Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Shall I compare thee to a Winter’s night ?
Thou art more ugly and more bitter cold:
Soft fogs do wrap the vestiges of light,
And winters lease hath all too long a hold:
Sometimes too cold the hand of hell can feel,  
And rarely is her blackness ever lit;
And every shade and shadow oft conceal,          
By scheme, or nature’s sly force of habit
But thy eternal winter will not pass
Nor find concession in the surgeon’s knife    
Nor can repair or lift your sagging ****
When in infernal lines is etched your life
So long as men can wink and ribs can poke
So long lives this, and you are such a joke.



Shakespearean Sonnet form but with a dash of satire
It happened on a Summer’s morning
Hiroshima’s bomb once dropped upon that day
She was feeling tired and started yawning
Her crochet rug was tucked around her knees

Hiroshima’s bomb once dropped upon that day
The yellow capsules easily went down
Her crochet rug was tucked around her knees
She’d sent Arthur on a journey into town

The yellow capsules easily went down
She couldn’t stand another day of pain
She’d sent Arthur on a journey into town
At 82, she hoped they’d judge her sane

She couldn’t stand another day of pain
Two wars survived and still it came to this
At 82, she hoped they’d judge her sane
There was nothing left on earth that she would miss

Two wars survived and still it came to this
There is simply nothing more that can be said
There was nothing left on earth that she would miss
In a little while I hope I will be dead

There is simply nothing more that can be said
She was feeling tired and started yawning
In a little while I hope I will be dead
It happened on a Summer’s morning
This poem tells the true story of my grandmother crippled with osteo-arthritis, who chose to **** herself on August 6th 1982. She had lived through both World Wars. Hiroshima Day was a very important day for her each year. She would have been 83 years old in the November of 1982. Her note simply said,"I can't stand the pain anymore.".
In the moonlight, high in the Lemon Gum,
perched under the arching ghostly branches
two eyes of jet peer from a snow-white mask.
Tyto Alba, the Barn Owl, with heart shaped
****** disc, edged with ruff of stiff feathers.
Mottled pearl-grey body feathers above
the moth like plumage, purest white beneath
her slim legs are bare on the lower half,
with small feet that end with deadly talons.

Nocturnal, she roosts in the heat of day.
You will hear her screeching in the cold night
hear the scream before you ever see her.
She can see in the half light of humans
night vision even in total darkness
pinpoints her prey by listening to each sound
the desperate, scuttling little creatures make.

She is a well designed killing machine
with hooked beak, powerful feet and sharp claws.
Her flight feathers have softened edges
to make her deadly flight near soundless
She swoops silently down without warning
seizing victims with her claws, biting deep
into their neck arteries, puncturing
their most precious organs for a quick death.
Owls are deadly but fascinating birds of prey.
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Empty, paralysed and in shock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Plane-bombed towers stretch and implode
Bone dust smothers a city block
Fear makes our rational minds corrode

Suicide bombs start to explode
None live to stand in courtroom dock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Buses are blown up in the road
Red heart of a city they mock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode

Another gruesome episode
We’re held in a violent deadlock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Where is the truth that we are owed?
Death’s time is set on Terror’s clock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Our sense of hope starts to erode
Villanelle form. Written first 24th October 2005 & edited several times since.
~~
new born coconut leaves
standing on the head of the tree
a mild north chill breeze blowing
raising sunlight reflects between the leaves

the falling light playing on the meadows
the growing day in to the fog's shadows

the new moody breeze growing a little
the cowboys wandering with the cattle
the boy is very crazy with his flying kite,
the birds are too busy within the day's light

I am wondering through the shadows
and finding my hopes within the meadows
when thousands of kites flying in the sky
there love growing on her gloomy eyes

where there a few of dreams coming
as the light falling between the leaves
where there thousands of whirling
hopes uttering in to the breeze  
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
hopes of leaves
Next page