(I am not a writer.... I just like to write)
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karen sinclair Poems
Death of a Tear......
The fresh tear, heavy with meaning and purpose Travels southbound upon my warm skin. Full of reason and pain, I watch Distracted by it's beauty
The small brown nightingale sings From left bough of an insignificant tree He brings not much Just love and a touch
Purple Glitter.....An Ode To Writers
When blackened skies shroud Purple thoughts are thrust As sprinkles of glitter dust Up through the atmospheric pressure
March on March......
I am a swathe of salted tears Spread thin upon brown earth Doused throughout lost years Querying all I'm worth
Dandelions and Fairies
If I sat within the downy heather of the beauteous bogland That is Mnt Clanard Southern Ireland Beneath a birch... beside a stream
Once I had a real little seahorse encased in perspex Laying starkly beside a tiny piece of seaweed (which was grey green) Entombed forever Laid majestically out for my lively enquiring five year old eyes to gaze upon
The waves were subtle As you led me in Half moon Full moon
Cold Feet and Other Objects.....
Huddled within a blanket In a camping chair Thats not quite right Blinds down to shade the sleeping
Melody of Love
Lay me Amongst the melody that is Mozart Weave his notes in my lank dark hair Spirit me to a world of horses
Manitou slides Doppelgänger silhouette Ballet prides Twisted contorted pirouette
I Hate Lucy
I met her one blurry New Years eve She who would hang as a glorious ornament, from your sleeve Back in those times of hours, no sand I can picture her (now grasping) your lovely hand
The eagle smiles sharply Smartly He knows my need of gently stroked wings Amidst shift shaping rocks
The Privvy.......Toilet Trolls
Twas sordid that thought Midwinter handed a lit Oil lamp Glowing
Who'd be a Woman?
Who'd be a woman? With hours of hair to dry Chubby and insecure Certainly i bellow
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Love is a subsidised metaphorLove
Stealing from the emotionally rich to
Scatter upon the barren
(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)
Death of a Tear......
The fresh tear, heavy with meaning and purpose
Travels southbound upon my warm skin.
Full of reason and pain, I watch
Distracted by it's beauty
Questioning its lifespan as I do the life in my love
First it rushes with gusto, confidence
Only to slow eventually at an undefined moment
For no real reason, with no apparent explanation
(as in my love) It petered to a dribble
And unaware of it's poignance