W H Benjamin Poems

A little bird's wings
Flapping, hammering, like
The tiny hands of time
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There was a ship lost at sea
That sailed the trail of Jason's Odyssey
A lonely Skylark found it moored
Crashed, thrown up, by the seven seas
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Summer by The Serpentine,
Walking wide and lonely forking trails
Passing summer games with unknown names
With flags flying tied to stirring trees,
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He sits under shade of Olive trees
Watching, Mirror, Mirrors and War games
Shining, pointed from clifftop to Sea.
Soldiers, launching bows of shooting stars
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I wonder who planned the day this way.
The working hard, the working away,
The Poor, sweet day
When better I get to know it's face
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The emerald lake where we crouched and watched
White butterflies streak by eager faces
Swinging from ropes tied to the great old tree
Splashed into a lake of expectations
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Somewhere, I heard this chilling Roman Rhyme
Where seeds of great oppression grow, listen!
Quiet! You will hear her toll; 'Liberty'.
Forged in the hottest, flaming, furnace
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On the train, I think: if she loves me


I'll wake smiling everyday,
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Larks flying over the sunset bay
As Summer swallows whole nights away
When Winter arrived
Every breath was laboured
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Beautiful buds, so like, the scarlet bits of amorous lips

My tree is dying, flowers every spring with a snow drifts worth of blossoms
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