Details |
Karen Sabourn Poem
The city is a dirty and polluted concrete jungle
It is a place, where grime and graffiti
smear the streets
rubbish, thrown to the floor
will stay there for days or maybe weeks
bins
so full
that they spill out onto the pavement
garbage, dumped in an alley, gives off a pungent smell
that floats through the air
rats can be seen scurrying across the floor
as they go in search of their next meal
pigeons cooing on the roof tops
fly off
leaving their mess of droppings behind
the air polluted, by the fumes of traffic and factories
as they discard their waste into the atmosphere
this what the concrete jungle has to offer
Copyright © Karen Sabourn | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Karen Sabourn Poem
Taking a stroll together,
down the old country lane,
Brings back many memories from when we were kids,
Remembering, how we use to run through the fields,
Racing each other and dodging the cow pats,
It certainly kept us fit,
And not forgetting the times, when we would come home wet and muddy
After playing down at the brook jumping the stepping stones,
Some times we would come home with cuts and bruises
Because we had been climbing trees and pretending we were monkeys,
And when we got hungry,
We would sit under a shady tree and
eat our sandwiches and share a bottle of pop,
Summer time was the best
With long days and warm nights.
Copyright © Karen Sabourn | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Karen Sabourn Poem
Extremist
Yet again blood spills out onto the streets
It’s another attack on innocent people
The extremists are at work again
Killing and maiming people
Men, women and children, it doesn’t matter
These people
The extremists, they have no respect for the human race
Their minds, filled with hatred and evil
Their belief is based upon destruction
These extremists are the devil’s disciples
They will not stop, whilst under his command
Copyright © Karen Sabourn | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Karen Sabourn Poem
The Owl
The Owl is a mysterious bird
He is like a vampire who hunts by night and sleeps by day
A bird so rarely seen and yet still be heard
Somewhere in a tree he sits
But which tree
Nobody knows
There he sits listening and looking
as he waits for his meal
Suddenly there's movement on the ground
With one fast swoop he catches his prey
And off into the night he flies away
Copyright © Karen Sabourn | Year Posted 2007
|