POEMS

Springtime Fever

Colourful blooms along the path,

Too prickly that rose,

Light dust that dances in the air,

Great, that’s tickling my nose.

Nature’s canvas, artist’s muse,

Is that a wasp I see?

Gentle buzzing in the wind,

Oh god it’s chasing me!

Smooth petals that feel like silk,

A load of sticky sap,

Birds singing poetry from above,

Quit waking me from my nap.

Warm rays from the golden sun,

My brain is starting to bake,

The fresh air that clears the lungs,

It’s the city park for goodness sake!

This was one of the first poems I ever wrote when I was still in the creative writing group and I must say, it captures my mixed feelings of spring perfectly.

I actually find writing poems very therapeutic, very much along the same lines as drawing is for me. Some are silly, like the one above, and some are little more serious. Here’s an example of a more serious one:

Cogs in the Machine

We are merely cogs,

And our bosses, the handle,

The machine, our jobs,

Taking away life’s candle.

The handle moves quickly,

Forcing us cogs to spin,

Faster and faster,

Creating sparks within.

Ignoring us cogs,

The handle moves faster,

Till it stops dead,

Refusing its master.

The cogs have grinded,

Right down to dust,

No longer connecting,

Leaving the handle to rust.

The machine is left rotting,

Frozen in time,

No place for it now,

It’s truly a crime.

Perhaps if the handle,

Was a little more giving,

Slowing down its pace,

To keep the cogs living.

It may have been great,

Envied by another,

The cogs would be happy,

The machine it’s mother.

But we are merely cogs,

And our bosses the handle,

The machine our jobs,               

Always snuffing our candle.

If you have seen my social media, you have probably seen it already but it’s nice to have it somewhere on my website anyway.

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