One of the loveliest islands I've been
Malta fits that bill without doubt
Valletta and Mellieha are real highlights
summer sunshine is an attraction to count
Venice is one beauty without doubt
surrounded fully by water all around
St Marks square takes one's breath away
an experience to make one astound
Being one who loves a good walk
the island of Menorca fits the bill
Mao being the capital on the bay
lovely forests bring nature so still
The island of Madeira has a nice climate
having such lovely fish, wine, and fruit
Funchal being its capital is majestic
such richness grows at its very root
A holiday that took us down the Med
to spend it in lovely Cyprus no less
there the sun did shine every day
shorts and t-shirts were regular dress
I’ve been dragged through mud
Pushed around all my life
Beaten and battered
Without a fair chance to fight
Nobody cared, nobody cried
No one gave a if I lived or died
Laying in the gutter, face up to the sky
No words to utter, just wondering why
Someday, somehow, I shall prevail
Spit in the face of those who cherished my fail
I’ll come down upon you like a hammer on a nail
There will be no debris to pick up after the gale
Revenge is bittersweet
Look at me relish at your defeat
Don’t you tell me to be discrete
‘cause Revenge is bittersweet
Is it love or trust, mutual desire or strong will
that ejects entwined bodies into the unknown
from the springboard of impulsiveness?
Arched in firm embrace and defying norms of life
they leap forth with passion filled
in search of fulfillment.
A moment so intense
magnetic, unrestrained,
where the movement flows along
radiating hidden brutal strength,
and yet, so graceful to behold.
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[Note: After attending the inauguration of Caesar Attard’s art exhibition
at the National Museum of Fine Arts, Valletta, Malta. This is about his
painting called "Locked Leap".]
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Screwed III
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Placed 3rd
Valletta city:
Palazzi like clothes-lines of unwashed underware,
And stale, crumbling cake-carnival,
A giant cheese-grater,
Across a block of holed cheese.
City-fortress without a gate,
undressed and shamed,
A gaping hole between two thighs.
Hoarse Parliament, two sizes small.
Theater-pjazza under sun and sweat,
Rain and wet, and noise annoyed,
At least cumfy plastic seats.
Piano playing his violin.
In Karnival town.
She stands by the window
Looking out over the blue
For soon he will sail home
He lover oh so true
It was many weeks ago
From Valletta harbour he sailed
For the Atlantic cause
Following the convoy trail
From its industrial ports
On America's east coast
The war efforts cargo
Must never be lost
Tankers and freight
Ammunition and foods
To serve the heroic
As we deservedly should
Corvette's on the peripheral
Scouting for the packs
For these demons from the deep
And their torpedo attacks
Action stations
As the packs are discovered
Sonar kicks in
For the depth charge shower
The surface explodes
In showers of spray
As lookouts view
Any debris display
The sighting of bubbles
And traces of oil
One of the wolves is maimed
Another statistic war spoil
Days pass
As Liverpool is reached
A rare sight indeed
For a convoy not breached
This Corvette of the brave
And the hero's who have manned
Continue on their journey
To the North African lands
By the Bay Of Biscay
Into the Gibraltar Straights
Down the Mediterranean
To Valletta where she waits
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-9.php
Plate Glass
The plate glass frontage of the hotel
offers a sea of indigo and ink
to the full moon
to float her wavering disc
of opal and milk.
Now tower is dark,
now spire is silver-sword-sharp,
now pearl is dome:
Valletta in black and white,
Malta in monochrome.
Margaret Clerici
from "Glass:Glimpses of Malta"
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