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Linda Bolt Poem
In 1588 Sir Francis Drake,
over a game of bowls, his time he did take.
Saying I’ll play my game before England’s fate.
So the Spanish will just have to wait!
There once was a young sailor named Drake,
who some thought was a bit of a flake.
On Plymouth Hoe he stood
while playing with his wood
not knowing that history he'd make.
Drake was from the Elizabethan era
finishing his game as Spain drew nearer.
A stubborn man and quite contrary
until he died of dysentery!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
Stood by the river throws a pooh stick
suddenly, I hear “nanny come quick.”
The water went splash
a dog a mad dash
crossing the river to nab our picnic!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
My favourite day, was sunny
birds where in the sky
I remember it distinctly
It was a day I didn’t cry.
My favourite day, was xmas
for presents I didn’t reach
Instead I just laid there
On a warm, sunny beach.
My favourite day, you came to me
Oh my,how you did howl
this small little person
all snuggled in a towel.
My favourite day, I went to sea
on a mighty big boat
Cruising from isle to isle
I’m so glad we stayed afloat.
My favourite day was yesterday
For my family I did see
laughing as the clouds rolled by
while drinking cups of tea.
My favourite day was perfect
Believe me for this is true.
My favourite days are definitely
the days I share with you.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
Deep in a valley there is this secret place,
a place to relax with the sun upon your face.
The only way out is to climb up hills so steep
all that you can see is fields of grazing sheep!
Surrounded by restless trees rustling in a grove.
The crackling of a log that burns to heat a stove.
The cawing of a bird and the buzzing of the bees
a trickling from a stream the mind is puts at ease.
When the night-time comes, take off your walking boots
then along comes a tawny owl who sits alone and hoots.
While sitting on your deck with a million stars above
You will feel at peace and this place you’ll surely love.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
Old souls once loved and grieved
long forgotten all they achieved.
Laid to rest in an old churchyard
With a solitary tree standing guard.
Eternally sleeping peaceful and shaded
names they once had, long since faded
Memories entombed behind a dry stone wall,
with the soothing chirrup of a sparrows call.
Overgrown grass, dead flowers rot
as these old souls are long forgot.
Now distant echoes of another time
Slowly disappearing as weeds entwine
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2020
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Linda Bolt Poem
Jack was always a happy soul,
Just a shop boy with a sweetheart.
When the war called men and boy
Their lives were torn apart.
He wrote letters to his sweetheart
Saying we'll be married someday.
he wrote letters to his mother
And Inquired about her day
he would write to his little brother
telling of the horrors that he saw.
And of how the bloody fighting wasn’t
the only killer in that war.
Taking boys as young as fourteen,
hunger and disease had played a part.
While loved ones filled with sorrow,
Had died with a broken heart.
Then came the fateful day
his loved ones had lived to dread.
All of the letters they had sent,
come back unopened and unread.
MIA
they wrote his heartbroken family
their kin was lost to war.
They never found his body,
Coming home, he never saw.
A young man of just nineteen,
They had named him jack.
They lent him to the army,
And never got him back!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
The sweetest fresh aroma filling a room.
tufts of narrow leaves a summer bloom
like trumpets all in a row
on Wiry stems grow.
Colours bright
graceful
a delight.
Used in bottled scents
a symbol of innocence.
Pure white chosen for a wedding day
proudly adorning a blushing brides bouquet.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
Dark demons sent to taunt me
within my mind, they often play
In my ear, they quietly whisper
On my woes, they love to pray.
Pitiful pleas for mercy
Are sadly made in vain
to their whispers I’m addicted
From feeling joy, I now abstain.
Guided to where I’m destined
exhausted, mentally drained
despondent I willingly follow
as whispered words are feigned.
Oblivious I’m lead from reality
convinced there’d be no pain
taken further into darkness
Where my tortured soul lies slain!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
There are told ancient tales of mystery,
of singing maids beneath the sea
with golden tails and flowing hair
how gullible sailors they do ensnare.
Enchanting words their perfect pitch
With their voice, they can bewitch
entranced naive souls, to enslave
enticing them to their watery grave.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2020
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Linda Bolt Poem
The Autumn tree has shed its very last leaves,
Standing now barren its loss it still grieves.
Brisk winds carry the leaves of red and gold,
Rising like a vortex the tree shivers from cold.
The Autumn tree is waiting for winter to call,
Bracing itself for the first snow flakes to fall.
When Jack Frost comes nipping at its roots,
And a winter owl sits on a branch and hoots.
The Autumn tree is frozen all covered with snow.
When the winter blizzards tempestuously blow,
Icicles hang on branches like crystals they shine,
Children skating beneath it the scene is sublime.
The Autumn tree covered in a blanket of white.
To survive the cold winter must put up a fight.
As the Autumn tree waits for the season to end
It begs Mother Nature a warm sunshine to send.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2020
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