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Paul Gerard Reed


Bluebells


Time has grown over these plots
Of broken down plinths
And ragged headstones
With their faded engraving
Surnames, still proud in capitals
And dates from long ago;

The world has moved on
And left them sleeping underground
Here they lie, neglected, forgotten
Lonely in their spring-shaded place
The dappled sunlight caresses each marker
And the bluebells grow everywhere

We stand in respect for a moment
And hear the stillness of the breeze
That blows through our minds
We are captive on this earth
A dying breed forever
A victim of our own times

Submitted: Sunday, May 18, 2014

Topic of this poem: life


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  • Freshman - 1,902 Points Phil Soar (10/28/2014 9:30:00 AM)

    Excellent, really enjoyed reading this. Well thought out and constructed. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 65 Points Diana Rosser (6/16/2014 9:20:00 AM)

    This is a really atmospheric poem. I enjoyed picturing the images your words create, grave yards are wonderful places in spring. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 221 Points Patrick Ladbrooke (5/28/2014 2:04:00 AM)

    Real atmosphere and very current. Church yards are great places for reflection, even if you are not particularly religious, they hold a real sense of the past. The bluebells are are great link with the living.

    Ps I like your summary in your profile. Unless it's humour you 're writing (which seems to come from the head) everything in poetry needs to come from the heart. It's what poetry is all about in my view anyway! (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 11 Points John Brown (5/23/2014 3:42:00 AM)

    Even amongst decay and death, there is still life. I love bluebells - one of my favourite plants as a boy. Nice poem Paul. (Report) Reply

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