Fiona Poems - Poems about Fiona

Lately I’ve kept thinking How you’re only late if you show up I don’t wanna be in someone else’s web of memories I don’t wanna be the guardian angel who returns from the heavenly gates And saves the lives of who he once befriended Cause why do I have to leave at all? Even though...

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If you happen on a field of roses…swaying in the afternoon sun It is often difficult to discover the individual beauty of each one. Today I’d like to introduce you to one particular flower that I chose with a name as beautiful as she is…it’s called the Fiona Rose. I had the pleasure of officiating our son’s wedding… which means...

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Fiona, fair beauty, fleet footed and fancy free, Flits over the field, Full of life and fun, a joy to see. She’s my Bonnie canine, sweet and good, Loving and loyal, a regal golden, Her tail held high, 'til coursing the woods. Wild is my Heather as her namesake flower on the hill, Pursuing bunnies, squirrels and birds, Though only for...

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He thought that he had lost all his marbles on the crossing The autumn tides had been huge and the currents strong Mostly the aquamarine ones off track and abandoned A bit like blue smarties excluded from the shiny packets Forbidden colorants had lost their way into his life Must have put them into one of the Nivea tins he...

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Fiona mutesi Will be queen of the world I remember The king of katwe castling His opponent's queen...

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For Fiona Meyrick, poet and musician; a Petrarchan sonnet Fiona, in the silence of the night Sings songs of sorrow soft in minor key That sigh above all formal melody In cadences that dance like birds in flight She rests within the dark, composing light In subtle shades of sweet philosophy Transposing on the stave a mystery In spills of sound like ink...

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Don't cry my dad, for your single tear is as deep as ocean of love, Don't cry my mom, for your care is as pure as a dove. Don't cry my brothers, as your company is all I ever require, Don't cry my sisters, as your memories are all that I can aquire. Today I am not going...

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Each poem must have a purpose; Each verb, each certain noun, fawning adjective, needs a place, a form, a hole, to fit. Purple is not a word for a poem, it has no place. "No rhyme?" say cat/rat/bat, "Outrageous" say sebaceous/herbaceous. So purple is resigned to prose. Purple must have a partner, a pair, a comrade To be worthy in the poem. Everyword must...

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I first met Fiona at a Christmas party A beautiful woman in a young girl’s body Fiona was far more mature than her years And she chose me that night Despite a host of more suitable suitors And we danced into the night Her firm body pressed against mine Her intoxicating scent enveloping me Arms clinging tightly to me Her breath against my...

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