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Best Poems Written by Thomas Mcferran

Below are the all-time best Thomas Mcferran poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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One Falcon Feather

Pain had damaged her wings
in her seemingly endless struggles
beating them against the valley walls,
then, in the last days she made haste 
and climbed to the mountain’s summit
and flew free.

At first I could not see
that the sun and the moon 
were shining on that verdant floor
where she lay still 
till her soul opened its wings and ascended to live 
far above the clouds.

That bird of her soul encompassed the earth
casting no shadows
in all the six directions, and as I watched her ascent
one falcon feather like a sycamore seed
spiralled down and became entangled 
in my hair.

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Sun Flowers

What would I say to you my love
if I  should chance to meet you yet again
in the summer rain
whilst I were walking in a field of flowers of the sun,                                                                      
I’d try to find the words
to tell you how I’ve missed you,
how I have longed for you 
down all these years in silence.

But you would know my heart
and how I’ve yearned and sorrowed
for your sweet face,
for your tender touch,
and how I’ve missed your eyes
those pools of silver light,
and for the bond I thought I’d lost forever.

Then you would speak to me                                                                                              
in flowers,
in the green blades of meadow grass,
in the flight of swallows
swooping on the soft still air,
and in the wind
singing in the tall proud trees,                                                                    
and you would show me 
how our love is not forever gone
but lives 
and breathes its beauty
within the beating of my heart.

You would leave me then                                                                                
and I would stand here in the summer rain 
amongst the flowers of the sun,
and if we should ever chance to meet again my love
what would I say.

Details | Thomas Mcferran Poem

Consummation

CONSUMMATION

She came again last night
with love-lights sparkling in her ebon eyes
and honey dripping from her lovely lips
and visited my chamber in the night,
I heard her come,
I heard her footfall on my stair,
I watched the door
and saw her beauty standing there.

How lovely to be loved and love
to meld into her sacred fire,
to know myself to be a moth
to know the burning heat of this her flame,
and in the darkness of my chamber in the night
to leave my door ajar
inviting her to enter in,
to wait for her
whilst drifting into sleepiness and dream,
upon my bed of roses.

Stirring now
I know not what the cause
nor why this moth she draws
with ecstasies of fabulous desire
into her flame of love,
to be consumed, to burn, to die,
and yet, to live for her alone
upon my bed of roses.

I’ve tasted sweet before
but not like this
this silver dew upon her breath,
I’ve waited untold lives to savour this,
this love sublime, the fire divine,
I wonder if it was the dimple in my chin,
or could it be the opening in my heart
which she had made that drew her in
upon my bed of roses.

With eyes wide open
blind to all I see but she
in that sweet night I drowned again her deep eyes,
always she comes with unrehearsed surprise
and plants in me her precious seeded prize
that love which never dies.
When I recovered from the shock
and I had taken stock
‘twas she who held the key
which turned my unseen lock
so she could enter me
upon my bed of roses.

And when I thought that she would leave at dawn
she paused and drew me further in,
into such depths I’ve never been,
all this then done
in love’s embrace we both were one,
we both were gone,
no one lies here
to wet my pillow with pearlescent tears
upon my bed of fading ruby roses.

Tom.

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Wild Flowers

waking from a dream
I saw you on the meadow
gathering flowers.

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My Birthday Party

MY BIRTHDAY PARTY	

Once, 
I invited some special friends
to my tea party,
I made cheese, cress and tomato sandwiches,
blueberry yogurt and a pot of jasmine tea.
I spread a white linen table cloth I’d embroidered with flowers one evening when 
I was alone,
I placed a blue vase covered with purple flowers and bluebirds
on the table,
.   .   .   prepared some words for a poem to read to my friends,
I waited by my window all evening, then waited some more,    
.   .   .     but nobody came,
I died a little more that night.

Tom McFerran.

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Your Face

Into the depths, the heavens high, 
the floating spinning worlds,
upturned a thousand fallen leaves 
to find another woman’s love,
all I could see,

                           your lovely beauteous face.

.   .   .   .   and then I looked, 
and then I searched inside my self
and there I found in wonder and in splendour

                            a love which has no gender.

Tom McFerran.

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Factory Girls

Summer, late afternoons
and winter’s icy cold evenings I would wait
as they would pour out of the now open gate,
all the factory girls
and I waiting,
.   .   .   waiting for you to finish work
then follow you home
furtive and unnoticed
by you and your friends,
.   .   .   just to watch you walking, 
just to glimpse your face, how beautiful you were
with your dark eyes and your blushed cheeks,
you always walked like you were dancing, or skipping
flicking back your bobbing hair,
along the crowded streets I watched you waving and calling good-night to your friends
as they drifted away one after another
till only you remained,
and then, I would catch up with you with a casual .  .  .  Hello!

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One Butterfly Wing

ONE BUTTERFLY WING

In deep distress she damaged her wings
in her endless struggles
beating them against our bedroom walls,
in her last days she made haste 
and flew through the ceiling and then, 
she flew free,

at first I did not see
that the sun and the moon 
were shining on her face
when she lay still and at peace 
till her beautiful soul opened its wings and ascended 
to live far above the clouds,

now, her spirit encompasses the earth
in all the six directions
casting no shadows, 
and as I lay and watched her ascent
one butterfly wing like a sycamore seed
spiralled down and landed upon
my pillow. 

Tom McFerran.

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Enwrapped In Her

These secret silent stillnessess,
wistful wispy whisperings
which enter through the windows in my heart,
I try to softly touch them 
and they recede, far, so far away,
I try to gently hold them
they slip beyond my grasp,
and so, I let them be
as you and I must be
as one,
and they will come, 
they’ll creep into my day dreams, 
and I shall quietly weep
for joy,

.    .   .   and though the night may bring its sorrows,
and though the hawk may stalk the dove
and though we dread our sad tomorrows,
yet joy will come unbidden, and bring abundant love,

and with the dawn
when gone the pale, wan moon-faced night
and all the swirling winking twinkling stars 
the radiant sun-shine bright
opened up my eyes, 
to see anew
within the daylight’s brightest light
those self-same incandescent spangled stars,
and opened up my ears
to hear a new harmonic song,
sky-lark, ascending off the meadow, 
O bright, O blessed be.

Now she at last has come again to me,
my nature nymph is here
up from the depths, out of the heaving sea
to steal across the jagged shore-line
and settle on the sun drenched beach
where all my footprints in the sand formed a golden band
and all becomes complete
with wonder-women beating out the beat 
to merry, merry meet,
and I will glide along 
amongst the gathering throng,
and I will sing a goddess song,
I’ll travel up and all along
the sea of glass 
to meet the phantom lights upon The Tor,
this thrill, 
this that I’ve waited for
down all my days,

and now I dance sky clad,
no thoughts of good nor bad,
and all along
no right or wrong, 
here in the Chalice Garden sweet
my heart steps up its beat
rising from the ruins I once was,
and in the garden fair
I run my fingers through her sea salt hair,
so no one else can see
we hide behind an apple laden tree.

When I began to see
I saw with bitter sweet
a harlot crouching on a cobbled street
weeping quietly, 
crying secretly
into the tear wet sleeves 
of her patchwork tattered garment,
unrecognised is she
by those whose eyes are blind and cannot truly see,

.  .  .  she is the lovely Magdalene
who murmurs in the secret chamber of my heart
“my dearest dear, from long before your mortal birth
I’ve loved you from the start,”
and since she came to make her home in me
I have become full whole and free,
unbound, uncaged, not ever more as separate or apart.


She is the woman half of me
all that I ever want to be,
her jet-black tresses captured me,
her swan down skin enraptured me,
her lilting laughter healed my deepest inmost soul.

Now look you to your hearth my friend
her cauldron’s on the boil,
she’s stirring up her brew
a magic making midnight herbal stew.

Creatrix, maker, non-forsaker,
the olden stones will show
the awesome and expanding primal proof,
the woman womb, ‘tis time to know
the penetrating truth,
maiden, mother, wise old crone,
The Ancient Mother Goddess, central marrow bone.

Details | Thomas Mcferran Poem

Blue Railings 2

Late evening, in the sunset
by the white gate,
and leaning on some other railings painted blue
I saw her yet again,
her eyes focused on the twilit meadow,
last time by the river,
she was one of the few that men marry and stay with
year after year after year, in love.

From out the shadows
I watched her watching the swallows 
swooping in low flight, and wondered
where is my love again tonight.

A ring of daisies
entangled in her hair
and round her waist a rope of yellow buttercups,
how could I leave, where could I go
for in that dim-lit moment I wished to be in her, 
to lose myself in her,
take up my widowers weeds and die in her.

Two forms, one soul
in the late evening sunset, by the white gate,
leaning on some other railings painted blue.