im haveing a realy bad time at school at the moment, and i fing wrighting poems helps me get my feelings out most of the less funny ones are about me and/or my friends: (i love comment they make me smile, and i defently need to, lol i love reading poems as well and im taking drama and dance for a gcse- btw im 13 :) i do have a sence of humor- honest,
speeking of honist i like to be trusted ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Eleanor Ransom Poems
Crystal clear, turquoise waves, Bubble a tranquil tune, Sighing as it sings to the ruby sun setting in the sky. The sparkling rays stained the sky a brilliant crimson,
standing alone in a crowd
im standing alone in a crowd im holding your hand, its not the same i let go, walk away i turn from you, hidding the tears cos im ashamed
tipidy tapidy toes
tip tip tap tap tipidy tapidy toes shuff shuff
cos everything has to change
why is it when your not around i am there and i am seen but when your there i disaper and have to start again.
i feel your love
I feel your love, you feel my pain, behind your eyes, and under my skin. i feel your love, i feel your hate, feel my pain, see my state. the darkness closes around me holds me in draws me closer lets me in the coldness is creeping in, the warmth driffting out and the stars up abve slowly fade out
The cave was dark and dank, Dripping water slowly, rhythmicly Dripped down the slime, oozed stalactite, Into in to the pool of frezing, stagment water,
fried tomato, scrambled egg, beans on toast, give it to me now,
frog/dog mix up
i am green, i am slimey, pass me the mirror, cor blimey!
frizzle sizzle fizz wizz
The blazing flare glowed into a sea of flames, Smouldering everything in its path. An unstoppable force hurtling through the forest, Charing anything that dared to get in the way of the crimson fury,
Comments about Eleanor Ransom
(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)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Crystal clear, turquoise waves,
Bubble a tranquil tune,
Sighing as it sings to the ruby sun setting in the sky.
The sparkling rays stained the sky a brilliant crimson,
Flushing the trees a dull burgundy as it sets for a new day.