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Poetry
By: Anonymous
Forget Me
you walked by a simple thing
saw nothing there no spirit ring
no traces there of something old
no honour lost no questors bold
no signal showed him present there
no planted bone no auburn hair
no stone with name engraved in gold
no trinket here which might be sold
a simple site a soulful place
for somebody who lost the race
for someone who when country fold
he did exactly what was told
Wait For Me
Time is theirs,
Ancient verdant guards
Knotted now; and gnarled
Twisted and bent with passing -
No word
Belongs to those
They've seen the flood of years
Their whitened lips fall still,
Gasping for one more -
The wood
Watches an ageless world
Where little mortal souls pass through
And fight their tiny wars,
Never realising just how short -
They see
Time stolen for a while,
Human eras play themselves along
Filled with imagined glory;
And human eyes look back to see
Time gone.
Sell Me
prepackaged life
in bubble wrap
the way they sell
a toy or cap
tied up in box
in ribbons strewn
in plastic case
consumer's boon
see-through asset
bubble-like rage
available
in this gold cage
an unborn child
can be given
a lightning wit
as a wyvern
as a wyvern
polymer bound
trapped in plastic
although quite sound
supposed to teach
supposed to tell
what life is like
outside the cell
and children crawl
but dragons fly
leather wings
across the sky
we make them real
for children's sake
but plastic dragons
break
Lose Me
A Chesterfield is not a helpful thing
When searching for a something that you've lost.
It really is the last place you would think
The object must have slipped after you tossed.
But down the backs of sofas such as these
Between the cushions, padding, lint and springs
In felt so plush you'd think it might have fleas
A veritable panoply of things.
A penny, farthing, pencil and a pin,
All worthless by themselves they are nothing