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Voices Unknown

An unknown voice
Aside the thought
Asked who am I?
Replied the force within,
“I am all I can feel
And reach. “

Daniel
Poetry Theme(s):

Currently Popular Poems:

Forever Searching

Search the walls Scan the corridors Express the highs Scribble the lows Writing explores The state of my mind.   Judith  
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Let Me Play

Children at play filled with innocence, Trees in the playground where they hide. Running, shouting no cares in the world, Waves of freedom flows higher than the tide. In that playground stands a child all alone, Fraught with sadness, with nobody to play. His dejection surges as his tears threaten, Just wishing a shrill of a whistle would end the day. Being so alone is a solitary game, Thoughts of “what have I done” The shrills and screams of play, Ending a game for those that won. Standing all alone playtime is long, Children running all unaware, He stands still alone, Envy and sadness, he stands just to stare. Sheridan
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Who Is Saving The World?

The recycler, bicycler, bio-masser and solar paneller, the sustainable developer, the charity worker, the medics (sans frontieres?), fundraisers and carers, givers and listeners, growers of organics, designers of biodegradables. Genetic engineers? Surgeons and researchers, forgivers and forgetters, Billy the bug hunter, Immy the mathematician, Troy the paratriathelete, Wendy the wigwam maker. The ones who go last, the ones who smile, the ones who don’t want to argue about it, the ones who give up their seat, the ones who calm a storm, the ones who cook up a feast, the ones who sing praises, the ones who shine, Auntie Gwen and Malala…… ….and I drink water from a glass bottle. Sue Foster Image by Fernando via Unsplash .
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Oak Meadow

B anished by force are warmth and sunlight Where we scratch and hack in the undergrowth. Nature’s front line is well entrenched here, In-grown and wiry with brambles and brash. Ages running wild, seeding and shooting At will, snagging, choking and smothering Have toughened her. In self-strangling struggle She scrabbles and claws her resistance – A tortuous mesh of trip-lines, barbs for skin And slips for boots in the mush underfoot. Old, alone and confused, like a geriatric tramp She bristles in layers of shredded sacking. Let’s tease out her bits, put to the burning Barrow-loads of combings; rake up the mess On her breast, sticky with burrs and briars; Open her up to the sun, re-stitch her Seams in woven hedgerows, with patches of Flowers fight back the years. Waken Beauty, Give bees and butterflies her face to love And we too will grow young with the work. Julian Case
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So Much Yellow

There’s gorse, of course and sometimes broom, the lichens yellow on the tomb and every churchyard has its fill of lovely yellow daffodils. There’s dandelions and celandine and yellow primrose, I suppose, and fluffy yellow chicks are born and yellow toads from slippery spawn. And green is seen on every lawn, at April’s end the woods turn blue and tulips bloom in pink and red with drooping leaves in every bed but yellow bellows all around: spring’s mating call, a joyful sound. Julia Duke
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Ecocide II. Lost Madagascan Solitude

Sloping crystalline falling away skies nudge a luxuriant forested isle - wide-eyed tree-skipping lemur-strewn  - obediently it slides eastward, ever further distant from anchoring shores. A boat-less earth. Hunched up blood-licking apes locked into fruit-held rift valleys. Sharpening their flints. The sautéing sifaka, jitters, nervy, princely pirouettes. Esoteric treasure trove, trust-bound, assembled exotica anciently unfolds. In solitude, a jolly party contained together in pacific balance: reptilian bug-eyed chameleons sure and slow-footed, shy slinking Fossa, a lone long-fingered aye-aye absentmindedly tapping out dangerous omens in primeval morse code. Waves crash, anguished howls - one rogue boatful with hungry bellies and hatchets. Chameleons adjust multi-coloured jackets - to hide away fast. The island’s grizzled chains slip their moorings grind down Noah’s Ark of charms. Axes sear, slice, ricochet Malagasy’s pristine wonders slump - wounded, bloodied, defiled. The world’s ...
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Shingle Beach

Deep Yellow sea poppies With Salted horns Of sickle-shaped pods Grey green lobes Waxy Rosettes Clinging to the shingle And Fragility of life. Thomas
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Spring Into Action

To return to leaf and brighten the day, Spring suddenly appears with accelerando of snowdrops and May in March. Fluted bird song fills the skies, worm casts aplenty rise to surface and morning dew appears. Paula  
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Green Swatches

My body will forget My thoughts will be Scattered Amongst Winter's Gloom. Amongst Nature’s Seasoned robes I walk and restore My broken thoughts. With widening strides I turn to the botanical essence Leaving traces of desire. To swatches of green I turn my attentiveness To refresh tomorrow’s thoughts. Jim  
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Post Traumatic Stress

Your steps alert yet furtive, Your actions so subdued, The walls you'd built around yourself, No others heard or viewed. Your senses sharp and heightened, Reacting to small cues, Kept memories lingering in your head No others heard your news. Self protection served its purpose, Of course, and that made sense, But little did you know that, It was all in the past tense. Relief it was short lived, in fact, The price that was to pay Was that years had passed before your eyes With not living in today. So walls built strong like concrete, Impermeable to most, Restricted you so badly, With the past a haunting ghost. Those dreams seemed like reality, Like you were still right there, The terror you experienced then again, Unjust and unfair. In later years you found a way, A chance to start again, Each gentle step to live once more, Crawling gently from your den. Putting back the chaos, That ran amok inside your head, Gave you strength to start to live, And deal with all the dread. Then pea...
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