Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
sheila sharpe Mar 2022
Too soon, what will be left in Oceans emptied
of their brothers' and sisters' songs?
there, where their pale, phantom presences
in their chorussed schools once thronged?
We humans think of ourselves as Kings,
Emperors, Rulers, Overlords of all
expecting other species such as theirs
to be held captive forever, to be in our thrall
We watch them from afar on Tourist dinghies
on TV whilst eating fast food, faces fixed in ghoulish grins
never acknowledging our human interference
for the plight these creatures of spectral white are in
dismissing in disgust their now scarred and fungi'd skin
The mourning songs of the whales are surely
those same songs born of centuries of human slavery
though their words are alien to our human ears
we are told that they are intelligent,
wise beyond our puny human years
but soon, too soon, shall they fall silent
their shapes mere shades in the depths
of the litter strewn seas
in dried bones on every plastic polluted shore
upon the bleached and barren reefs
from which colour, just as their songs have faded,
has faded too, forever, forever more
sheila sharpe Feb 2022
Silence, there, where the snow has crystallized,
closing the world to footsteps, tyres on tarmac
flap of towel or sheet on washing line
A sad refrain whispering in the rain’s furtive whine
Once-green spaces magically transformed,
Strange silhouettes, the once familiar trees
Now stand mute sentry in swift polar’d grounds
Where the shining dead men’s diamonds lie scattered all around
In a dark, unsheltered, corner of the park
Where rhododendrons threw squat shadows on the ground
The dead man lay, seeing nothing now through sleet swept eyes
In death he claimed the dead men’s diamonds as a shroud
‘Though his pockets were empty,
His final meal, not the prisoner’s extravagant last request
But a single cup of tea, over-brewed
And a single sandwich, unappetizing, far from fresh
His name to be just a memory on some faded certificate
The frost his shroud, a kindness done by death
For those who his body found
There, where the dead men’s diamonds lie
strewn in derision by skeletal jeweler’s fingers of frost upon the unyielding ground
a tale of pour times - echoes of the streets of London and too many other places
sheila sharpe Feb 2022
You want so desperately to believe
that this
so carefully ruled white line
fresh as ****** snow
pure against the silver
browning to the lighter’s flame
this first ignited onrush of confidence
emboldening you
with the awakening you dream of
will open up
take you into a land where
you will be the ruler
here is the base line
it will ultimately lay bare
a white yet colourless
sterile salt desert of numbness
and you will seek
that white line
forever more
drug dependency
sheila sharpe Feb 2022
You are a flower of many names
Woodbine twisting around bright haws
Irish Vine with blarneyed whispers of sweet scent
Honey bind and Goats leaf
and Faerie Trumpets with a call to reassure
that steadfast in love shall admirers be
I shall welcome you into my humble home
that you might bring gold into my coffers
and into my garden to give protection from evil
In my hair shall I wear a wreath of your florets
that I might of my future true love dream
around my doors to cultivate good fortune
your tendrils I will surely wrap
my children to be shall bite off your flower ends
thirsty as they will be for drops of your honeyed nectar
come, let me bind you into ropes for pack ponies
to carry sweet cargoes of you to colonise
all of the fast fading and forsaken hedgerows
my Father and my Mother forbade me
to bring you into my Garrett bedroom fearing that
your heady perfume might young untested passions ignite
but now I will pluck of your sweetness
and will your honeyed sweetness into my home invite
to make an elixir for the rasped throats of Preachers and such
I will seep you in fragrant oil warm and soothe coldness with you
Now I beg of you to bring all that you own to me
sheila sharpe Feb 2022
It is Christmas Eve, the family is asleep, and my bedroom is empty
but for the fleeting image of her little face before my sleepless eyes
I turn back the blankets, and quietly put on my dressing gown
to make my way downstairs where the house in silence lies
My key turns in the lock, the air is cold, an owl hoots, a fox barks
the first snow falls as a thousand icy tears, her face glimmering
her lips smiling, her hair curls under the bows of scarlet ribbon
that hang inside each silently memoried falling flake, and the
night is silent and cold, and my heart within me lies hushed and dark
memories of a little sister's death,
sheila sharpe Oct 2021
Not of this Earth's manufactured light
but surely of a Heavenly source
steadfastly sparkling and bright
distilled into a perfume that,
unbottled by my trembling fingers
touches my soul
for breathing in starlight
that is born from your love
gives me the oxygen I desire
makes of me a Galaxy
a world apart, eternal, and whole
sheila sharpe Oct 2021
Let yours be the voice that awakens me from sleep
Let yours be the arms that me from danger keep
Let yours be the body that forever me shields
Let mine be the body that to your gentle touch yields
Let yours by the eyes that smile through my tears
Let you be the one who stays by me through the years
I love you my Darling as I always have done
For you are the sun that throughout my life has shone
Next page