Philip Poems - Poems about Philip

19.01.2025 An amazing day trip to Phillip Island. Glad it turned out to be a beautiful day. The weather was fine, so as the blue sky. The low tides and the wind, Together they made gentle waves. Perfect for swimming and strolling on the sand. Truly, we were blessed with beautiful place on the Australia land. Do not forget to embrace the...

Continue reading...

all time stopped ravenged* by what had gone before a chance given to take a breath gravity suspended wet through to the skin too cold...

Continue reading...

January years ago, confused far away I was with the cold. Landed in Bristol on a snowy airport, as snowed were the meadows and frosted my mind. A trip to say hello and goodbye to a beloved one, taking my hand, she closed her fading eyes into her last sigh. I saw the dark face of life turning...

Continue reading...

He was alone and lonely. Sadness swept his eyes before he jabbed at me with his cynical sarcasm. He slowly lit his Camel. It was a simple act of murder and he was a scholar of sorts – a player of chess, a fan of poetry. I knew I was under his scrutiny. I agree it looked rather suspicious. After all, the body...

Continue reading...

At sea Fish of gold gleams Old memories return Beam of sunset’s pink light sent from Valis...

Continue reading...

Goodbye, Prince Philip, husband of the Queen, age ninety-nine. Thank you, for giving up prince hood from Greek and Danish lines. Thank you, Royal Navyman, for setting prisoners free; thanks for wildlife protection and awards as D of E. January 13, 2022 Contest A Celebrity Epitaph Sponsor Michelle Faulkner He was a patient Prince Philip....

Continue reading...

Prince Philip with his blest* sterling legacy keeps reigning midst his regal Queen’s history marked by God-granted tasks of royal duty championing Britain and its grand monarchy. *Ezekiel 46:16 Thus saith the Lord GOD; If the prince give a gift unto any of his sons, the inheritance thereof shall be his sons'; it shall be their possession by...

Continue reading...

Philip is an inchworm, he has neither legs nor feet, He also has no arms or hands like others on his street. Phil isn’t good at football, and he can’t run round and round. His hand eye coordination’s missing something quite profound. He’d like to play a tennis match but can’t for some strange reason, Golf is just beyond his...

Continue reading...

He didn’t make 100 So there’ll be no birthday fest But the Windsor Castle Chapel Is where he will lie at rest. Prince Philip died at 99; The flags will fly half-mast, With ceremonies more subdued Than in pre-Covid past. The Queen and all her subjects Will join in to mourn the Duke, The public told to stay away, Though not with much rebuke. The...

Continue reading...

Are We Not Brothers, Made From The Same Dirt, (Tribute to Philip Freneau and his poem, The Dying Indian) Are We Not Brothers, Made From The Same Dirt I welcome you- sweet dawn, soft break of day As your vibrant voice sounds, seeming to say Lad, I bid you relief from dark and gray Feel my coming golden rays and rejoice So...

Continue reading...

Abide by Michael R. Burch after Philip Larkin's "Aubade" It is hard to understand or accept mortality— such an alien concept: not to be. Perhaps unsettling enough to spawn religion, or to scare mutant fish out of a primordial sea boiling like goopy green tea in a kettle. Perhaps a man should exhibit more mettle than to admit such fear, denying Nirvana exists simply because...

Continue reading...

The piano music is quieter now He barely hears the tune His mother’s right beside him He wonders if she'll ever know He was just trying to help Trying to protect his father Trying so hard Just trying He chokes out one last line The light is dimming now He wonders how it is, To die He counts one last time With his mother Like they used...

Continue reading...

Phillip, dancer of the skies, Artist of heaven crosswise. The god of the twin towers Made obedient by a wire. Phillip, a winged man. Elegant and poetic, Charming and majestic. City birds above and city crowds below, Both couldn't fathom The celestial waltz above New York he showed. A horizontal thread spread across the top of the world, Philip escaped into his creative element Of balanced beauty...

Continue reading...

The marching band played John Philip Sousa My daddy held my hand Lining the streets elbows to my head My daddy put me on his shoulders, where I could stand ~ The marching marines stopped in front of us And in synchrony stomped boots our way The men sang in perfect harmony Daddy crossed his heart that day ~ And over head, as the men...

Continue reading...

You look me over as if you have never seen me. I am dressed in sackcloth, tied to the pole. I am St. Joan of Arc, my bones burning me from the inside. You are the inquisitor; you weigh the verdict in your hands and pick at your fingernails. Or perhaps you are St. Philip Neri with the heart too...

Continue reading...