Are poems still popular you may ask? Well, some years ago I was enamoured with writing poetry and it was a time in my life when I needed to ease my brain into a sense of fantasy, using real-life experiences - and here are some of my compositions which I must admit - I'm rather proud of ...
THE YACHT
She slips through waters green in depth
Her wooden hull, curved sensuously
Pure white sails straining ‘gainst the wind
And then sudden calm
She murmurs her woe, time to go with the surge of the tide
Shuddering delight as she feels the lift of the sea
Beneath her bowels
And again the breeze fans her sails and she is swept
Along forging crests rising and falling
The swells encircling her in their clutches
Gently, then slowly gaining in strength, undulating
Surging oceans, bow pointing high, then suddenly lost
In the curl of a wave
Her magnificence reflected in afternoon shadows
Silence echoes, then seabirds hover and shriek above her
Towering masts reaching skyward to the cerulean heavens
Burnished amber horizon peeps like polished copper
Casting golden shadows ‘cross still Pacific waters
As homeward she glides, silently, swift and true
Back to port, back home to you.
I REMEMBER
I remember carefree summer days
That went on forever, long time ago
When trees grew mistletoe on far-reaching branches
And the smell of sunburnt grass, flattened by busy feet
The Village green, filled with children’s laughter
Tinkled like crystal droplets falling on polished rock
Dancers swirled to the piper's tune, turning and spinning
Kilts that sashayed to the rhythms of Scotlands
Steam floated in wispy clouds, from boiling billies
Teacups in lines on rustic tables covered with paper cloths
And ladies in aprons buttering thick scones, jam and clotted cream
Country cakes and filled merinques on flowered china plates
Men in braces, leaned together, swapping yarns, whisky laced
While taut muscled axemen raised their hatchets that glistened in the sun
The starting gun fired and the axes dropped - chop, chop, chop
And they vied to win, Champion of the day, cup raised to the crowd
Daylight waned, the crowd thinned,
Wearily wandering homeward, faces glowing from the sun,
Tired youngsters atop their father’s shoulders, nodding in oblivion
Yes, I remember the magic, now many years past.
Jan Peters (a true story)
THE YACHT
She slips through waters green in depth
Her wooden hull, curved sensuously
Pure white sails straining ‘gainst the wind
And then sudden calm
She murmurs her woe, time to go with the surge of the tide
Shuddering delight as she feels the lift of the sea
Beneath her bowels
And again the breeze fans her sails and she is swept
Along forging crests rising and falling
The swells encircling her in their clutches
Gently, then slowly gaining in strength, undulating
Surging oceans, bow pointing high, then suddenly lost
In the curl of a wave
Her magnificence reflected in afternoon shadows
Silence echoes, then seabirds hover and shriek above her
Towering masts reaching skyward to the cerulean heavens
Burnished amber horizon peeps like polished copper
Casting golden shadows ‘cross still Pacific waters
As homeward she glides, silently, swift and true
Back to port, back home to you.
I REMEMBER
I remember carefree summer days
That went on forever, long time ago
When trees grew mistletoe on far-reaching branches
And the smell of sunburnt grass, flattened by busy feet
The Village green, filled with children’s laughter
Tinkled like crystal droplets falling on polished rock
Dancers swirled to the piper's tune, turning and spinning
Kilts that sashayed to the rhythms of Scotlands
Steam floated in wispy clouds, from boiling billies
Teacups in lines on rustic tables covered with paper cloths
And ladies in aprons buttering thick scones, jam and clotted cream
Country cakes and filled merinques on flowered china plates
Men in braces, leaned together, swapping yarns, whisky laced
While taut muscled axemen raised their hatchets that glistened in the sun
The starting gun fired and the axes dropped - chop, chop, chop
And they vied to win, Champion of the day, cup raised to the crowd
Daylight waned, the crowd thinned,
Wearily wandering homeward, faces glowing from the sun,
Tired youngsters atop their father’s shoulders, nodding in oblivion
Yes, I remember the magic, now many years past.
Jan Peters (a true story)
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