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sheila sharpe Jun 20
It has long been a distant dream
this dream of a roof over his head
he used to sit on the worn down pavement
beneath the monument to some long dead
and long forgotten Monarch
and watch the ones he
called the walking dead
who traipsed along the crowded street
all the weight of their greed in
their shining, well shod, feet
A hand would occasionally
toss a single coin or two
into the guitar case by his side
passing City types would  show derision
their  haughty features could not hide
it is still  a distant dream
this dream of somewhere
to call his home
it haunts him even more
as now through the dark
deserted  streets he roams
sheila sharpe Nov 15
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
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
alone
and silently, internally, she screams
for she knows better than to betray her pain
else the neighbours might hear her
might tell him
or he might see her face tear stained
and will take, as always
his anger, his disappointment
with himself
diluted by
a bottle
a glass
a can
and that lack of these
will precipitate once again
the blackened eyes
the inward tears
the bruised skin
all of those outward signs
that she would once again
have to skilfully disguise
so her scream continues silently
stifled to the world outside
dying to a silent
whimper
as she watches the clock
and waits
for his key
to turn almost silently
in the lock
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
sheila sharpe Jul 17
as silken petals the butterflies  flutter
borne upon the gentle wind
colours vibrating
upward soaring
buttercups
violets
daisies
lilac blossoms
fleeing flora given wing
sheila sharpe Aug 31
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
sheila sharpe Oct 14
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 Nov 15
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
anew
sheila sharpe Nov 15
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
sheila sharpe Nov 15
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
Early morning
Early morning is where both moon and poet unite
both in seeing and bringing into this world their light


The greedy sun
As the greedy sun peels back orange horizons
the hungry poet licks lips, and savours imagination
sheila sharpe Nov 25
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
sheila sharpe Aug 18
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?
sheila sharpe Aug 10
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 25
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
Do you see me soar above you?
do you hear the pulse of my wings
do you see the beauty of my feathers
where the dew of healing clings

Do you taste with me the scent of clouds
that carry a Tempest's rain
Do you feel with me the refugees
who suffer poverty and pain

Do you see the great high mountains
the valley, glen, and dale
do you see the vast grey oceans
where the ships in beauty sail

Come with me on my journey
you can do so in your mind
forget the shores of unrest
and leave them far behind

See the iced Antarctica
the bergs that fill the sea
see the mighty Jungles where
nature struggles to roam free

See the blackened Ocean depths
where oil its stain has spilled
see the empty African plateaus
where all wildlife has been killed

Now say for me a heartfelt prayer
take the healing from each wing
lift your voices O my brothers
and my Sisters, come and sing!
Life from an Eagle's viewpoint
sheila sharpe Jul 26
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
With her lamp, she lit the faces of the soldiers
with her care and her concern and her love
for Florence Nightingale was simply an angel
sent down to Earth from Heaven above

She did not flinch from those terrible wounds
nor from the wounded ones' gangrenous smell
She simply did what the Lord in Heaven told her
gave of her love,. and cared for them well

She had been born into the Gentry
so knowing only riches and wealth
yet she cared so little for her status
just simply for others welfare and health

Now, this whole dark world over
the symbol of her lamp still glows
for wherever, whenever, one sees a Nurse
one sees the love and dedication they show

In all war torn countries, and amid deep poverty
and where now the dark Corona holds sway
still the light that Florence held glows brightly
so turning the darkest nighttime into day

So remember them, as we fall into sleep each night
so remember them when morning's sun brings light
and hold in your hearts and minds their example
supreme, of courage and of love that shines so bright
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
sheila sharpe Jul 17
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
Freedom is not gathering in a public place
rather it is the ability to see the empty soul
behind the politician's public face
to stop our ears to Authority's soft cudgel'd speeches
and how to separate the wheat from the chaff
our bumbling so called leaders feed us every day
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
sheila sharpe Jul 23
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
His brown eyes and my blue eyes met
in recognition  across expanse of grass
smile invited smile and even the fairground's
raucous music paused for a heartbeat's while
as time was suspended and swing boats
seemed to stop upon the upward swing, and
in my heart a flock of butterflies took wing

The sun pierced that young heart unsure as yet
of love and it's challenges that must be met
and awakened in me a dream of something
as full of promise as his smile wide and warm
yet fleeting as butterflies in shimmering swarm

And I felt as if a glistening pearl was formed and
held in the as yet unfathomed ocean of my soul
and all that day carried it around as if in a crystal glass
wanting, needing, to keep it forever untarnished and whole
reserved
Her heart gaped open
for all the world to see
whilst his conscience
remained as firmly closed
as an unused rusty zip
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
sheila sharpe Oct 24
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
dropped
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
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
sheila sharpe Nov 25
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 Nov 25
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
love
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
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
sheila sharpe Aug 31
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
sheila sharpe Aug 18
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
sheila sharpe Nov 10
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
We fear, yet respect you, as diminutive determined invaders
nibbling like too eager lovers at necks, faces, arms, and skin
invading our fragile human air space like sneaky chinooks
your poison injecting into all the cavities that lie deep within

We bow to your humming, into our eardrums eerily drilling
dreading the cratering with your probing insectile missiles
as you target the ****** territories of our all too human flesh
your determined approach that old instinctive fear instilling
knowing nets do not dissuade you no matter their size of mesh

We praise you, as shrilling, chilling choristers of the Tropics,
admire you as enemies, secretive, invincible, secreting unease
recognizing your sustained mission to dominate humankind
as you move ever Northward with an invading army's expertise
sheila sharpe Nov 15
“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 Jul 26
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 20
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
sheila sharpe Aug 31
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
sheila sharpe Jul 17
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
sheila sharpe Jul 23
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
sheila sharpe Jun 20
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
sheila sharpe Nov 25
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 Aug 31
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
sheila sharpe Aug 26
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
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
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
sheila sharpe Aug 10
Survive
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?
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