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Best Poems Written by David Wakeling

Below are the all-time best David Wakeling poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | David Wakeling Poem

The Narrowing

Glowing days that were once red-cheeked and ripe with promise,
Are narrowing like tall candles in a church window,
Tapering from the golden stand and the sturdy base,
To the glorious flame and the ever fading light.
The final birth of dreams that was once distant and cold,
Is now close, closer, ever closer.

The imminent darkened clouds of doubt, that haunt the wise,
Are now gathering close to form a ghostly shadow,
That will create a vast tempest, in a quiet place,
And a mighty torrent that will quench the firelight.
Unyielding waves of fear that are rising in the old,
Are now near, nearer, ever nearer.
 
To have once coveted the blue from the autumn sky,
Embraced the fallen leaves of a giant maple tree,
To have jumped into water without wondering why,
Leaped joyfully in the warm sand near the emerald sea. 
Having playfully chased off the petulant sea gulls,
Broken twigs to build a fire against night’s attack,
Held tight in your strong hands the soft feathers of eagles,
And kissed a beautiful girl on the nape of the neck.
To have laughed at the tetchy clock ticking in the hall,
And smoked each distressing regret like a cigarette,
Knowing it would certainly give cancer of the soul,
The narrowing compels the pining heart to forget.

When forced to consent to the lessoning of a day,
And to accept the waning of a moonlit heaven,
To wonder if the path taken was the only way,
Is to live in mortal fear inside a peaceful den.
To be ordered to find gratitude in the calming,
And to find a moments peace in the resignation,
Is not the purpose of the dancing and singing,
This game is but a trial of the imagination, 
God has left the beautiful forest unattended,
There is no lesson, design or celestial rule,
To search for meaning is to invite eternal dread,
It takes a saddened, embittered mind to be that cruel. 

Could love's joyous light, shine and never fade.
Or the closing at sunset be delayed.

An elegance can be found in the narrowing,
As memories line together like a pearl necklace,
And clouded moments vanish and amount to nothing,
And all are gently buried with red velvet and lace.
Love the narrowing, set in a purposeless blue sky, 
Not because winter nights have become less frightening,
Or the smoldering summer days have now lost their sting,
But as there is no truth in the trumpet or the drum,
It is just a walk among the flowers of freedom.
And a laughing stroll through the narrowing of wisdom.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

We Are Nearly Home My Angel We Are Nearly Home

My dear, my angel, do not worry, we are not lost,
We will follow the well-worn sacred path at all cost,
And be guided by the star that beckons the hopeful.
We will stay loyal to the course of the dutiful,
Until we are safe at home by the warm fire's glow.
We must be lead by the bright candle in the window.
My trusting child, follow this way and stay close to me.
Recite the prayer of our gentle lady of mercy,
" Dear lady, look after us and let us rise above,
And be guided by the light from the angel of love."
Come my dear, this way home, and we will soon dance and sing,
Hold my hand, precious dove, for the night is beckoning.

I brought you into this dangerous world and I know,
I must protect you from all the evil it will show.
I will try to safeguard you from the darkening sky.
Stay close to me and I will teach your spirit to fly.
Worry not, my little bird, I will find you a nest.
Just a few more roadways through the old blackened forest,
And over the bridge that spans the river of the damned.
Once we get beyond the green hills, we cannot be harmed.
It is just a short walk past the graveyard on the hill.
Oh darling, we can run the rest of the way until,
I carry you into our safe home, oh don't you see,
I'll protect you, trust in me, my daughter, trust in me.

You must hold onto my hand and have faith , hold on tight.
This awkward day is waning and it will soon be night.
The ugly creatures of the darkness will soon appear,
And, you my purpose, are all I have to ward off fear.
You are the mystical light when the night has begun.
You are my heart beating, joy and beauty all in one.
Hold onto my hand, hold on tight and remember well,
If we are ever kept apart in this darkened hell,
And the frightening, hungry beasts of terror appear, 
My angel, always try to scream twice for me to hear.
I might not hear you if you only scream once in fear.
Remember, you must try to scream twice for me to hear.

Here is a good place, it has the look of Sympathy.
This beautiful tree I shall call the tree of Mercy,
And this stone I will call the great rock of Salvation, 
Sit and rest, on our knees, we will pray for redemption.
Trust me, I will stay awake all night to protect you.
Let me sing a lullaby from the ghost of the blue,
And when the ancient sun erupts in the morning skies,
I will wake you, my cherub, with rainbows in your eyes.
For we have beaten the evil darkness in the wild.
We have peered into the deep dark well of night and smiled.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

The Train To Auschwitz

It was a glorious day in 1943,
The kind of day you wish to hug your children carefree.
The frozen Polish Winter winds were almost dying,
The golden promise of Summer made everything sing,

It was very sunny on the station in Warsaw.
Mrs Iby Lopuszynski had two fine children,
Leisel her delightful daughter who was eleven,
And Arek who was a boy of nine, very smart.
Arek had his Father’s eyes and his Mother’s soft heart.
He was sensitive and sadly, wet the bed often,
He was a good boy really filled with fun  now and then.

Leisel was extremely clever. She could read and write,
She always had a book open long into the night.
She had lovely dark hair and the eyes of an angel.
She also had her Mother’s fine singing voice as well.
As they stood at the station in Warsaw the Sun hid,
It hid behind a cloud, in shame as it often did,

Iby pulled her beautiful children close to her side.
A soldier with a viscious dog came close alongside,
He yelled loudly in german language :”Untermenschen”
Mrs Lopuszynski bent down and hugged her children.
“I’m scared Mummy.” said Arek, in a very soft voice.
“Don’t be such a baby” said Leisel, we have no choice.
“Now be quiet now I want to tell you a story. 
Then we will go on the train ride full of glory.
To Auschwitz, won’t that be fun. Now Children stand straight”
“Once long ago when I was a little girl of eight,
 I lived in a beautiful house and I was content, 
My parents provided a garden as a present. 
In that place grew corn poppy’s, Siberian Iris,
Geraniums,Crocuses, and Pink Amaryllis.”

If you ever get frightened I want you to day dream,
About that garden, where the bright Sun will always beam.
It is where we will all go soon one day my angels,”
A guard dog came close with barking that sounded like bells,
She was forced apart and joined a long line with others.
“I love you dzieci, be brave my sisters and brothers.”

Leisel hugged her brother as they were dragged on the train.
Leisel smiled strangely as her joy began to drain.
„We are going to Auschwitz. It is a good town,
 And we will see mummy again.Don’t make a frown.”
Now let me sing a song to you Arek one you know,
Oh my heart is full with joy, I love this garden so, 
A golden garden of beauty, peace and love, all day,
The guards could not hear the triumphant singing as they, 
forced the cold wooden doors shut on the Auschwitz train.
Hope has never stopped growing there even in the rain.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

Pamela Strong and the Lemon Meringue Pie

The phone rang but there was no-one there,
Her imagination flew like a balloon into the air.
“Who was that?”, she asked herself.” Who was that woman?”, she wondered.
As the sun sank behind a cloud she gathered her ingredients.
“I’ll make his favourite: Lemon Meringue Pie”, she announced.

Now for the pastry I’ll need flour, butter, icing sugar and egg yolk.
I’ll save the egg white for the meringue.
Now some cold water and all into the processor to mix it all up.

“I remember the first time he kissed me.
It was my 19th birthday and he promised me the moon and the stars.”
Now I’ll put a baking sheet in the oven and heat to 200 degrees.
While the pastry bakes I’ll prepare the filling.
Let me see...oh this is such fun...mix cornflour, sugar and lemon zest.

“ It was after a few years I noticed he would stay late at work.
 He would come home smelling slightly of perfume. “
Now I must organise that secret ingredient: Ricin made from castor oil beans.
When eaten it affects the body’s immune system.

“I remember our holidays in the Greek Isles.
We loved Thasos and Ikaria the best.”

Soon there was a knock at the door. It was Richard her husband.
“Hello darling look what I have made. Your favourite lemon Meringue Pie”.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

My Stupid Mum

Why did she get that degree in Fine Arts,
Oh what a like total Loser.
It won’t do her any good.
And that time when the neighbours house burnt down,
She let the 5 kids stay with us until the house was rebuilt.
I had to share my bedroom.
What a loser Mum.

I remember that time when our Labrador, Jess, was
having 6 pups and was suffering with the birth.
Mum stayed up all night to care for her and the pups.
I mean what a total loser Mum.
Even my 21st. I had a few drinks with my mates and 
I feel asleep on the front lawn.
She put a “Spiderman” blanket over me.
All the neighbours laughed at me.
What a total loser Mum.
That time she climb the old maple tree and recued the 
tabby cat.Why did she do that?
Loser Mum.
I don’t understand why she was such a loser.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

Go Nanna Go Nanna

It was the end of 2013 when I got a phone call from my Mother,
My Mother and I didn’t live together,
Because she ran away when things got difficult,
She said that my beloved Grandmother was ill.
She said Nanna may not survive the night , and she knew
How much I loved her and would want to see her one last time.
I went to the hospital and held back tears.
Nanna looked so frail and fragile. Her skin was like a leaf.
“Hey Nan what’s happening?” I said stupidly.
“Hello Aiden, is that you, I can’t see very well,
How are you darling. You sure have grown.
Time slowed down and we chatted about the weather.

For some reason I stopped being an idiot for a second
And realised I didn’t really know this old lady who gave me life.
So I asked her about her life.

She pointed with a tiny hand to her luggage.
Inside I found a photo album, I had never seen before.
She had trouble turning the pages so I held the book for her.

Wow Nan these photos are amazing. Who are these people?
There were men in uniforms and ladies waving them goodbye.
There was a photograph of children running down the street.
There was a little girl with ice-cream all over her face.
There was a man washing an old Ford Buick .
Next to him was this beautiful women in a bathing suit, keeping cool.

“Wow Nan who was that bathing Beauty?”
She didn’t answer me and just closed her eyes.
Perhaps I’ll never know.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

Seclusion

The summer men are standing, alone upon a wretched stone,
Contorted, bent and torn. Dressed in paper-like ragged clothing,
The ashes of the universe, they are brother less bone,
Forming declarations from hearts made barren by their loathing.

The winter women, busy themselves by making baby sounds,
Weakened, sad and tired. Wishing for the sun to disappear,
The carers of young flesh, the ones who turn the merry-go-rounds,
Bark at the dark night sky, with a howling that comes from despair.

So soft sands soak seas, and verdant grasses devour the sun!
They are still orphaned by the relentless, apathetic tides,
That kiss and tickle, and dampen any hope or ambition,
Reminding them with the sunset, that within them dread presides.

Most will never take the long and lonely swim to each other.
The gentlemen will never dare ask the kind lady to dance.
The sadness forms like weeds around beautiful flowers dying.
Here they stand, alone, in the season of father and mother.
The fire has gone out, yet some close their eyes and take a chance,
Only to wake in the cold morning to the sound of crying.

Around them, broken sickles warily monument the soil.
The hopeful, but weakened authors draw visions of a new land.
But defeated, they yield, bare-faced and burnt, tormented in toil.
The courageous man will not kiss a smiling lady’s hand,
Finding in sacred seclusion, a world of tranquil weather,
That allows the mind and soul to exhaust themselves together.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

The Lady Who Liked Mangoes

Down by Hope Street where the frangipanis bask,
And the Goddess of Love has put up her tent,
Lives a lady with fire in her eyes and cats in her kitchen.
Oh of course I will tell you she's an angel if you ask,
And her magic lies in the making of enchantment,
Why then do dark clouds cover my silent sun?

We will sing together and dance in a fury of touch,
Like the wind does when a storm comes passed,
We will laugh and joke and taste wine in gentle sips,
And that won't matter much,
Because as you might have guessed,
Love has taken me and kissed me on the lips.

Time has curled up on her couch like a Siamese cat,
Yet she still loves mangoes and a foot massage at night,
Perhaps God finally got it right,
When he touched her finger and tipped his hat,
And she walked out into the light,
Why then do dark cobwebs trap me in fright?

By the sea of blue and the grass so green,
She will lay her head on my shoulder and hum,
And all the dark clouds will drift away,
The cobwebs will vanish forever,
In the dark I will find my way,
And finally..finally...finally,
The bells repeating in my brain will cease,
And I will be able to breathe again.

Oh lady of Hope Street dance for me once more,
Before the candles in my lonely church are lit,
Come with me and sway upon the dance floor,
And I will read a poem and gently massage your soul,
And the red fire of enchantment will burn forever more.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

La La La

La La La,
Ya Ya Ya,
Ga Ga Ga.
Awesome like totally Awesome.
Cool Like I was and she was like Waaah
And I was like "YaYa" and she was like "Ye Ye".
Welcome everyone to my little soiree.
I have fish from France and caviar from the sea.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Mrs Goldfish you have a baby tadpole.
Now Son I want you to make me proud.
Never spit first. Wait until they spit at you then
return fire. Make me proud.
Actually my son painted it. He clearly shows
a tendency for Monetesque brush strokes.
Although if you look carefully you can just
detect the Da Da influence.
Mother I hate you. I always have.
I'm going to drown myself in a bath full of honey.
I will just slowly sink away thinking of bees.
I tried so hard with that boy. I gave him everything
But I guess the Artist doesn't fit in a Scientific world.
And the Scientist doesn't fit in an Artist world.
Mrs Goldfish you have 17 different cancers. Some
are lymphomas others are organ cancers. Lung and
pancreatic cancer.
Perhaps you should sit down dear.
I don't feel well. Goodnight all.

Details | David Wakeling Poem

We Are the Stuff That Screams Are Made Of

What makes a man hate his own kind so much?
What gives him a spine of steel and a heart of ice?
Place your hand in the soil you will touch the 
substance of a million murdered souls.
This world is a battle field, a place of carnage.
Somewhere in the world men are killing men.
I do not see peace waiting ahead of us.
Oh to born with a kind soul,
That can see beauty everywhere,
That flies with the dove upon the wind.
Makes double the sadness to enter  this cage of fear.

Come drink with me now, for tomorrow we will kill each other.
Take the last of the sunlight to your heart in a song,
For the darkness will not be denied for very long.