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893 · Feb 2021
capture me
sheila sharpe Feb 2021
Capture me
with your voice
let it to my ears
instil a thrill
let it wash my soul
with its timbre
let its strength
calm my fears
in its tone I hear
all that a voice could
ever contain
the sun’s warmth
the soul’s wash
of the gentle rain
capture me with your voice
hold me
enthrall me, captivate me
thrill me now
561 · Apr 2021
Send not
sheila sharpe Apr 2021
send not a cold stare
to freeze my soul
send me the warmth of your smile
and your voice
to once more make me whole
you have the power
to stop the rain
dry my tears
and ease my pain
491 · Dec 2020
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
love
469 · Jun 2021
The cosy little nest
sheila sharpe Jun 2021
the cosy little nest that she had made
of their relationship is empty
the straws at which she had
one clutched
strewn all around her
now she runs around as
a headless chicken would
trampling on the empty eggshells
she now recognises
as his promises of eternal love
341 · Jun 2020
I fall
sheila sharpe Jun 2020
I fall
down through the dark mists of grief
it's shadows closing about me
extending my arms to memories
I need now to be corporeal
to hold me close
to stay my fall
to restore all
that is lost
that is past
with no conditions
let me land
on Terra Firma
not on the stormy waves
of heartache
315 · Dec 2020
Deep within
sheila sharpe Dec 2020
Calm, clear, or stormy
Gray, green or blue
the sea reflects
the feelings that lie
deep within me and you
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
305 · Jun 2020
Stay
sheila sharpe Jun 2020
My Love, stay with me until
my arms cannot hold you
my eyes cannot return your smile
my heart beats its final goodbye
then, keep me close in your heart
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!
245 · Jun 2021
Sadness is ....
sheila sharpe Jun 2021
Sadness is a burden
Sadness is a weighted rope
Sadness is a black hole
Sadness is the absence of
all joy and hope
Sadness is a moth fluttering
inside the darkness of a broken heart
Sadness is a crawling centipede
its seemingly endless creeping feet
tearing your insides apart
Sadness is a leaf left
to rot upon the earth
Sad ness is a fetus never
given birth
Sadness is the absence
of softly shining light
Sadness is the need to flee
with never the chance to take flight
Sadness is the rose
with no perfume and no petals
just a broken stem of thorns
Sadness is the lonely bird
that sings a plaintive song
in the darkness of a thousand
winter dawns
240 · Nov 2020
She was his
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
She was his
her eyes fixed upon his needs
expressed in his face
she was his
transfixed
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
enrapturing
her soul
deep within
control
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
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
229 · Nov 2020
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
226 · May 2021
Unborn
sheila sharpe May 2021
Close to the gate
you lay
there, on the pathway’s edge
all blue bone
unopened beak
and closed and sightless eyes
your fragile legs forever fixed in death
your tiny body unfledged
fallen  offspring of some
now forlorn and feathered songster
I could not resurrect you
so with my  foot
I simply nudged you
to lie beneath the sheltering hedge
hearing inside my soul
your unsung song
seeing, that night with
the dreaming eyes of mind
your feathers fully fledged
your exultation in soaring flight
towards a sunlit dawn
204 · Jul 2020
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
just
please
do not go away
186 · Oct 2021
Let ....
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
169 · Mar 28
Too soon ...
sheila sharpe Mar 28
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
161 · Dec 2020
I....just ....need!!!
sheila sharpe Dec 2020
I just need to kick over the traces
break the bank place a big bet
and win a ** fortune on the races
I want to break a lifetime's habits
stop keeping to every rule
stop the Universe
and all that's in it
for taking me for a law-abiding fool
I want to stop seeing that pile of washing to be done
I want to stop being straight-laced
and start to have some fun!
rebellion!
158 · Mar 2021
Strings
sheila sharpe Mar 2021
The strings he once had held
to control her have snapped
She was Judy to his Punch
her every movement
hung from his fingertips
Once she was strung tight
a glove upon his hand
now she moves to her own music
now no other frames the words
that from her lips are spoken
the Puppet Master is no more
the spell of his control is broken
sheila sharpe Jun 2020
A river moves through me
guiding and shaping the amoeba in me
that rises from the soul's
ebbing and flowing tides of life
making me human
133 · Jun 2020
She was a blank slate
sheila sharpe Jun 2020
He watched her
He knew She was a blank slate
upon which he could write
an easy target to keep fixed in his sight
the bullets of his control hit her one by one by one
until he could see through her to project
the insidious gleam of his dark sun

His control made
a full fathomed mine of her soul
for his mind was the centre of
his self perceived Universe
he enslaved her until
he had stolen all of her self control

She withered until she was a mere husk
her mind dissolved by his poison
until she was nothing
until she was no longer whole
129 · Jun 2020
Two Hearts
sheila sharpe Jun 2020
For us two hearts as one together beat
For us two minds as one together meet
For us two as one together always will be
I for you and you for me
For togetherness is sharing
togetherness is caring
nothing else between us
ever comparing
120 · Jun 2020
For far too long ....
sheila sharpe Jun 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 sub consciousness 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
120 · May 2021
I am your willing prey
sheila sharpe May 2021
I offer myself as willing prey
catch me with
silken words
and in your web
of lasting love entrap me
118 · May 2021
The Wastrel
sheila sharpe May 2021
Everyone said that he was a wastrel
that was because they never
knew the power of his smile
felt the touch of his hand
felt good listening to the timbre of his voice
he was never rich
never "made good"
never owned a big house
drove a fancy car
or lived the high life
in fact they said he'd wasted his life
but there was one thing he never wasted
and that
was
happiness
115 · Jun 2020
The shape of things
sheila sharpe Jun 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 inner most 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
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
112 · Jan 2021
that single silver tress
sheila sharpe Jan 2021
Around his shaking fingers he wound that single, silver tress
that cord of silken silver that her beloved face once caressed

He could feel its softness around those quivering fingers
as, upon the coffins satin lining, her scent still lingered

He wept, recalling the dark nights when for her warmth he longed
seeing her face amongst those of the mourners who thronged

And knew, as his tears fell, that that single silver tress of hair
it would bind him to the one who lay forever sleeping there
110 · Aug 2020
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
108 · Aug 2020
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
106 · Jul 2020
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
103 · Aug 2021
Memory will not serve
sheila sharpe Aug 2021
Memory will not serve to soften
or to erase the spikes of anger
sorrow, sadness and grief
the trembling hand that wields
this brush cannot revive belief
he who was there in childhood
who laughed, loved guided and consoled
who through the path of life
was there to steer, to hold
with a hand with fingers gnarled with age
that were with wisdom formed to calm
he is gone away into that other land
now there are only these grey spikes
these shards of what was
the love we built together
and these are not grief's needed balm
but with the months, years, decades
that shall pass away I hold to hope
that by my memory of him and all he held
the spikes shall be smoothed and brushed away
103 · Feb 2021
hands
sheila sharpe Feb 2021
Hands reach out
digits intertwining
flicking upon the mind's
dark consoles of thought
desperately imploring
searching for answers
needing to express and explore
wanting a hands-on approach
to the endless dilemmas of life
103 · Jul 2020
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
101 · Oct 2020
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
100 · Jun 2020
You pulse my heart
sheila sharpe Jun 2020
You pulse my heart with that smile
shining from the depths of your dark eyes
your touch fills my body with the whisper
of a thousand trembling sighs
This whole world could be filled
with multitudes of angels all
singing in the same sweet voice
but I could not ever find anything more
beautiful than the company of you
in which I still rejoice
There are oceans out there
that I would swim to carry me back to you
there are forests through which I would walk
all through the night and into the
icy coldness of a frosty Winter’s day
white clouds skimming across the Heavens
and blue birds winging on their ceaseless way
yet, all these would be nothing, nothing
if we ceased to continue loving
each other in that same, sweet way
100 · Jul 2020
Realisation
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
99 · Jul 2020
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
gathering
to
suffocating
all embracing
obsession
and  possession
98 · Feb 2021
words
sheila sharpe Feb 2021
words are as worms digging deep into the loam of my mind
fertilizing its sterile soil but leaving too many weeds behind
My hand is the ***** that digs deep into my heart and soul
my ink the deep dye of metaphor that makes of imagination
a garden, scintillating in its beauty, breathtaking, and whole
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
sheila sharpe Jun 2021
they do not see the differences
beneath the fine cloak of skin
the brain that is wired a different way
so altering the thoughts within
the eyes that look seemingly far beyond
those of others e-en face to face
the legs and the feet that,
though seeming fine
hurt to keep up the pace
they choose only to see
the outward appearance
not what can lie beneath
all the daunting differences
that the body can bequeath
nor do they hear the
weeping
when nastiness is heard
and they cannot comprehend
how cutting can be
the unthinking word
97 · Dec 2020
Love is ...
sheila sharpe Dec 2020
Love is the arm that warms you
on a cold, wet, Winter’s night
Love is the memory of his face
in her heart when he is out of sight
Love is the arms that reach out
to help someone in need
Love is the old and trembling hand
that yet nurtures a tiny seed
Love is the smile on a Mother’s face
when her child lies in her arms
Love is the force that drives a
Lover into those waiting arms
Love is the golden rings
that upon her finger glow
Love is reading the letters
that he penned so long ago
Love is cherishing those memories that
can overcome grief
Love is - quite simply -belief
96 · Aug 2020
She was his
sheila sharpe Aug 2020
She was his
her eyes fixed upon his needs
expressed in his face
she was his
transfixed
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
enrapturing
her soul
deep within
95 · May 2021
Twist me
sheila sharpe May 2021
Twist me around your little finger
so your kisses may longer linger
twist into long ropes of happiness
the strings of my heart
twist into an epic tale those words
"until death do us part"
twist my hair into a love knot
to last our whole lives long
twist me your zest for life
into a cocktail sweet and strong
94 · Jun 2020
Full of relief
sheila sharpe Jun 2020
I am hungry for I am empty
since you left me
empty of hope and belief
I know nothing now but uncertainty,
yet everything of heartache, misery and grief
the book of my life has too many pages
dog-eared and damp
with the tears of loneliness
wrinkled by the gnawing of fear
yellowed by the scorching of inclement rages
for peace is a stranger, an alien conception
for I, who desire nothing more
than to feel full of relief
94 · Jul 2020
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
93 · Jul 2020
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
92 · Jul 2020
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
90 · Jun 2020
The faceless one
sheila sharpe Jun 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
a figment of imagination is the faceless one.
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