teacher shouts a lot And throws pens across the room  When they don't work. Chemistry is rather like comedy And yes I feel smug about being The only one who understands his swearing In French. And that he doesn't know. But then it's all bonds and ions and rules and experiments that fail if you misread by point zero zero of.. something.. I fill card after card of info, and revise test after test struggling Then forget it all promptly the minute we move on. Still I look back With a smile Liquids changing colour Spontaneous combustion Forget the hours of boring lecture.. I held fire in my hand. -- Disclaimer: These are poems I won't be spending a lot of time on. As such, I don't expect perfection (neither do I need it). However feel free to tell me what yo...

Shared on Poets United  following the prompt. -- Wrong Turn on a Holiday Walk Parakeets roam the beach Investigate the sandcastle we could never make. A breeze, in the warmth leads us to the ocean's edge. Here, some postcards, an ice cream box. We turn left. Here a hotel, and a pool with nobody in it. Early morning for the holidaying women and men, The sun not fully burning the skin. The woman in front is very red With thin white stripes on her shoulders Tourist's tattoo. We glance at each other, our olive skin, second home. Time has passed and there are trees A forest, we joke, with wolves. It wasn't here before and now we figure We went the wrong way. Walking forever that day, uphill, mostly Passing rows and rows of coloured houses and cats, who make the island theirs. Perdon , I think, practising asking for directions. We will not be lost visitors. I take matters in my hands. I will lead u...

Also shared on Poets United  and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads It's day two of NaPoWriMo, and I'm back with a late night poem! (If you consider this time to be late. I suppose it depends!). I've been reading Stones and Stars , dipping in and out, since I never read poetry collections cover to cover, and the poems are really lovely. Then, last night, I couldn't sleep, and at around 2 am I had an idea for a poem - a conversation between a stone and a star. At first I had the idea that the stone would be lamenting its lack of qualities to the star, and then I realised it would be much nicer to have the stone itself know of its qualities.. Yes it's all a little silly, but the idea stayed with me all day. I very much hope you like it! -- Dialogue Between a Stone and a Star The Star: I am above, dear stone, both in matter and place I quite literally fill the whole of space. I shine and give hope to lost souls in the dark And lost trav...

Shared with Poets United Attempt at a prose poem. Ireland, again.. Blue mountains spread in the distance, a place where the keys are hiding. Silently I watch them. They stretch under the sun and under rolling clouds, puffed with pride. There I feel your presence would be felt, and I wish I could travel the earthy paths too, smelling the Fresh grassy air and touching skies. I'd pick a wildflower and examine it in my palm. I'd let the wind tangle my hair. I couldn't go, though, and it remains a mystery to me, much information waiting to be uncovered. I couldn't fix it, yet.

I am not sure what I did here.. Even my own poetry mystifies me! Shared with Poets United -- Poem For The Broken Hearted I'm writing poetry and thinking of you. Sometimes I see you around the river Until you fade away - a memory. I liked your hair tonight You always look great, I'm not just saying that. I see you in touches of blue I feel then things will be better Honestly, I'm nearly crazy - You were always right - So now I just wait - Wait, wait for what? For now I'll just remember These months won't last forever And I long for the summer. I'll meet you in the sunshine Between cups of tea and drinks Amongst trees and in the dusty streets. When we walk and walk and The day seems to last forever - A lazy evening, and then - September. It was then that we braved the river The air was warm - an Indian summer. The streets are marked by you The poems carry a line A mark, a voice of you. It...