Details |
Heather Allan Poem
I am standing on top of a cliff,
Its pure white rocks gleaming in the sun.
The sea is gently lashing against them,
I can hear the waves rolling in, one by one.
I am standing at one of the furthest points,
Like someone about to jump.
The soft green grass beneath my feet,
Not a cloud in the clear, clear sky.
The Isle of Wight in the distance,
The sun gleaming down its beams.
The sea is just tumbling on and on, seeming to never end,
It is so still and tranquil, a pin prick would make a ripple.
The air smells sweet and fresh,
As I take a deep breathe in.
The birds up above, calling each other,
Enjoying the warmth of the sun.
I too can feel the sun on my face,
The warm glow of my skin.
I look down underneath me,
And watch the waves tumbling in.
I let out a big sigh.
Forgetting my fear,
Of the height that I am standing at,
Because... summer, is finally here.
Copyright © Heather Allan | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Heather Allan Poem
IDENTITY IS WHO YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU DO,
IT IS A STRANGE THING ,
BUT AS EVERYTHING ELSE IS STRANGE,
IT IS NOT.
IDENTITY IS THE QUESTION OF LIFE,
FOR CENTUTIES NO ONE HAS KNOW WHAT IT IS,
AND STILL TODAY NO ONE KNOWS,
EVEN YOU SOMETIMES DON’T KNOW YOURSELF.
YOU ARE THE QUESTION OF LIFE,
AND SO IS IDENTITY,
ONLY YOU REALLY KNOW YOURSELF,
AND WHO AND WHAT YOU ARE.
THAT IS THE THING ABOUT YOU,
ONLY HOW AND WHAT YOU DO IS YOU,
ONLY YOU ARE YOU,
YOU ARE UNIQUE.
BEING UNIQUE MAY SOUND SPECIAL,
AND IT IS IN A WAY,
BUT IF WE DIDN’T HAVE EVERYBODY ,
AS UNIQUE AS THEY ALL ARE,
THE WORLD WOULDN’T BE WHAT IT IS TODAY.
A SPECIAL AND DIFFERENT WORLD OF ANY OTHER,
THE ONLY WAY YOU LIVE,
BUT IT IS STILL THE ROOT OF LIFE,
LIFE IS YOU
AND IN A WAY LIFE IS IDENTITY,
BUT IT COULD BE TOLD OTHERWISE,
OTHERWISE IN A DIFFERENT MEANING,
A POINTLESS MEANING OF NOTHING.
NO ONE STILL KNOWS WHAT IDENTTY IS,
I SUPPOSE,
I SUPPOSE IDENTITY IS HOW, WHAT AND WHO YOU ARE,
ALL OF YOUR DIFFERENCES,
AND UNIQUE PERSONALITITY,
I SUPPOSE IDENTITY IS ,
YOU
Copyright © Heather Allan | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Heather Allan Poem
Every morning I wake up,
Wanting to go back to sleep.
Dragging on my uniform,
School shoes on my feet.
In church we are told to be quiet,
‘Please stop talking so loud!’
We file out of the pews in silence,
Everyone following the crowd.
In Maths we have to ‘finish the exercise’,
In History you ‘study the text’,
In English’ read the next chapter’,
In French ‘here’s some extra prep’.
The teachers just don’t understand us,
‘You don’t have to give us what’s set! ’
‘We do have a life at the weekend! ’
Something they really can’t get!
And yet, every day’s different.
The one thing ‘bout school that is true,
That your friends are there doing it with you,
To laugh at the fact,
To joke at the fact,
That school’s something that you just have to do!
Copyright © Heather Allan | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Heather Allan Poem
In the summer,
I am green with envy,
Unless I am,
An evergreen,
Then I am just,
A cluster of green,
All year round.
In the autumn,
I blush and turn red,
Different shades,
Different colours,
Turning,
Racing each other.
Then the season slows.
I begin to crisp and crunch,
Brown.
In the winter,
I am bare,
Cold and empty.
Nothing to show,
No colour nor texture.
The only cover,
Is the fallen snow,
Resting upon my arms.
In the spring,
The snow melts away,
Discovering my new buds,
The signs of new life,
Upon my arms.
I blossom,
White, pink, white.
Then my new green leaves come
Awaiting my next summer.
Copyright © Heather Allan | Year Posted 2009
|