Paul Gerard Reed
Biography of Paul Gerard Reed
All my poems since 2010 are on poemsforlifebypaul.blogspot.com.
I wrote 365 poems between October 2010 and 2011.
I would like to write over 1,000 poems but as I have found numerical challenges usually reduce the quality (if there was any to begin with) .
Inspirations - all poets with a feeling for nature and 'insignificant' things that are actually significant.
Motivations - to express emotions, make people laugh or otherwise connect with the writing emotionally.
Paul Gerard Reed Poems
Time has grown over these plots Of broken down plinths And ragged headstones With their faded engraving
Wish The Day Away
The fingers of the clock Would not move around the face Time seemed to be endless As we gazed out into space
Tyne Valley Mist
The ground was slumbering Beneath your chilly wrapping Absorbing the sun's bounty Fiery energy sapping;
We are sitting on the ridge Looking down at our youth Which lies forlorn in the valley; We have burnt each bridge
I leave to you everything…. The sunny days When joy runs through your veins; The view from the mountain top
The Pit Pony
I found out with sadness about your plight Your life lived in perpetual night An underground stable was where you roomed An innocent life entombed
It's got Tower Bridge And it's got Big Ben It's got underground trains That run now and then
I Am A Boat
I am a boat, drifting through life Looking for a safe port, I am the rocks upon which I founder Forgetting all I was taught,
My Old Guitar
It has been with me for over forty years Most of that, admittedly in a garage And I never could play it My guitar-playing talent you could rightly disparage;
Sitting In The Park
The sun shone on our Saturday lunchtime On vinyl through the scratches and clicks ‘Sitting in the park, waiting for you' The radio's faint echoes from '66
The Old House
I went back to the old house last night The house where I was born Things were just the way they used to be The ‘Scarlet Climber' still on the thorn
Rolling stock metal-on-metal glides Cutting a swathe through English countryside Measuring relentlessly the length of our land Day diminishing unspoken under God’s hand
A March Morning
Everything is ready As I take the morning air Everything is in front of me As Spring begins it’s repair
Leave Sorrow Behind
We wait until all things are still And a glorious and guidng hand settles gently We stand becalmed in the glow of the moment That we have waited for so fervently
Stepping warily into a grey morning
With mist shrouding the hedgerows
Damp pavements and frost-bitten walls
Thick socks on to protect the toes
All seemed lifeless and a little forlorn
The way things feel now and then
Until uplifted by a crescendo of sound
The defiant song of the wren