Best Wilfred Poems

To sing an anthem for doomed youth.
Why did I believe the clergy's untruth
and the politicians who I voted for in a polling booth.
and know i...

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Dulce et decorum est,
or total hell on Earths past
oh world of many worlds,
how long will this one last,

Wild with all regrets,
though needs dictate
spells of incantations,
realisation...

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 POTD 23rd June 2019

Maria Williams 
Presents

Dance to Love

A tribute to my Dad, the late - Wilfred Forbes

She danced with wild abandon
she danced without a...

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Blake was chosen keeper,
For careful hands had he  
Yeats the classic sweeper
And Keats at number three 
  
Whitman wore the five shirt 
With...

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The Silence of War

Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze

Beside the cross sits the...

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Dear budding poet,

Regarding modern poetry this is a result of poets such as you redesigning forms of poetry written through the ages by different nationalities,...

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Spread your cherries
be brave; when a man
calls you:
Do the right thing (but have your
Loaded 45 to hand)

Check first his credit;
Does he have lightship 
Standing?
Is he...

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If I’d picked up a snooker cue, when I picked up a pen;
and then gone on to build a break of eight or nine or...

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When I was a little girl
My grandfather had a tin
With a sailor smoking a cigarette on the lid
It was what he kept his medals in

He...

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The War Poets

The First World War wasn`t a world war but
a war of dominance in Europe chiefly by the Franc, British and Germany.
World War 2...

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Stadacona
An ode to Quebec City

1

On the green bank of a mighty stream - 
A lofty aerie - a fair city beam
With stately air a queen,...

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A Vain Word
by Michael R. Burch

Oleanders at dawn preen extravagant whorls
as I read in leaves’ Sanskrit brief moments remaining
till sunset implodes, till the moon strands...

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State of the Art (II)

These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. 



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What...

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He came like Tommy’s Cooper
With a pocket in each hand,
Juggling with his boulders
While out humphing ‘cross the land.

It took about a day a week
No more...

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10 million men sent to die,
Not expected to return.
Bullied into suicide,
Sacrificed, in turn.

A poppy for a measly 20p,
Slapped on a dirty car bumper.
Is this how...

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