Submissions by southernsun
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Jul 2016 11:23pm
10th Jul 2016 11:23pm
Looking Back
Looking back on many years
of hopes and fears, of smiles and tears,
gazing over my life's broad valley
I see clefts cut steep, soft silt laid deep
the record of life's experience.
Drill down on the couch,
pull cylinders of memory like teeth
into the light of day;
then measure, weigh and compose
clinical reports of my past lives.
Here I sprouted beneath a hot sun,
a stranger in my homeland,
imposing order and hated for it.
Climate change brought seasons
brown to green, people black to white,
from south to north and...
of hopes and fears, of smiles and tears,
gazing over my life's broad valley
I see clefts cut steep, soft silt laid deep
the record of life's experience.
Drill down on the couch,
pull cylinders of memory like teeth
into the light of day;
then measure, weigh and compose
clinical reports of my past lives.
Here I sprouted beneath a hot sun,
a stranger in my homeland,
imposing order and hated for it.
Climate change brought seasons
brown to green, people black to white,
from south to north and...
516 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
8th Jun 2016 7:38pm
8th Jun 2016 7:38pm
Horizon
Of all the colours I have painted
on life's clear canvas as I pass,
blue is best.
Other colours have their place
and have their time.
Green grows the grain-o
and brown puffs up the goodly loaf.
The others have their reasons too;
but blue is best.
And when the day's doors close,
the watchman, lit yellow by torchlight,
like a faithful black beetle scuttles between desks,
past mute filing cabinets and computers
through grey shadows into dawn
when blue is once more...
on life's clear canvas as I pass,
blue is best.
Other colours have their place
and have their time.
Green grows the grain-o
and brown puffs up the goodly loaf.
The others have their reasons too;
but blue is best.
And when the day's doors close,
the watchman, lit yellow by torchlight,
like a faithful black beetle scuttles between desks,
past mute filing cabinets and computers
through grey shadows into dawn
when blue is once more...
650 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
20th May 2016 5:55am
20th May 2016 5:55am
Memories
You like to recall the past
The last time this and the last time that
You scratch like a chicken
Searching for summer's seeds
In the rich farmyard of your memories.
You remember well it seems
How golden passion gleams and glitters
How the rooster struts and preens
As the tardy hen submits and glows
In the fertile dust of your past.
You remember well the hell
Which tears and sears and singes
Marks which never fade, never fade
The scars of battles won and lost
Treasured trophies in your vault.
Reluctantly I look back...
The last time this and the last time that
You scratch like a chicken
Searching for summer's seeds
In the rich farmyard of your memories.
You remember well it seems
How golden passion gleams and glitters
How the rooster struts and preens
As the tardy hen submits and glows
In the fertile dust of your past.
You remember well the hell
Which tears and sears and singes
Marks which never fade, never fade
The scars of battles won and lost
Treasured trophies in your vault.
Reluctantly I look back...
620 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
12th May 2016 7:59am
12th May 2016 7:59am
Dear Dr Parkinson
Dear Dr Parkinson, I know you are my friend;
I know that you'll be with me until the very end.
Although I sometimes fondly wish
that you would go away,
I know that you'll be faithful;
at my shoulder you will stay.
Dear Dr Parkinson, you'll see me round the bend,
that last blind twist we all must take, my truest, bluest friend.
You glance at me with steely eye,
a portent of my fate;
I know that you are truthful,
that you'll give it to me straight.
Dear Dr Parkinson, I hope you've got it right!
Must Jabberwock and Boojum torment me...
I know that you'll be with me until the very end.
Although I sometimes fondly wish
that you would go away,
I know that you'll be faithful;
at my shoulder you will stay.
Dear Dr Parkinson, you'll see me round the bend,
that last blind twist we all must take, my truest, bluest friend.
You glance at me with steely eye,
a portent of my fate;
I know that you are truthful,
that you'll give it to me straight.
Dear Dr Parkinson, I hope you've got it right!
Must Jabberwock and Boojum torment me...
543 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
11th May 2016 8:57am
11th May 2016 8:57am
Ripening the Fruit
On the broad plains of Heaven
perfected people sing.
With joyful hope they make their plans
the earthbound home to bring.
But as they work they know full well
that he who sows each tree below
has the final say, the yes or no.
Friend and foe, both high and low,
all dance an age-old dance;
they step and step and step again
to play God's game of chance.
For as they work they know full well
that health and wealth will ebb, will flow;
that their final day is for God to know.
In the high courts of Heaven
bright people ponder...
perfected people sing.
With joyful hope they make their plans
the earthbound home to bring.
But as they work they know full well
that he who sows each tree below
has the final say, the yes or no.
Friend and foe, both high and low,
all dance an age-old dance;
they step and step and step again
to play God's game of chance.
For as they work they know full well
that health and wealth will ebb, will flow;
that their final day is for God to know.
In the high courts of Heaven
bright people ponder...
460 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
9th May 2016 4:55am
9th May 2016 4:55am
The Brave Go Gently
It's only natural, so they say.
It's only natural when children play;
and, tired by dolls and climbing trees,
they ruin the calm of mum and dad
by doing things grown-ups think bad.
Girls, of course, like pink (not blue);
they're all things nice (that's natural too).
While boys make noise and charge about,
it's only natural that they try
to tease the girls and make them cry.
It's only natural; need I say more?
The spotty youth, like days of yore
so surly and as yet uncouth,
turns on the charm with words of honey
to part his...
It's only natural when children play;
and, tired by dolls and climbing trees,
they ruin the calm of mum and dad
by doing things grown-ups think bad.
Girls, of course, like pink (not blue);
they're all things nice (that's natural too).
While boys make noise and charge about,
it's only natural that they try
to tease the girls and make them cry.
It's only natural; need I say more?
The spotty youth, like days of yore
so surly and as yet uncouth,
turns on the charm with words of honey
to part his...
597 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
7th May 2016 3:32pm
7th May 2016 3:32pm
Words
Our words are like incandescent jewels
born in the deep recesses of our minds
given colour and fury
or glow and warmth
by a weight so great
it must be hidden or we die
Once discovered they are what we are
they become what we have made of ourselves
for the hard and unyielding
they will sparkle
glimmer and shimmer
bounce away the light of love
Or they will set a forest ablaze
the first bright small spark, struck without care
which burns, sears all in its path
consuming all
it roars and soars
leaving...
born in the deep recesses of our minds
given colour and fury
or glow and warmth
by a weight so great
it must be hidden or we die
Once discovered they are what we are
they become what we have made of ourselves
for the hard and unyielding
they will sparkle
glimmer and shimmer
bounce away the light of love
Or they will set a forest ablaze
the first bright small spark, struck without care
which burns, sears all in its path
consuming all
it roars and soars
leaving...
549 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
5th May 2016 6:32am
5th May 2016 6:32am
Carbolic
Awake! The sun has born the morn
so be not all forlorn
for the fawn is on the lawn;
before the early dawn
the sky has torn.
And if you don't now have the colic
then try a bar of soap carbolic.
My love for you has turned me blue
but I do not rue that you came through.
Now cry “Enough! This much will do!”
so be not all forlorn
for the fawn is on the lawn;
before the early dawn
the sky has torn.
And if you don't now have the colic
then try a bar of soap carbolic.
My love for you has turned me blue
but I do not rue that you came through.
Now cry “Enough! This much will do!”
553 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th May 2016 6:45am
4th May 2016 6:45am
The Elephant Lady
The elephant lady is at it again!
She's thumping and bumping with all might and main.
She's not next door; she's not in my bed;
Perhaps you have guessed it – she's right overhead.
The elephant lady is at it again.
It's long past midnight; she must be in pain!
The floorboards she jumps on vibrate in my chest;
And just why she does it will never be guessed.
It's no good me trying to flee far away;
Whatever I do, she still has her say
with a thump and a bump and an extra high jump.
When the hall clock strikes twelve I'm a quivering lump.
...
She's thumping and bumping with all might and main.
She's not next door; she's not in my bed;
Perhaps you have guessed it – she's right overhead.
The elephant lady is at it again.
It's long past midnight; she must be in pain!
The floorboards she jumps on vibrate in my chest;
And just why she does it will never be guessed.
It's no good me trying to flee far away;
Whatever I do, she still has her say
with a thump and a bump and an extra high jump.
When the hall clock strikes twelve I'm a quivering lump.
...
460 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
3rd May 2016 4:34pm
3rd May 2016 4:34pm
Father William
I am old Father William
and my hair is quite white.
I've a damp sort of dribble
and rise thrice every night.
I am old Father William
(I have said so before);
if I read after dinner
I soon start to snore.
If a small thing escapes me
and then falls to the floor,
I must kneel down to get it
or I'll rise nevermore.
I've been told to walk daily
come rain or come shine;
but the best part of each day
is my third glass of wine.
I am old Father William
(I won't say it again)
eat, drink, and be merry
and...
and my hair is quite white.
I've a damp sort of dribble
and rise thrice every night.
I am old Father William
(I have said so before);
if I read after dinner
I soon start to snore.
If a small thing escapes me
and then falls to the floor,
I must kneel down to get it
or I'll rise nevermore.
I've been told to walk daily
come rain or come shine;
but the best part of each day
is my third glass of wine.
I am old Father William
(I won't say it again)
eat, drink, and be merry
and...
559 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd May 2016 10:14am
2nd May 2016 10:14am
Dreaming
When the morning hour-gong beeped
I found that I had sleeped.
I looked around as I arose
and saw that I had fifteen toes
all attached to three large feet
and placed in rows both straight and neat.
I measured them and quite soon saw
they really numbered up to four.
I looked again, I looked and then
I counted toes from one to ten
which wriggled singing "Tweet, tweet, tweet"
fixed on the end of two flat feet.
For this there could be but one meaning;
I had not awoke but was still dreaming.
I found that I had sleeped.
I looked around as I arose
and saw that I had fifteen toes
all attached to three large feet
and placed in rows both straight and neat.
I measured them and quite soon saw
they really numbered up to four.
I looked again, I looked and then
I counted toes from one to ten
which wriggled singing "Tweet, tweet, tweet"
fixed on the end of two flat feet.
For this there could be but one meaning;
I had not awoke but was still dreaming.
571 reads
0 Comments
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