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Best Poems Written by James Watkin

Below are the all-time best James Watkin poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Yours, the Pale-Shelled Cameo, Dear

Yours, the pale-shelled cameo, dear
Moon-skied, Night-worn.
Hung from its pure starred necklace.
Pearls of the high-born!

Of you what's mythic featured
Afar, as dream-lit
Alike within clasping's reach.
Alike to claim it.

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Each Moment

A sort of fluttery glamour
Unlike any that flew by.
By most less appreciative looked on.
Unvaryingly dull. Mothed sky.

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Woman's Intuition

Good, or a trouble-maker;
Smart; mentally impaired;
In world's scales upheld. Litter of
Quick-flung impressions aired!

True Love accepts; each and all.
Blind to bias, whose eye
Piercing with inner perception
A divine soul does spy.

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Time's Passageway, Carnivalesque

Mysteriously intimidating.
Intensely disturbing.
Dim, smoky, noisy. Of what force
Hellish, so pushed on down?

Where a changeful melt of figures, faces
And worse, feeling phases
From out its walls, grasp at attentions
Does ooze. Life's renown!

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Love, To the Hopeless

As rescuer, with lantern
Darkest of nights, sent out
How it must appear, this world throughout.
To each that loses heart.

Fogged for disbelief, at first
That which looms up, bright-smiled.
Til trusting its glow's source, heart's outburst
Leads to a life's new start.

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The Landslide Frolics

It was so a tree that I saw
It was too a branched man!
He let a ripple pass under him
And then his root ran.
Which I know is out of character
And a laugh beyond hysterics;
But is what is brought out in folk
At the Landslide Frolics.

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What Blew Up Too, This Path Along

As striking a picture, leaf-twirled
A little off the ground
For a colour movement
Autumn-rich skirts, pleated and whirled
In both the folk dances
Scot and gypsy present.

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Despondent, One Dreary Day

From on high, only by Him
How throned o'er, thought of?
When as prompt, through each flash
Rainbow's, ray's, re-sent
The heartening mercy!
The heart-warming love!
To believe, must we bear
Full-faced God's descent?

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Refugees

As seeds, of a cold windswept hand
Now rooted in your land
What, growing up as wildflowers
Were, too, called foreigners.

Displaced themselves, are not these
For road-blown refugees
Not worth that time-budding chance
Cultured landscapes enhance?

Details | James Watkin Poem

Its Terror, Life's

Rock-sat. Whilst dashed, smashed against
Girl, frail; by a chilled sea.
Its terror, life's! Shore-faced there.
And invigoratingly!