when am I in a raging sea
when am I in a towerless keep
you see the armies flanked around him
labelled with exactness
when am I on a mountain ledge
when am I on a broadsheet
a dozen more of liberty
a number for the free
when am I by solitude
when am I by genocide
walking through my lonely streets
I ask
when am I by me
Categories:
broadsheet, emotions, feelings, i am,
Form: Dramatic Monologue
Newspapers
I read a few people read the newspaper anymore
I have in the shed the English written publication going back
twenty years also have some copies of the Guardian
which no longer sell their broadsheet abroad.
Regarding the local newspaper that first was run by a Canadian
It was fun to read they even printed my eccentric views
but it has – the paper- gone down it
is aimed at the affluent
and those who play golf and the little they have of news
is invariable right winged and that is sad, and I think of any more
good dammed self-satisfied than the English community here
but the paper has its use some supermarkets give it away
for free and it is an excellent way to lit the fire in the winter.
But I lament the passing of the Guardian as broadsheet it was
more liberal than it is now and it wasn`t Russia-phobic
I read the Guardian in line every day as it is their politics
and their harping harridans aside a good newspaper.
But I`m getting off the point which is that what is written
on papers endures what’s on internet Internet disappears in a cloud.
Categories:
broadsheet, blessing, books, break up,
Form: Blank verse
Lonely is the Famous
Once I met Cliff Richard, a sweet little man,
came into the newsagent and bought
a paper-broadsheet- perhaps that makes
him looks intellectual; what do I know?
He nodded my way, smiled, mind, he smiled
to everyone. He is a professional showman,
smiling for him comes easy.
He had plenty of hair, slim no unsightly beer
belly like me, and I was quite envious till
I noticed the cape of loneliness he wore.
Wished I could help moderate the desolation
that dulled his eyes when he briefly let his
guard down. Poor Cliff sits alone at home, sips
his own wine and dream of happy holiday
Categories:
broadsheet, absence, angst, anxiety, art,
Form: Blank verse
I have some seeds,
in my box,
precious seeds
which,
when I plant them,
if I plant them,
could make
the whole world
happy.
But for now
they remain
in my box
awaiting
my decree.
_________________________________________
My first and only published poem - a campus literary broadsheet as a 2nd yr undergrad
Categories:
broadsheet, garden,
Form: Free verse