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Best Poems Written by Emmy Weatherill

Below are the all-time best Emmy Weatherill poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

Dear Grandpa

The leaves have turned brown and crisp
And I've remembered 
How much you've been missed
On a day like today 

It's the days when I feel down
And I'm sad
That you're not around 
Desperately in need of a grandpa's embrace

You were like my best friend 
And I'm yearning 
For the hours we'd laugh on end.
Now I'm doing quite the opposite 

The memories harvest in my mind
As I bow to your grave 
With flowers of all kinds
Commemorating the part you played
In shaping the person I am today. 

Yours sincerely, 
A granddaughter that misses you dearly.

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

Insomnia

The sun shines on your 
Dark eyes 
Pale face 
Blank mind
Veiled emotion 
This is the aftermath of deprivation 

The moon sparks up your
Overrun mind
Burdened by today's thoughts 
Reminded of yesterday's emotions
Revisited by last year's memories
Tempted by next year's ambitions 
This is you...deprived

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

A Foreign Language

My lips are sealed 
Tightened by pain
Locked with secrets 

Perhaps I should tell you...
My life and my memories,
My troubles and struggles.

I could teach you a thing or two,
Respect, loyalty and class,
The 1950's and the 1960's.

If you want to know my dear-
Watch closely.
Look beyond the tears in my
eyes,
Translate the tremble of my hands 
 
That is how you speak my language, petal
it's much more than words.

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

Home Time For Trump

He slumps in his chair
Looks at the papers 
Spread over the desk
It has been a long day.
Walking to the bathroom
He stops to look in the mirror
Smooths his fingers 
Through his hair 
Shit, another grey hair
Already?!
He's full of cold
And notices a booger 
Hanging out his nose.
Quickly, he wipes it 
Hoping that no one saw
In the 3 meetings 
And 2 interviews today. 

Returning from the toilet, 
His assistant stops him
"Sir, they need a blue print" 
"What for?"
"You know, the wall"
"I aren't an architect"
He turns and walks away
Feeling a little harsh, 
'Maybe that was a bit blunt'. 
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit"
But who cares, he's "hangry"-
'Hungry' and 'angry' apparently. 
Mel better have made dinner. 

Back in his office, 
The businessman sits down 
In his big leather chair. 
He opens his draw 
With his secret stash of twinkies, 
Takes 3 out, feels guilty 
And puts one back- 
This man needs to be careful
He's got appearances to keep up. 
He's also got a lot of paperwork
But he's exhausted.
This whole inauguration is tiring. 
Licking his Twinkie covered fingers,
Mr Trump grabs his coat, 
Walks out of the Whitehouse
And heads home. 

He'll think about the wall tomorrow.

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

To Meet Myself

What do others see
When they look at me?
Is it the green of my eyes
Or the size of my thighs
The scar on my chin 
Do they think I'm slim

I'd love to meet myself. 

What would they say 
If they met me one day?
Do I appear kind
After delving into my mind
Maybe it's just a mask
To veil all that's in the past

I'd love to meet myself.

What do they shout
When I'm not about? 
Am I a subject of topic 
When it comes to gossip
Perhaps I'm crazy
With looks that could kill...maybe. 

I'd love to meet myself.

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

A63

They met at a bus stop on the A63
He greeted with a smile and so did she
They exchanged a glance 
She stood dazed in a trance 
At the way his eyes beamed with romance  

The bus arrived and on she walked 
And suddenly they wished they had talked
For now she was gone 
He was alone 
At a bus stop on the A63 

They were destined never to be
As they didn't speak on the A63.
However one sunny day in May 
I'm happy enough to say
That as he got on 
A bus to Brighton 
There she was sat, in hope for him to be her companion

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

Sigh

My heart aches once more
For a lover who has gone
Giving their amour 
To another someone 
Whom takes a name but mine

My throat chokes again
As I begin 
To speak of your name 
But this you win
The trophy of my besotted silence 

My tears stream one last time
In order to forget 
The subject of my rhyme 
A lover, a memory, a regret 
And here I sigh.

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

To God

"To God,
Today my mummy told me off
She said I hug my friend too much
She don't like the way it look
She told me to stay away 
Cause it look kinda gay

Yesterday my friend say I'm weird
She said my mum and dad have split
She see it as a crime they commit 
She told me it ain't right
Unless they were to reunite 

Last week my teacher shouted at me
He said I can't be a referee
He told me it not right in rugby
He think a girl can't control a boys team
Since it'd ruin their self esteem

So, God, I wrote to you 
It seems they always say your name
When I get the blame
But where do I belong
If I think they're wrong?"

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

Double Standards

What does 'clever' mean?
Is it to fix a machine 
Is it the ability to sing 
Is it to know everything 
What is it? 

What does 'nice' imply? 
Is it the resistance to lie 
Is it never to criticise 
Is it the skill to advise 
What is it? 

What does 'pretty' suggest? 
Is it the gift of big breasts
Is it to have nice eyes
Is it a gap between thighs
What is it? 

What do they mean to you? 
Which definition is true
For those you say it to?
Consideration is due 
Rather than changing according to who.

Details | Emmy Weatherill Poem

The Voice To My Left

Here sat on my shoulder 
Is a voice that's of mine but bolder 
When I'm unsure 
It's there to lure 
Me into things that perhaps I shouldn't consider 

It's like a key 
That unlocks a different side of me
For it controls what I do 
And that was when it threw 
My life into omniscience 

Apparently they call it a conscience