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Bernard Shaw Poems
Have you ever had that feeling? That you are completely lost. Your mind and senses reeling, As in a dark foreboding frost.
A Poem A Day.
I try to write one poem each day, I never know what I will say. Be it love for natures blossoms, Perhaps, a tale about some possums.
A New Start.
I have wiped the slate clean, No more reminders from the past. Memories of what I have been, Have vanished at long last.
Do Not Grieve.
Do not grieve when I pass away, Remember it is but another stop upon my way.
Love and Friendship.
Have you told your kids I love you? Given them all a big hug today? In my youth loving words were few, We were sent out to be out of the way.
I took an acorn and put it in a pot. I then covered it with earth, not a lot. Great pleasure was mine watching it grow. The first budding green came ever so slow.
Large Baby eyes smiling joyfully at me, Baby eyes as brown as can be. Two deep pools most innocent and bright, To me are symbols of sheer delight.
My spirits soar on high, Inebriated with thoughts so pure. I now can fly, Nothing is obscure.
I see the children as they play, The games I know so well. I watch with delight every day, As I listen to voices sweet as a bell.
Only with you by my side, Can I take all in my stride. You give me a silent strength, each pace a gathering length.
It all comes back to me down the ages, A child awake listening to the tick of a clock. My troubled mind my fitful rages, The sound of a key turning in a lock.
I used to play at Pirates, And sailed the seven seas.
The fire in the fireplace is low, Burnt the wood and coal to ash. You do not seem to miss the glow, Your old face in darkness just a splash.
Shakespeare once wrote what is in a name, Was he I wonder thinking of everlasting fame? A man of words, beautiful to the ear, His, an eloquence for all to hear.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Have you ever had that feeling?
That you are completely lost.
Your mind and senses reeling,
As in a dark foreboding frost.
Nothing but nothing is as it seems,
Words like phantoms come and go.
It is as if all the bizarre dreams,
Have turned your brain to snow.
The ticking of the mantelpiece clock,
Cuts the silence like a knife.
Your mind is in a mysterious block,
You ask yourself is this my life.
Perhaps I am just getting old,
Brain and body gone to pot,
Where are the times that I was bold,
And my brain could solve every plot.