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Best Poems Written by Peter Rees

Below are the all-time best Peter Rees poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Touch

                                             A TOUCH
On an impulse, but oft rehearsed in dreams,
A surreptitious larceny that seems,
In recollection pure and innocent,
Yet still concealing passionate intent
And yearning, for its chaste recipient.
Unknowing of such matters of the heart,
Confused, bewildered how to even start
To woo this object of his heart's desire.
To lie within her arms he did aspire,
With ardent longing was he set afire.
At last, a start along love's road he made,
A magic moment when his hand had strayed
Innocuously to brush against her breast.
She let the moment pass without protest,
Quite unaware that she had been caressed.
Fate intervened and drove them far apart.
His amorous intent was stifled at the start.
True love he found elsewhere, he did not grudge
In age that moment that had meant so much-
Now teenage memory - a stolen touch.

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017



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What's Afoot

A session with my chiropodist
Is an occasion not to be missed.
We speak of recipes and cruise ships
And other folks' relationships
And pension plans and how to lose weight
And allergies and things we hate
And Christmas plans and hip replacements,
And politics and financial statements,
And things from childhood we remember,
Like scaredy cats on the fifth of November
And what it takes a woman to please
And whether "feet" run in families.
We talk of restaurants we have found
And matters equally profound.
Is vegetarian or vegan best
And how to handle a telephone pest ?
Am I a Remainer or for Brexit
And what to do to try and correct it ?
And what do we make of Donald Trump,
A breath of fresh air or just a chump ?
The whole world sorted in half an hour
If Debbie and I were given the power.
And when we've covered our highs and lows
We'll even talk about my toes!

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017

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Dusseldorf

In an unreal pre-dawn half-light
I gazed with much surprise
Across the darkly flowing Rhine
With newly-wakened eyes.
The vista on the river bank 
Was as within a dream.
A vision wonderful, surreal,
Exquisite it did seem.
These were not mountains, lochs and glens,
Or misty forest scenes,
These were as nothing Nature formed,
No waterfalls or streams
Or castles in the sky.
So what amazing sight was this,
So slowly passing by?
This was concrete, steel and glass,
Fired in imagination.
Modern art, space-age design,
The ultimate Man's creation.
Soaring, swooping, sleekly blending
Each shapely angle with its neighbour.
Whose vision brought these things to pass ?
What divine and perfect labour ?
In awe I watched the passing scene
And then, a moment's retrospection,
This splendid affluence had been 
Forged in devastation,
As from a hostile sky 
Came terror and destruction.
Seven hundred tons of bombs
Rained down in just one fiery night,
The city was ablaze, and come the dawn,
Still smouldering, a sorry sight.
Gaunt remnants, stark, skeletal, charred,
The fruits of war, forever scarred,
But from the ashes, undeterred,
Came inspiration to rebuild
And heal the all but fatal wound.
Faith in the future was instilled
And esoteric dreams fulfilled.
A phoenix rising, quite sublime,
In Dusseldorf, on the River Rhine.





Entered for contest "Foreign Travel"

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017

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SAILING HOME

Three in the morning, and again I dream
Of waves and windblown sails, driving us on.
A petulant ocean, its mood would seem 
Somehow to echo mine, awaiting dawn.
Tossing and turning, creaking and groaning,
It's an old man's bones I hear, bemoaning.

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017

Details | Peter Rees Poem

Lifeforce


I never thought that one day I might be
So separate and distanced from the sea,
And grey-blue mornings offering a cloak
Of cushioning velvet, where once I woke
So long ago, to watch the gannets dive
As silvered arrows from a tight-strung bow.

Those days were ever tinged with disbelief
That fate had held my hand, though all too brief,
And led me to this cherished place, where grace
And beauty did my other world replace.
It was, I know, with age now bittersweet,
The greatest gift that fortune could bestow.

In memory now I hear the ocean speak
Of all its moods when, waking or asleep,
I see and hear that lifeforce long forgone,
As to its beating heart forever drawn,
I ponder on the change it wrought in me,
And things that are, and things that weren't to be.

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2019



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LUSKENTYRE

O sing to me of Luskentyre's white sands,
Sing of the distant Hebrides,
And in each note I'll hear the whispering wind
Searching the machair in a soft lament,
On memory's wings to carry me away
To a land where sea and sky hold sway,
Where the sound of waves on a windblown shore
A wearied soul may wondrously restore.

O sing to me of glistening Luskentyre,
Changing with light, now pastel soft, now bold,
With shifting bands of multi-hues, sky blue
Or shades of grey reflecting an approaching storm.
Sweet Summer's shades to monochrome give way,
Relentless storms sweep in across the bay,
As winter skies release a deluge drear,
A chink of light will offer welcome cheer,

O sing yet more of Luskentyre's fair strand,
My heart uplifted at such sweet refrain,
The haunting melodies of a thousand years,
Etched deep within my soul, there to remain.
With indigo-tinted Taransay in view
Across the silver sands, I dream anew.
The wild Atlantic beating on the shore,
Here would I gladly bide to roam no more.




Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017

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First of November

The clocks have gone back
And all is still. The trees are molten gold.
The garden's dieback 
Mode infectious, the air is damp and cold.
No texture to the sky,
Its sullen grey devoid of shapes
Of clouds, and no birds fly.
A melancholic mist shroud drapes
The resolutely silent land,
Waiting, knowing, change accepting,
Yet again. A blanket soft unfurled by hand
Unseen, the autumn stage directing.
The players now must reconcile
As winter signs unfold
And glad we are that for a while
The trees are molten gold.

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017

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Why do they glisten so

Why do they glisten so, these pools of light,
My trembling senses lost in ardour sweet.
As stars they sparkle gently in the night
And dance to rhythms of my own heartbeat.
I gaze deep deep into a magic glade
Where intertwining lovers each caress,
As silvered waters softly serenade
And sporting moonbeams do the shadows bless.
Soft silken creature of my dearest dreams,
I ache to hold you fast within my arms,
To breathe in scents of paradise, it seems
To die would pay small homage to your charms.
The book of love is filled with many a rhyme,
Of lovers' promises and tender sighs,
But few could match this fervent pen of mine
As, drowning in the lustre of your eyes,
My heart must surely burst asunder,
Lost in unfathomable wonder.


23 September 2017. Entered in The Poet's Fire contest.Sponsor  Gregory R Barden

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017

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Burns' Night

Each year, an evening bright as any star,
In song and verse retells the tale once more,
With homage paid to one man's repertoire,
Humbling and uplifting, his thoughts restore
Our universal oneness, humankind
Across the globe, each with each entwined.

Our frailties, joys and sorrows understood,
With love and pathos are his lines imbued,
Hands joined in celebrating brotherhood
And in our hearts enduring gratitude
For what this plain and humble man has shown,
Revealing what our souls have always known.

And so, each year, we celebrate anew
This gifted ploughman and his words so wise,
Partake of haggis and a dram or two,
Yet mindful of the wider world outside.
To gain the peace for which the whole world yearns
Feed deep upon the words of Robert Burns.

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017

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Scotland's Anthem

Love of my mother's Scotland knows no bounds,
Yet she, like me, was destined far to roam.
Her wistful music of the isles surrounds
My everyday, her voice so soft and low,
Sweet songs of love, and yet forever sad,
With veils of deepest melancholy clad.

A lonesome piper plays a slow lament,
Or, boldly rousing, urges men to war.
From kith and kin they were so often sent,
Their mist-clad hills and glens to see no more.
Or else to unknown futures overseas,
A greedy and uncaring laird to please.

Today, as Scottish hearts still strongly beat,
Proudly as ever do they wave their nation's flag.
Untrusting of the powers that would deplete
Their unity, their centuries old resolve,
To be a sovereign nation once again,
"O Flower of Scotland" their heartfelt refrain.

Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017

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