Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Rob Kingston Oct 2015
They knew nothing of the politics of flight, merely watched the birds that soared in the sky.
They knew nothing of the world around them and how it would ignite, when sitting watching sparks rise up like fire flies in the halve each night.
They knew nothing of what spooked their parent’s sight, not understanding the fear that glowed bright in their eyes.
They knew nothing of why their calm mother from polite and encouraging, became anxious holding them tight.
They knew nothing of why father stood watching from the window each night, simply thinking he was watching dreams drift by in the moon light.
They know nothing of why they are walking for days, pushed shoved and spat upon by a world given to not caring.
They know nothing of the politicians that sit on their hands, whilst they grow blown bellies and sleep in no go zones.
Perhaps they will know in time, should the death bell not ring for them this day!
(c) Robert Kingston 20.9.15
This was written to bring light to the continuing plight of the people fleeing from persecution. Sadly it remains a problem that many politicians appear to be doing nothing about.
Rob Kingston Oct 2015
Your words are the air that I breathe.
Each sentence, a fresh breeze traveling through my veins.

My love chamber pulsates with your dreams.
Each thump bequeaths a warm scene.

I see your image embedded in my mind,
your beauty clearly beyond sublime.

© Robert Kingston 9.9.15
Rob Kingston Oct 2015
a lone woodpecker
aerating the garden, no!
stealing the workers
Rob Kingston Oct 2015
From Amiens upon the Somme
Across the land into the Salient
Our brave men toed the ebbing line

Through wire and mines
Through mud and blood
Through many men and horses shred
Under sun and moon
Through wet and flake
Little rest they won as they fought
The testing yards and inching miles

The scent of death clear in their heads
Their nostrils burning from hell resent
Cauterised wounds some munition singed a deathly end for some
Their eyes by night a blazing fired earth of blues Oranges yellows Reds

Their ears ringing whistles and drums
A sense of booming dread as all around the melee continued
Death by death, Man by man, Son by son
Precious sons many in numbers they did succumb
To the battle cry of walk not run

Blood curdling in their gas filled lungs
Fungi in their rotting boots
Sweat and tears in itchy suits
Muscles aching tendons taught
Nerves for some as they were next
To mount and face the hidden land
Where fate would deal its dreaded blow
On to meet the dreadful wall of death

Choice was none, no turning back
They stood as force though force would guide, those of fear and wisdom's stand,
Over, or rest where shot by those by order for descent


© Robert Kingston 17.10.14
Rob Kingston Oct 2015
one by one they leave
as light fades on the river
the empty crease
  Oct 2015 Rob Kingston
Dreams of Sepia
There is no moon tonight
just the cold stars
in the unfeeling sky
yet I cling on to dreams

the gypsy caravan
I stood & gazed at
as a child
in the City museum

is still there
painted, gilded
calling for the carefree road
& in my heart

long before I met you
lived my fascination for your mysterious people
enchanters,  fortune-tellers,
some say, child & horse thieves

portrayed thus
in my Mother's Russia
- the wild people of the endless road
the people & whose fiery songs I wanted to follow-

& now, in a far off world, bewitched
by you,
I find out that your dark eyes
are that of a gypsy - Romany

& it's like fate
like D. H Lawrence
' The ****** & the Gypsy'
so why, Northener, do you not love me

like your people, I am also a wanderer
a creature of the road
a castaway with no home
than the one my heart happened to find


if you or fate somehow cast this love spell
upon me
if this was meant to be, you should love me, Gypsy
only that would make sense

take me away
let us go a-wandering
across the land, moors & hills
beautiful boy, sweet poet

do you know I once tread the winter's
frost all the night's way to town
for you, hoping to seal
my love's fate

the dark sky
above me
doesn't know how to lament
lost love

the summer of it's heart
has passed,
drunk long away
in quiet pubs

there is only this poem
poorly written -
my heart bleeding
on my sleeve
I'm not kidding, I have just found out that the object of my unrequited love has Romany roots & this has sparked another wave of frustration & longing in me.. :(.. I feel like I was fated to fall for this guy in so many ways...
Rob Kingston Oct 2015
If he were alive today,
I would send birthday wishes his way.
For he fills my heart with happiness,
As his words sing out with spectacular displays.

From beyond the stars, beyond the moons,
Beyond the galaxies and the milky ways.
His words continue to resonate
His flute carries them this way.

His legacy around for hundreds of years,
His message, one so clear.
Combining and encouraging all nature to be,
All loving and sincere.

© Robert Kingston 30.9.15
A poem to celebrate the life of Rumi. Written for his birthday. He remains as one of my favourite poets.
Next page