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 Aug 2016 Kate Barkes
Sean Hunt
It's getting late
It doesn't take much time
To write
A line or two
Or three or four
Or maybe even more
You have it in you
All at hand
Ready for the 'Write'
Remember you can do this
Anytime day or night
You are a poetess, we know
It's not a secret now
You've proven many times
That you know how!
We miss your contributions to
Our world of verse
We all sing in a chorus now:
"Your absence is perverse!"
Once a pickle,
Your cucumber days
Are done!



Sean
Creating a poem was hard to do
It had to rhyme all the way through
Choosing what you want to say
The words must fit in the right way
You must be wise, and of course clever
To succeed in this endeavour
The special thing about a poem
The rhyme of verse, that alone
It makes you think, touches the heart
You cannot but help to love this art
The thoughts they flow, images race
Everything falls into place
It matters not if you're unknown or have fame
As long as the last words all sound the same
It's the rhyme, that made me
Fall in love with poetry
But now poetry is high brow
Stilted words
Fragmented sentence
Fill the spaces with thought
To find the meaning
RIP the poor rhyme
I stand and speak
And then I walk
Are you happy
With what I squawk
I'm a storyteller, and go to the spoken word evening at the mortal man pub. The poets are telling stories and they said I should try my hand at poetry, this is my first attempt...
I slip the mail through the door
the looks they give
             show they abhor
What junk now.... Bills you can keep
I just want to go home and weep
As I walk by
            the only ones pleased to see
Are the dogs, looking for a bone to gnaw
               or a meal for free
Once the van in red
was greeted like a friend.... a father
Now I sometimes wonder
        Why I even bother.
2)  the trick of words ten...
       rhyming verse at the end
this inspired me to write another poem
I marvel at green field and tree
But soon I spy light industry.
I gaze along the far skylines
At swinging arms of white turbines;
At rolling hills and charming dales
Spoilt by major roads and rails;
At masts and pylons standing tall
By meadow, moor and grey stone wall.
I see hens and how they're fed;
They cluck and peck inside a shed.
Once in the yard and strutting free,
They're now confined by lock and key.
My ears hear farm machinery
That drowns out silent scenery;
And rumbling tractors down the lane
As frightening as an aeroplane.
My country stroll is nearly done
But it hasn't really been much fun.
The hand of man is everywhere:
For wild and wondrous, look elsewhere.

*
More poems: go to book page and blog page at
www.novelsforyou.wix.com/novelsforyou
(also novels and short stories)
This short poem was written after a walk down a nearby lane on the outskirts of Kendal, Lake District.
On your marks
TO run your best
StOrm ahead to keep abreast
ThrOugh the pain within your chest
AnxiOus now to pass the rest
LifelOng fame could be made
DeliciOus win of this decade
ScenariO will never fade
LimitatiOns not obeyed
A dynamic/experimental poem. Not only do the athletes race but the 'O' moves one space along on each line
(from my book, Hotchpotch)
go to my website@ www.novelsforyou.wix.com/novelsforyou
Rising ocean, Hurricane
Winds so swift, they howl and wail.
From New York as far as Maine
Lives in danger from the gale.

Swelling seas come crashing down.
Great trees uproot from the ground.
Scared people fear that they may drown
For Sandy's here and knows no bounds.

No bus, no train, no way out
No light, no heat, no food to eat
Dark crumbling city, people shout
'Please help us now,' they do entreat.

Hours pass while Sandy roars.
Many homes are blown away.
Until it goes, the death toll soars,
Please pass quickly, they all pray.
From my poetry book, WORD PIE. I have two poetry books
www.novelsforyou.wix.com/novelsforyou
Someone I never really knew
She was always there for me
Watching daily as I grew
And fulfilling her duty.
A comfort figure in the haze
Doing what she had to do.
Her voice she sometimes had to raise
If I refused to don my shoe.

In truth I nevet knew my mother;
But do we ever really know
The one who loves us like no other;
The one who never lets us go?
A child like me could never see
Her tender loveand care so true.
If she was here again with me
I'd look at her with eyes anew.
my two poetry books can be found on
www.novelsforyou.wix.com/novelsforyou
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