Brothers and sister,
strangers and friends,
like a sad smile on lips
- hope can be heavy.
Let us sit and talk,
of better times gone by,
of better times to come.
If you are weary -
lay your head on my broad shoulders,
and let the hope that built them,
cushion your hearts and minds.
When darkness descends,
I’ll light a candle,
to burn it away -
even the slightest flicker of flame,
can illuminate the way ahead.
Before you leave,
please share this embrace,
feel strength through unity,
and let that carry you onwards.
Return any time you wish,
you will always have a place here,
in my heart and in my soul,
I know that hope can be heavy
- but you don’t carry it alone.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem today. I hope wherever you are, you are safe. Let our unity endure.
My palms are worn leather handling hammer and chisel the sinew in my forearms is taut carrying marble creates strength my neck stands tired yet agile from always looking upwards but my days of crafting pedestals is over so I’ll wait for my body to reset and return to an even keel the cost of marble is too much once it’s been etched it can’t be returned even though I probably value the material more than the people I’ve placed upon it I’ll craft myself an armchair to rest and read on and watch the pedestals crumble.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. If you want to read more, feel free to browse the site.
I write in the margins because I used to live there an oddity, an anomaly, a correction wasting valuable space on the page until the margins became too tight to breathe in too tight to survive in so I leaked into the rest of the page sharing my words with others finding friendship and love.
I write in the margins because the margins made me.
Thanks for taking time to read my poem. I hope you enjoyed. Why not take time to read some of my other pieces?
There it is again that distant gaze powerful, it pierces faraway sandstorms looking for the memory of where that long lost piece of you may be buried and the Afghan sun can’t even burn your eyes because you’ve stared so long, so often.
That subtle curl of lip and your eyes wander softly back in to the room amongst the lads, lagers and a few over-under dressed lasses.
There’s no sand here and you know the rain is always close-by – like us – we just hope we can help to find you some hard-earned peace.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. It’s dedicated to my friends who’ve spent time fighting for the country on faraway shores.
I almost drowned once down near the mill swimming the current of the Coquet three quarters of the way across my legs lost power against the undertow I’m lucky Peck kept his eyes on me as the river reeds wrapped around ankles my head bobbing up and down like a braeburn on bonfire night and the rest of the boys jumped back in like working-class Hasselhoffs and pulled me to the side they were much stronger swimmers than me
a quick rest and pat on the back spitting up some of the river then swigging back some calming Carling the realisation – dawned on me – I had to swim back facing a new fear head on because backstroke was no good I’m lucky I’ve got such great mates we swam back together like geese fly – in formation – reaching the riverbank’s safety and although my swimming didn’t improve that day my character did.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem, an autobiographical piece of my younger days.
Hope you liked it and if you did, feel free to leave a comment.