Best Panelled Poems

Cold, so cold, as everything seems to enshroud me 
encasing light, the flame of life - darkness within.
Slivers of blue, ice my lips, like a frozen lake.
Am I in a nightmare - is this where realms begin?
All alone, is this real - where did all...

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See there! She flies about the moor
Upon her favoured mount.
The waving, flowing grassy shore
bears hoofprints all about.
The waves her steed surmounts.
Her hair is flying here and there;
She hasn't thought of care.

Her little sister, Margaret Rose
Thro' panelled glass observes
As Lilibet, the rider, goes
At breakneck turns and...

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Butterfly wing door vestibule builds anticipation  
Shuffled, carpet muffled greetings, familiar embraces                     
Piloted by Holy Spirit, seated hushed congregation 
Ritual of ornate cathedral thanks...

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Ahh Jamie lad where hast tha bin?
not heathered shire, so searched within,
nor  mountain river's gilded beck, but
inside burnt out blackened wreck

Brings the coffin from the plane, 
touches tarmac black again; coming
home with no hello, attends the 
soldier’s funeral show

Cuts my heart in two to...

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A young man named Jonas stood at the doors
Of the house that had haunted his dreams
As behind the ornate, hand-carved oak
Its interior was not all it seemed

People entered the doors, then disappeared
It was the last of them anyone would see
So Jonas had made it his...

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The new roves are not like the old,
They purvey an unwieldy aspect
To their elderly kindred folk;
Even on this steep hill forms encroach
Upon an edifice grand of bygone grandeur;

 So to ‘Ghurt Muire’ that Jacobean domain
With its winding entrance avenue,
And meadows of barley cane;
There the ancient...

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Burgundy drapes fall

From the window

This fireplace

The embers glow

 

Muted light

Reflecting

Panelled wood

Soft glowing

 

Crackle of wood

Flickering firelight

In our room

Our delight

 

Great Forest Tapestries

Of leaf and bark

Adorn the wall

Our forest

Our trees

 

In our room

Filled with books and firelight

The snow outside

Still falling

Soft scent of you

My heart,

calling

 

The soft...

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I am not the giver, 
am not a diva.
Can't get you high,
can't even give you a fever.

When you are wet,  I can't get you dry
 When there is heat,  I can't give no quiver. 
Can't make you die, can't make you fly.
Ain't even...

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The panelled walls of cedar wood, pencil thin red aroma
Reflect the firelight burning light, warming coals
Black windowpanes bar the cold and wind to a blacker outside.
Pictures in the flames rise, to an occasion or a dream
But in retrospect so strange, as the chimney above grows...

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The first night I arrived on my own.
Streets were darkening, yet kept alive
by lights in café’s and couples
walking arm in arm.
The driver carried my forlorn bag
into a bright, over ornate foyer.
Preliminaries over, I checked into
a room that at first glance
was sultry to my eyes.
I sat...

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Is it today now or yesterday still?
Is it time already for morning pill?
hazy light filters in through the window,
as crimson gathers over distant hill!

Can’t tell early dawn from the evening glow,
for me time stands still and the day is slow,
from downstairs sound of kitchen plying...

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Where was I?
unusual.
behind 
the dizzying looking glass,
cement block,
panelled windows,
noonish saloons 
sipping my loathing 
like mosquitoes 
milking stone veins 

constipated. 

contemplating pretty suspects 
and their banditry of spotlight and shadows;
cute fashions with their dreamboat accessories. 

Snatched away! 

Who was I?
a deserted
quotient. 
All of me, crumbs 
sucking...

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Majestic flight sweeps up from lobby sprawl
Mattress padding pink carpet creeps corners 
Bannisters ornate in century's old discussions
Omit disclosure of grim history above

Uniform scuff tread flat railed staircase 
Stretches ominously into third level dim
Each step taken fades from life the stepper 
Cobwebs claim frames of...

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The meal deal, the power crush.
The entitled airs they seek so much.

Swallow dignity, swallow pride.
The panelled walls of entitlement house their hides.

What of humility, what of honour is left?
Power and greed above all else.

To the sycophantic grovelling horde.
Your spines were not meant for you to...

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They hold their courts of pomp and ceremony in the name of history they say.

They sway the poor and destitute at arms length to avoid acknowledging their eyes, their hearts, their voices for existing in this state of way. 

They laugh of joy in conceited...

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