Poetry Threat (well ok thread!) mark 2

[Cymorill]

it is in these hours between dusk and dawn
that the ghostly echoes of memories
once thought forgotten and buried
rise up and devour me

shadows screaming off the walls
sinister in their silence
reaching out with slender fingers
trying to claw at my flesh

strange sounds as the wind
howls through the window
spectoral voices whispering
secrets wished forgotten

it is in these hours between dusk and dawn
that i feel most afraid and alone
with no one to comfort and guide me
into a deep and peacful slumber.

[angel]

@cymorill wrote:

it is in these hours between dusk and dawn
that the ghostly echoes of memories
once thought forgotten and buried
rise up and devour me

shadows screaming off the walls
sinister in their silence
reaching out with slender fingers
trying to claw at my flesh

strange sounds as the wind
howls through the window
spectoral voices whispering
secrets wished forgotten

it is in these hours between dusk and dawn
that i feel most afraid and alone
with no one to comfort and guide me
into a deep and peacful slumber.

That was a gud poem, one I can relate xxx

[Cymorill]

last night in my dreams my eyes
had a sad dejected look in them
blind to what i dont want to see
somehow i lost my faith in life
as tho something or someone stole my soul
like a butterfly in her cocoon
i am re-emerging, reborn and new
unsteady on my feet but strong enough
to hold my own, i shall spread my wings
in flight, from all that is and shall be.
unsure of where i am going or why, but i know
i shall never have that look in my eyes again.

[Cymorill]

daydreamer get a hold of yourself
before you dream your life away
daydreamer live your life day by day
dont make plans for the future

all your dreams seem to crumble and fall
before you get to live them
where is the sense in it all
you’ll never get to see them

daydreamer you have to live for today
there may be no tomorrow
daydreamer just let it all go
you’ll only end up screaming

[Cymorill]

with a stroke of charcoal she draws the outline
that strong black shape that will hold the colours
of her heart

smudging the canvas as she works
she adds a stroke here and a line there
building up the picture

smokey eyes gaze down at her
showing the tenderness within though
not yet brought to life

a flash of colour as she smooths on oils
the canvas begins to breathe and a
subtle heartbeat forms

layer upon layer of paint is added
until gazing back at her is
an illustration of love

[Cymorill]

the city streets now dim and quiet
echo with the empty cries of the wretched
those souls that wander, searching
for a corner filled with light

grubby faces peer through torn blankets
in cardboard city they are royalty
bedraggled monarchs with no throne
begging for some semblance of normality

they sing their national anthem
as they hold out their hands
yet there is no standing ovation
only nameless subjects that pass them by

they are majestic in their tragedy
these princes of the streets
watched over by the sentry in silver
as the rest of the city sleeps.

i know the last verse doesnt quite fit, but it didnt seem to sound right ending on the third verse, and i wasnt sure where to take it. :?

[Cymorill]

i have known the silence of the dead of night
and the silence of the sea
i have known the silence of a sleepless dream
and the silence of the moon
i have known the silence inside my mind
and the silence of the day
i have known the silence of words unsaid
and the silence yet to be.

[Cymorill]

my tears are like the quiet drift
of rain from some far off cloud
you the forgotten one catch them
from beneath your bed of earth

how i long to join you down below
so that i may shut out the world
with all its cruelty and indifference
but instead i send you my tears.

for A xx

[William_A_Edge]

A Suite Tale

Visiting relative’s in Portland
Main attraction a three piece suite
You see it’s of genuine leather
The couch is really unique

It seems the cow that it came from
When shot was against a wire fence
This left a lasting impression
On the hide,and remains there hence

Two circles resemble an eight
On which you can not recline
An expert of such matters was called on
He thought it a wondrous design

Another suggests it’s a fake
Because of the angle of lay
A third says it depends on the size of cow
Otherwise it’s difficult to say

Forensics organised a reconstruction
But withheld the stand in’s name
Then when shot against the fence
The result was exactly the same

A rather unfortunate conclusion
They wish the deed was not done
Because the design became common
Thus everybody want’s one

By William A Edge

[James Belfast]

Very ‘suite’ William. I actually smiled at that one. And not a clit in sight – marvellous!

[Author]

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