Short Lough Poems

Freshwater slumbers,
From the calm whisper of reeds:
The tranquil lough sleeps....

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Time 
Not much 
Life 
Busy,
Finally
Christmas
Came
Lots of Lough
And love to share
Happy and
Lovely
Time
To spare
Ha Ha Ha
Who!! Came
Home 
Enjoy
Fun
It’s time to flair

this poem is for kims : A Christmas Waltz Wave contest....

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Rough as in ruff,
Spelling can be tough
Though as in fro,
Just so you know
Bough as in how,
Seldom seen now
Cough as in doff,
Just laugh it off
Lough as in lock,
Spelling can rock
Enough!
Enough!
Enough!

written May 21, 2022...

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Yesterday it was 
me in the dust-
while you in the 
peanacle
 How u loughed 
at me,
But today a 
different story
 I choose not to 
lough for i know 
tommorow the 
opposite might 
be truth for me
 So i will pray 
for your up-
comings-while i 
fight to keep my 
position...

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shes born ,she grows she develops she falls she ventures she finds a boy she falls over heels she grieves she worships she crys and crys shes stabbed in the back she hurts she rants revenge they lough they cry oh babygirl i know it hurts but it gets better before it gets worse you love again and even better mommy knows thats how i met daddy!...

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To see a Lotus visit a near lake,
Or to watch Jasmine wait till cold midnight.
Stand nearby a tree in some gay spring-light;
If you like to know how orchid look like.

You are not given a Rose to count thorn.
Nor for dark night, the lake or the spring-morn.
If you are looking for cloud look above
Or rove the wide world for the clearest lough....

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I was alone inside a cave
Nearby lough, cove,
After recalling what Jim Love
wrote, "It's known to all that I am a fool".
I was laughing alone
"I am glad you stay .."
A nice whisper cut that laughing
My eyes moved around the curved corners
To find out who?
A big writer lady in my view
Have a nice week far away from the snow,
In valentine season, I told her so....

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Tell me, how will they love me? 
Really it is very difficult, how?
In the heart that contains 
The emptiness of the sky,
Can love ever go away there?
"He picked up
A leaky and cracked-bon boy,
When I wanted to paint a mark 
On his cheek as a memento of love.
I stepped back, fled.
He kept laughing, 
Continued to lough!”
Seeing her go away in such a fear, 
My laughter never stopped.
My laughter doesn't really stop,
By no means. How?...

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Winter brims
over bouldered ground
above Rostrevor.
Louring skies meld
blue lough to green forest.
Needling wind keens
through raftered bones,
once homes,
hewn from ancient granite.

Mourne claims her own,
over and over,
defeating generations.
Hasp and staple,
galvanised against the sleekit mist,
defend rude-lintelled doors.

Who comes?
Only ghosts of emigrants,
wraiths of mountainy men
whose quick selves
coaxed poor life
from pale, barren hills
above Rostrevor....

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