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Dec 2020 · 45
Stronger than steel
sheila sharpe Dec 2020
Stronger than steel is that web of love
that between two people is spun
more refreshing than the gentlest of rains
and more warming than the sun
Dec 2020 · 80
Mere Separation
sheila sharpe Dec 2020
mere separation cannot keep us apart
for your voice is in the song of every bird
your warmth in every  beat of my heart
Nov 2020 · 50
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
Days run by like larva
cooled into deep black pools
within my subterranean heart
All I want is for the lockdown to end
so that we are no longer apart
lost love
Nov 2020 · 39
Let ....
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
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
Nov 2020 · 61
She was his
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
She was his
her eyes fixed upon his needs
expressed in his face
she was his
her first glance upon awakening
her last glance before uneasy sleep
She was his
his voice enslaving her
the soft wheedling
the ugly commands disguised
She was his
his hands caressing
his fingers raking her soft, soft skin
She was his
his mind enclosing
her soul
deep within
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
Older than time is
the lullaby of the forests
it sings with a song that lulls
the weary traveller into a waking sleep
that feeds the soul and refreshes the tired mind
in a cadence soothing, satisfying, deep
it is a lullaby sung by every rustling leaf
by every tiny bird that softly sings
ah, and if the traveller could lay
their weary head upon the grass
so would their dreams take wing
they would drift into a reverie
that mere sleep would surpass
it is a lullaby that echoes
in tiny feet that softly patter
through the gloaming
in every wing that beats a soft refrain
in every sway of every branch caught
by the evening breeze
in every drop of softly falling rain
it is a lullaby far older than time
from way before this world was just a word
it is the lullaby that echoes through
the centuries
and shall, whilst this world lives
be ever heard
Nov 2020 · 42
Old Soldier
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
“Dunkirk – the forgotten heroes Channel 4 June 19th 2019 ( 51st Highland)

Old Soldier proudly stands
slow tears upon his furrowed skin
memories surfacing that for so many years
had been lodged in his heart deep within
he straightened, saluted with trembling hand
remembering old friends who would not yield
who fell, in streets, on rain swept beaches
on those entrenched and foreign fields
on the immaculate earth he stood
between precision’d rows of  stones
each a name and age recording
once these were his comrades
who stood proudly on parade
now interred beneath white marble
commemorating palely
lives too early ended
so has he come
so do you see him standing
a long, long, shadow casting
over this green space this place
of quiet remembrance everlasting
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
shewereasnarrerasanarrer, but with cleavage to die fer
so she dressed in fancy spanks from Marks ‘n Sparks
‘cos she’d gorra job as earned hersen a bucketful of dosh
typing  jobsheets fer the Faktreh’s Senior Clerks
Now one parky Sat’dy neet,
our Peg the padgeowl chanced to meet
an Irish navvy wi a twinkle in ’is eyes
and ‘though Peg judged him as a Yokel
still she took ‘im dahn ‘er local
where they podged theysens
on stout and chips and pies
but Paddy got right larroped
‘as down the jit they galloped
and, chucklin’ sed  “now gisagleg
what’s behind them fancy skanks
did yer gerrem from them Yanks?”
but Peggy only showed a little bit o’ leg
but the navvy cut up ruff, and said “that’s nor ennuff!
I’ll ‘ave the rest – and I’ll ‘ave it right ere!”
but Paddy, tight jobber, never bought a dobber
and as weeks passed it soon became clear
to Paddy, the digger, that Peg’s waist  was gettin’ bigger
so, when Peg said, with a tear and a sigh
“There ain’t no bloomin’ daht
that you’ve got me up the spaht!”
Paddy skanked ‘er
- dahn the jitty - by and by!
A poem in Leicestershire dialect.  Read it out loud to get the effect please and let me know how you find it - oh, and have fun looking up all of the dialect words
Nov 2020 · 53
coldly, oh so coldly
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
coldly, oh so coldly
he told her that she was
no longer the love of his life
but that did not anything explain
as her tears felt like rain
for she still could only relate
to being forever his wife
for she could not shrug off that inescapable fact
that the engine of her love still turned
and that she still held a torch for him
and that the love that she bore for him
still deep within her burned
Nov 2020 · 41
close your eyes
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
close your eyes to nightmares
that pause your breath with fear
as they beat out a fierce
and heavy tattoo in your heart
take their essence upon waking
lay it out, shred the essence of it apart
before your mind’s eye’s awakening
let the morning sun warm
it through and through
then trust and sleep again
and fill your mind with peace
Nov 2020 · 251
A fine, fine line
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
It is a fine, fine line
we use to place
good and evil apart
a fine, fine line
by a quill sharpened to
draw on vellum creamy white
a path hewn between
the road we should take
and the undergrowth of doubt
impenetrable and dense
and dark, so dark and deep
dream on it
draw in your mind
that fine, fine line
slide the golden nib of imagination
across the  parchment of your conscience
free and clear of prejudice
free of ideas preconceived
free of what others will
invariably choose to perceive
draw the fine, fine line
and use it as a guidance
for your continuance
the fine, fine line
free of suggestion’s nuances
draw or paint
with pencil, pen or brush
that fine, fine line
between the music of life
and Death’s deep, undreaming hush
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
Now only the heavy stickiness of sadness
adheres to her lips
she tastes bitterness
where once she tasted the
warm concoction
that was Love
she wipes her fingers
across her face
still hungry
Nov 2020 · 38
words defining women
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
words defining women that could never men define
passionate, tenacious, smart, brilliant, and unyielding
dedicated, caring, and
Nov 2020 · 26
The impotent wishing
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
The impotent wishing
for some merciful being
to shut you off from the
unremitting, almost daily
mixture of
frustration and despair
it's been like this for too long
you wake in the small hours
wondering at the alarm
to all but your inward ear
seeking the tremor of hands
that sudden cramp which
you stretch your limbs
the salty trajectory of the tears
all those times when that faceless one pounced
and still, in ready ambush, lies
and that lost soul sets your pulse to fast
and deep inside you
full of impotence, cries
Nov 2020 · 36
All that I can do
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
Thinking something does not make it true
if it did I would think of this for you
that you may walk, talk, do all for yourself
and be completely and utterly whole

Wanting something does not make it real
otherwise, I would, in my prayers
ask God if he would make a deal

I would ask him to make of you
even more the beautiful person that I know you to be
to be able to speak, to talk, to sit beside, to walk
with your Mother, your brother, your Grandfather
all of your family, and everyone else, and, me

But wanting something does not make it real
and thinking something does make it come true
so all that I can do, is to hope that when you smile
it is because you know just how much we all love you
For a Grandson who is disabled, who cannot walk, talk or look after himself
Oct 2020 · 42
I never knew
sheila sharpe Oct 2020
you sent me gifts
you sent me flowers
your lips kissed me
your arms held me
but still, I could not see

Perhaps my eyes were dimmed
perhaps, my ears were stopped
perhaps the words you spoke
into the dark well that was my heart

Whatever the reason,
somehow, I could not know
somehow, I could not feel
Somehow the smiles
that you gave to me were
cold to my soul
and so was love,
like acid aspic congealed

Now at last, too late I realise
that love should be felt
without gifts, without roses
without smiles and kisses
just, simply, felt,
and without feelings, I never knew
what I now am missing
not realising what love was
sheila sharpe Oct 2020
There, in those final moments
I could say at last all of the things
that I could not say before
His eyes were closed,
his chest unmoving so it seemed
I could not tell whether he heard me
whether or not he listened
or simply dreamed

Gone was the smile that often
around his mouth would play
gone was the twinkle in his eye
gone the long words he'd often,
teasingly, whilst chuckling, say.

I had not known him for so many years
he was just a word in a dictionary
Father, Dad, Papa, call him what one may
I never really knew him
there were few chances
yes, there had been cards, letters
but sometimes he seemed
like just another person
distant, and far, too far, away

But, years later, I really got to know
this man, my Father,
the one I so resembled
as my Mother would often say
I learned that he, like me, loved words
how, again like me, he loved drawing
how, with puzzles, with riddles
he would often play

And, in those final moments
as he slipped into that distant, far off land
that was when I kissed him on his forehead
and held, for the first and final time
his flaccid, for once penless, hand
for my Father
Oct 2020 · 35
To Nature
sheila sharpe Oct 2020
Upon the face of blue-green
globe in endless, unfelt spin
amid a vast and still expanding space
life unfolds in movement
crawling, flying, swimming
sinuous, slow or fast in
terms of grace and pace

Mountains soar to pierce
the endless skies of storm or calm
where clouds mist pinnacles
of green, of fiery red, or white
Sun warms by day, then stars
in frosted wonder grace
with diamonds the velvet night

Crawling creatures, the still earth
in endless movement carpet
Flying creatures fill the skies
with hum and swish of beating wing
and every swimming creature
stirs the fathomed depths
and makes the Sailor's heart
with longing sing

And in the crown that graces all of Earth
a treasure trove of jewels in splendour lie
blossoms that in shape and form and colour
fill with awe and wonder heart and eye

Such is Nature, realm of the great Creator
Realm of the Artist who with brush unseen
paints the world with red, blue, gold and silver
orange, yellow, white and blue and green
Nature; the world
Oct 2020 · 51
Words are crimson threads
sheila sharpe Oct 2020
Words are crimson threads spun by my pen
needling my woolly soul for expression,
each a stitch in Life's tapestry
my thoughts long and steely bodkins
I scatter words as sharp and shining pins
each sufficient to raise red upon
the flaccid fabric of empty minds
pinning ideas, often controversially
averse to neither comment nor complaint
I am a human wheel of spin,
pricking consciousness
threading with thought empty consciences
why I write
Oct 2020 · 40
Chaos came creeping
sheila sharpe Oct 2020
Chaos came creeping into the unsuspecting world
Invisible, except beneath the microscope's lens
borne upon the breath of old injustices, and rage
a crazed creature creeping out of Nature's cage

No-one saw the escape, no-one suspected
no-one could see its spiked and viperish visage
born coldly upon a sneeze, a cough, a breath
such was the fetid face of this unseen death

No continent, powerful, wealthy, mighty, rich or poor
witnessed chaos come unbidden through the door
but it is here, and continents and countries fall apart
Experts no protection can from their theories impart

Chaos is not always the detonation of bombs or guns
nor is it born in the blinding blazing of exploding suns
chaos is here always, watching and waiting to pounce
An unseen Terrorist that does not its arrival announce
thoughts on the Pandemic
sheila sharpe Oct 2020
The Country that promised
equality, opportunity
free passage given
and hope to all who entered there
now trampled by unfulfilled dreams
a lack of understanding
inequality left them trampled underfoot
necks knelt upon
hands shackled
that once were willing
the plantations echoed in a thousand
down-trodden neighborhoods
the wrong side of the tracks
downtown around every corner
promises broken
the burned spoons
the silver foil
the knives
the spilled blood
This was
the Land of the Free
Thoughts on the U.S.A.
Aug 2020 · 40
Brush with your lips
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
Brush with your lips
my questing finger tips
hold my breath
in a pulse of your heart
hear my voice in the echoes
of the summer scented breeze
and so never let us part
Aug 2020 · 60
She was his
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
She was his
her eyes fixed upon his needs
expressed in his face
she was his
her first glance upon awakening
her last glance before uneasy sleep
She was his
his voice enslaving her
the soft wheedling
the ugly commands disguised
She was his
his hands caressing
his fingers raking her soft, soft skin
She was his
his mind enclosing
her soul
deep within
Aug 2020 · 49
Morning musing
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
Copper leaves, the colour of old coins
scatter in mown emerald grass

Ashy sky streaked with vermillion
gives warning of a coming storm

Strewn hazelnut shells betray the
vagabond squirrel's hunger on the footpath

A sparrow camouflages itself
becoming a part of lilac bush bark

What seems at first glance a twig is
a slug resurrected by early morning rain

A perfectly prismatic necklace of crystals
spangles the empty washing line

Daisy sequins grace the Garden's
gilded gown of dewy grass

Sleepy cat awakes, to become death incarnate
stalking birds on soft and stealthy paws

Whispy white clouds drift cotton-like
on the grey altar-cloth of the horizon

And a solitary mouse erupts from earth burrow
to scurry across my feet
Aug 2020 · 36
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
The sandstorm of desperation
blows through my arid heart
tearing my future's longed for oasis apart
my heartbeats are the drumming
of countless Nomads' feet
all that I need is a well
from which my thirst to quench
give me love, give me
that well that is your heart
full of love deep and sweet
Aug 2020 · 36
The door shut
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
The door shut inside my heart
the windows closed inside my soul
and the mist of betrayal gathered
behind each tear-filled eye
your last words echoed
down the darkened corridors of my mind
for you shut that door, you closed that window
you destroyed all my future
and yet you forgot to say
Aug 2020 · 43
That sleep
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
That sleep from which our loved ones do not wake
That drift into nothingness, that silence everlasting
Death takes, and leaves a mere shadow of each self
for us to place words in Memorium or urn upon shelf

An urn that, even if emptied of that ash
into a blaze in home hearth grate
would not as a glorious phoenix
our lost loved ones reincarnate

That sleep from which our loved ones do not wake
that drift into nothingness, that silence everlasting
that Death in all its arrogance our loved ones
for its own perverse satisfaction takes
just lines that came into my mind
Aug 2020 · 32
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
The onlooker somehow fears this billowing
almost a smoke erupting from ancient landscapes
a smoke that a voice possesses
a voice that it owns, and uses to persuade,
sears into the mind with something
insubstantial yet tangible at its centre
as of a dark blaze suddenly ignited
shifting, drifting into a murderous haze
morphing into half-imagined shapes and shades
written after watching an Arts programme about the life of Ted Hughes, where the opening shots were of starlings swirling and whirling about
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
Endless thinking..thinking.. thinking.. thinking..  thinking
******, this is how thinking can far, far, too often feel
as if one's poor head is spinning around and around
or as if one's a poor dizzy gerbil imprisoned in a wheel
it's as if one's poor old mind is far too full of thoughts
with far more crowding in on it than they really ought
And, why, oh why, to further blight one's piteous plight
does thinking far too often plague one very late at night
for when one's about to drop off into much-needed sleep
come silly sneaky little thoughts suggestive and too deep
That's why  if  I am  struggling to settle down late at night
I save myself from going crazy and lots of poems write!
Aug 2020 · 46
No Instant click
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
No instant click of a switch transforms a life
for life is but a late Summer's dawning
the unpredictable mixing of a storm
bright sun, dark clouds, rain's tears
and doubt's distant thunder's warning
Aug 2020 · 60
Death at the first Look
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
Death does not distinguish between the evil and the good
Death knows of no class barriers nor respects any neighborhood
Death does not time by watch or clock when he comes to call
nor cares what weapons he uses to put an end to all

Death wears no distinguishing marks his identity to show
does not live in lofty Mansions nor in basements down below
He may drive a Jaguar or Rolls or a far less desirable car
he may come from close to hand or may travel wide and far

He may carry a gun or sword or bomb it matters not to him
he may by careful planning come or just appear at a whim
he may well appear in designer gear or rags all tattered and torn
he may be full of beard and hair or his head be covered or shorn

He may be young and fair of face, or beautifully formed
or be the skulking stranger disheveled and deformed or
the man at the Barber's, with sharp scissors in his hand
or the man with the laptop quietly studying devilish plans

He may look like the man who long has lived next door
or the one who's just moved into your neighborhood
he may look like a shifty stranger or the man who at
Church or temple or Mosque seems to be doing good

Never trust in Death to appear as you would wish him to
for Death has a thousand disguises to mystify me and you
he's the Universal Sorceror, the man of the changing face
he comes to all, in every land, is known to all and every race

Death may even be a woman, she of the sweetened smile
she of the husky voice who can enthrall you and beguile
Death may even be that youngster with a grenade in hand
Death may appear in your home town or in a distant land

Death has been the final enigma, through time to times anon
and Death shall wait in the wings of the great Theatre of life
Until the great curtains close and all the audience has gone
And all shall look upon Death when their life draws to an end
but shall Death at the first look be repulsed as an enemy
would be - or with open arms be welcomed as a friend?
Aug 2020 · 36
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
Tears are something that I shed almost every day
looking at the manner in which we treat this world
seeing the awesome beauty in the flower that unfurls
caressing the softness of a beloved Grandson''s curls
Yes, I know that tears are not always of sadness or of gloom
are not always shed in privacy in the night-silent room
for sometimes they are shed in public, and out there,
out in this wide, wide world, this universe we all share
shed for the valiant soldiers who suffer for the fight
shed for the thousands for whom there is no light
shed as an ocean carries its tides that ebb and flow
shed as the rivers and streams upon eternal wandering go
but the saddest tears that anyone, everyone, can shed
are the tears for the ones from whom all hope has sped
tears for the children whose homes are by war torn apart
tears for the ones who hold no love within their hearts
So never tell me that I should not weep, I should not cry
instead, seek in your own hearts, the reason why
Aug 2020 · 32
Woman, watching
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
I watch with eyes long used
to seeing postures upright,
poised, or bowed
and brows confused
hands betraying age in speckled skin
cosmetics that hide the
insecurities within
I watch them
as they sit, stand, walk or pause
and see sometimes
what they would wish me not to see
the anger lodged within that
unleashes pink nailed claws
I hear from lips
the sharp tongues
brittle, hoarse
and watch and wonder at
these things I hear and see
and wonder what the watched ones
hear and see
in me?
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
Trust me, don't be afraid of being left on the shelf
For, if born of nothing but the needy love of self
love itself can swiftly become such a selfish thing
when loneliness and passion together take wing

For thus it is that Love is a complicated *******
for it often seeks out that uncomplicated yearning
and then turns it into a thing of so little substance
signifying nothing, and thoughtless, never learning

it assumes many forms, from starlings whirling swarms
to the sweet bluebirds that soft songs so sweetly sing
and white swans that seem the epitome of love so true
all these avian jesters can make a twitching fool of you

Take advice, do not a perch provide when this creature
seeks out a lonely heart in which to settle, roost and hide
for it will so swiftly spread out its darkly feathered wings
and fill your unsuspecting heart with all manner of things

Its fervid fetid feathers of passion will choke your soul
Its probing beak of jealousy will swiftly break your heart
this winged thing called love is a complicated *******
for, born of passions carrion, it will slowly tear you apart
Aug 2020 · 42
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
be careful
hunker down
avoid the streets
the people, the villages, the Cities, and the Towns
Keep yourself to yourself
avoid the daily news
let your thoughts be filled
with positiveness
find that which keeps you amused
remember the good times
when freedom was for all
listen only to the music that makes you feel good
listen not for the Grim Reaper's call
Keep your memories of your loved ones alive in your dreams
look from your window upon the world
for all is not as dark as it seems
there is still the rustle of the wind
that shakes the flowers and leaves
there is still the song of the evening bird
that shrills on the evening's breeze
there is still that kiss upon your brow
there are still the arms that hold you
there is still his voice that says "I love you"
There... don't you feel better now?
Jul 2020 · 68
first glance invites
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
first glance invites
the lowered eyes
the tentatively touching finger tips
evokes in brush of lips to lips
a whispering exhalation
skin to skin then initiates
a wuthering inhalation
but then is the line crossed
from innocent blush
from fleeting first glance
all embracing
and  possession
Jul 2020 · 50
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
In the last quarter of our span
we do not walk alone
for there are other footsteps echoing
the steps of both woman and man
lighter are those steps and surer
as they tread beside our own
as we grow less sure recalling
hours, days, months, years
and decades that have flown
there is a faltering now and again
‘though only to us known
for those steps echo other times
when sorrows like weeds have grown
and,  just as frequently, there is a skip
- a lift of the latch of the years -
when familiar voices echo
and laughter accompanies tears
but eventually, there is a stillness
and we know then that we walk alone
realising that we are old now
and the child that was within us has flown
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
Don't be afraid of being left on the shelf
Trust me, don't be afraid of being left on the shelf
For, if born of nothing but the needy love of self
love itself can swiftly become such a selfish thing
when loneliness and passion together take wing

For thus it is that Love is a complicated *******
for it often seeks out that uncomplicated yearning
and then turns it into a thing of so little substance
signifying nothing, and thoughtless, never learning

it assumes many forms, from starlings whirling swarms
to the sweet bluebirds that soft songs so sweetly sing
and white swans that seem the epitome of love so true
all these avian jesters can make a twitching fool of you

Take advice, do not a perch provide when this creature
seeks out a lonely heart in which to settle, roost and hide
for it will so swiftly spread out its darkly feathered wings
and fill your unsuspecting heart with all manner of things

Its fervid fetid feathers of passion will choke your soul
Its probing beak of jealousy will swiftly break your heart
this winged thing called love is a complicated *******
for, born of passions carrion, it will slowly tear you apart
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
High on the swift swaying swing, I flutteringly fly
am I bird or wandering white-winged butterfly?
Do you not ponder upon just what it is you see
Do I not cause you to heave a wondering sigh?

Teasingly turning, twisting through the air I fly
and thus all moribund earthly origins do I defy
I am of mere humble, too human form no more
transformed into an air-born angel swift to soar
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
she owned a deep shining lustre
a truly translucent gem of a girl
laughing, glowing, headstrong
with her head always in a whirl
but his was the eye of an
angler keen, he cast his net
and swiftly he reeled her in
recognising barnacle tendencies
deep beneath that lustrous skin
His ******* was longing for her
fresh as an oyster she slipped down well
he swallowed her self confidence
and left her an empty shell
Jul 2020 · 55
Rocket Man
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
Your bright smile shone a light in the darkness
that was the heart of an insecure teenage girl
a shimmering St. Catherine's wheel spinning
sending my young mind into a dizzying whirl
All through the days, weeks, months and years
through all of the laughter, sadness, and tears
You are still my Rocket Man, my one and only
for you still shine like a torch that lights my soul
your smile still a bright, blazing rocket soaring
lighting up my heart, and making me truly whole
Jul 2020 · 65
For far too long ....
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
Too important are the words I long to say to you
for far too long do they lie buried in my heart
so why do they only surface from the lake of
my subconsciousness when we are far apart?

Why do such things stand like crumbling landmarks
that life's time and tide can wash too swiftly away
why can I go and buy you gifts and yet still
find hardest all those words that I need to say?

And why, when those words do erupt like molten magma
why, when my face, my eyes, my desperation betray
do those who should listen, not just stare at me
blank their eyes and turn dismissively away?

I should be allowed to tell of my own heartache
for is it not there in my dreams, and in my very soul
so why when I open the book of my revelations
can you not stay, not listen, not make me whole?

Let me tell you how I feel, let you not my secret
heartaches, my secret dreams deny or steal
fix upon me your eyes, listen to the words I tell
and then, only then will you truly know me well
Jul 2020 · 54
Save me your excuses
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
Save me your persuasive excuses for they
no longer have sufficient power to impress
no matter how you phrase those words and
no matter how with fancy flowery gestures
that curt and hurtful final goodbye you dress

I am empty now and so deathly cold that
no Sun's warmth can my future ever hold
you emptied all that I was into nothing at all
telling me it was for my own good you were
leaving me yet holding me still in your thrall

With your flattery you put me under a dark spell
but every gift you gave was just an empty token
for leaving that person who loved you so well
is betrayal, and betrayal always means that
someone's trusting heart lies cold and broken
Jul 2020 · 58
Tell me ...
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
Tell me I am not forgotten
tell me that I have
a place in your heart
tell me that my face is
still in your mind’s eye
that our love
has not fallen apart

Tell me that you
will never leave me
that by my side
you will always stay
tell me that I am not praying in vain
do not go away
Jul 2020 · 47
The shape of things
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
Our circle of love was as rounded and perfect as
a new world held in my hands and heart
as a silver crescent moon bright and shining
from the start
as a diamond faceted in oh so many ways
a square-cut emerald gemstone
echoing the fresh lush greenness
of those first heady days
but all now has ended
come to a sad conclusion
all to an amorphous shape
ill-formed, almost a nothingness
vague and half-concealed
love that was once the
perfect fresh plucked apple,
red and ripe, has rotted
its innermost being decayed and
set to a bitterness strange and congealed
my hands are stained with my tears
my heart is as black
as deadly nightshade at its core
a dark teardrop pearl malformed and tarnished
beached upon a dark and distant shore
that circle of love that once I thought was ours
once rounded and perfect as a new world
that I held once in my hands and heart
is now a torrent of teardrops
onto the letter fallen
fallen from my trembling hands
a letter ripped - and ripped - apart
Jul 2020 · 58
As silken petals
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
as silken petals the butterflies  flutter
borne upon the gentle wind
colours vibrating
upward soaring
lilac blossoms
fleeing flora given wing
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
A smile, a glance
he loves me

an angry look
he loves me not

a kiss on the cheek
he loves me

a sly pinch
he loves me not

a tender caress
he loves me

a savage shove
he loves me not

a bouquet of flowers
he loves me

a punch
he * *
domestic violence
Jul 2020 · 43
There is a Gift
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
There is a Gift deep down inside
where nobody else can see
if that gift you can find
let it shine let it shine
let it shine
for you and for me

out of the depths of your heartache
out of the depths of your soul
let the sun come inside
to where that gift hides
fragmented then
let it be whole

It will shine like a beacon
for everyone
it will give this sad world
something good
there’s a gift deep inside
but please don’t let it hide
let it shine
for this sad old world’s good
Jul 2020 · 71
I stare at you
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
I stare at you through the foliage of everyday life
the thorns, the blossoms, the moss that carpets all
I am the wild thing that lives in every girl and woman
I have bloomed throughout the years of heartache
of happiness, of all that enriches the world and self
Jul 2020 · 104
The Cave
sheila sharpe Jul 2020
Before him, the Cave, like a great toothless mouth yawns open
and the vessel that is his inner self is caught up in its breath
where the deep waters of a lifetime's voyage flow into death
he has travelled far, and wide, and has seen so much of life
he has been stilled in the calm and azure waters of happiness
he has been tossed in the turbulent waters of personal strife
he has been caught up in the whirling eddies of youthful romance
the slithering serpent of poverty has fixed on him its empty glance
his children were as bright angelfish born to enchant and amaze
In a loving woman's eyes he has seen the siren's steadfast gaze
through calm clear harbours of sufficiency, he has slowly sailed
yet the ivoried tusks of Narwhal'd grief have oft his heart impaled
the voyage has been a long one, the cave before him now yawns
he is Jonah, yet fears not, for he knows that a new voyage dawns
a voyage of self realisation
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