Isle Poems - Poems about Isle

Isle of Pigs

Alone the demon sleeps–
Alone the demon weeps.
Last night mother died–
Last night father cried.
Yet here I sit by the windowsill,
Watching the doves fly by.

Down the Isle

Down the aisle, a princess draped in grace,
Tracing dreams upon silken white,
A smile, a beacon of love’s caress,
Yet shadowed whispers steal my light.

Down the aisle, a tale unfolds anew,
Of devotion woven, steadfast and bright,
Where laughter dances, where grief holds true,
Yet love remains, an eternal rite.

As I gaze, your radiance near divine,
Each step dissolves what once

Sanga Banga

Who is the greatest from the land of the other hand…

The pure top draw..southpaw....

Lara or Spice Isle style.. guile and 

Wiles of Kumar Sangakarra..


Who wouldn’t hanker in their seats 

Various vicarious treats..Sri Lanka’s number one ranker..

Fancy dan talisman.. Tamil Totem of elan..

Run spanker & banker.


His unctuous umami like a sumptuous curry 

Even at the end…flurry

This Sceptred Isle

In 1773 the sun never set
on the British Empire so goes the story
now the 'Teatime Islands'
crumbs of Great Britain’s former glory
but as the moon rose over the White Cliffs of Dover
standing guard at the Gateway to England
ramparts the enemy to forestall
if the ravens left the Tower of London
the kingdom itself then would fall
and Britain would

Emerald Isle

Tipperary's a long way from here,
But the Emerald Isle's best beer,
Will enhance any ceilidh,
I wave my shillelagh,
With some Guinness, old Eire feels near.

The Lanyard - The Window Isle

-What is the failure key?
They imagine!
-What is wrong about that?
They do sleep on the job! That is the general idea!
-What is dream then?
A subconscious urge that yarns for non-aspiring unfulfilled reticent.
-Now what is non-aspiring?
Without mediocrity, some kind of ambition.
-Why is it needed?
They are absolutely needed to egress, as these are toxic like mothball!
-Did you ever

I won a poetry prize to go visit the lake isle of Innisfree

I won a poetry prize to go visit the lake isle of Innisfree.
But I didn't wanna go, cuz there's nothing there I particularly wanted to see.
I hear there's just a clay-and-wattles cabin
with a bunch a bees a-blabbin'
and nine rows of beans, and that doesn't really interest me.

Lady from the Isle of man

A young lady from the Isle of man 
Writes limericks fresh from the pan
Queen of poetry Soup 
She shares her poop 
Watching the s..t hit the fan.


Your  Blogs. 

Dear Jan, place your Blog in the fire 
Sit back and watch it burn. 
You might attract one or two snowflakes 
But that is of little

dragon from the emerald isle

Dragon from the Emerald Isle loved to take notes said Snappy.
Research was something that made him wildly happy.
He studied constellations, dinosaurs, extinct animals and stars.
Taking down notes in restaurants, strip clubs, churches and bars.

Strip clubs and churches? Does that seemed strange? I asked him.
He has to try and save the sinners right? Snappy said with

Monster Isle

The Mole Man
mastered the creatures 
down within

With tunnels leading 
to every major ciy
his goal was
to win

But the Fantastic Four
would not have it this way
They would devise a plan
to seize the day

Johny Storm, the Human Torch
would blaze up and melt the soft earth
trapping the creatures in
where they could cause no more harm

But what became of the

My Pacific Isle

I entered a competition
In a gardening magazine.
I had to write a poem
About a garden I had seen.

I chose a lovely garden
That was here in my mind.
A piece of imagination
Where flamingo's could have dined.

Mammals and coloured singing birds
All called this land their own.
Free to wander and to fly
To graze and hunt and roam.

But my garden does

The Twelve Days of Christmas On the Isle of Man

On the first day of Nollick my true love gave to me
A Manx cat but there’s no tail to see

On the second day of Nollick my true love gave to me
Two kipper baps, and a Manx cat but there’s no tail to see

On the third day of Nollick my true love gave to me
Three Legs

A Pilgrimage

seagulls surf the wind
my escorts home
across the waves

                  streamlined gannets
                   sacred isle in view 
     

Lamlash

We fished off the pier in carefree days
when girls wore tartan trews.
In endless summer sun we’d laze
when Tommy Steele was “Singing the Blues”.

Now it’s saffron robes and no-take zones,
maybe coffee in the cafe at the pier,
replaced by ubiquitous mobile phones,
like conversation, things just disappear.

Kiss of the Planets

Jupiter and Venus meld like two canaries
Kissing in late February
In a black gap
Between mountainous sparkling beach hotels

As if
The planets have privacy in their own city alley

Sand in Miami
Warm as peach pie beneath our bare feet
A beach just for us
Bob and Kerri

What cosmic gale
Blew these names to our lunar sails?

The froth from ocean waves
Breaks
Like ghostly surfers

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