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As I stand with my feet in the ocean,
and look at the setting sun,
I think of how many me's,
have stood in how many seas,
but always stared at the same one.

A snapshot of scenes in the movie of me,
at various times of my being.
A new version of me every single time;
the same star I'm always seeing.

It fills me with curious wonder,
for the places that I may go;
And the life that has yet to happen,
and the things I have yet to know.

Jess

Poetry Theme(s):

Currently Popular Poems:

Twisted Love

Twisted trunk and milky stream, A glacial meltwater on serpent skin. Whirling optimistic messengers, Coherent and flowing, Yet random and broken Waiting to be spoken. Snake bark maple, And milky stream, Twisted love and shattered dreams. Anon .    
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Very Important Invitation

V VULVA! Did I capture your attention? E Each of us have our own experiences, relevance, compliments & complaints to mention R Race, religion, gender – cervical screening has little constraints it’s about prevention and Y You are in control. I Investment in your health, time to talk, education about look & feel M More talking about our bodies, knowing the facts and questions we have all tried to conceal P Putting it frankly, simply and laid bare O Out in the open and then you find yourself sat in the chair R Red rosy cheeks, being asked about your periods, dryness, sex, safety and infections T That’s an odd question A And did the nurse forget to mention? N Not only do we want to do your cervical screening but we want to check your safe at home too T That’s the aim of our holistic game. I Invest in your time to learn, to read, to look after what you need N Now if you ARE in need we can promise you one thing can be guaranteed V Very Important Invitation will be here to advocate,...
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Entangled Yet Free

An open-closed cage The box globe captures Amber beech, suspended Surely, safely in its net. A network of veins, junctions and oval waxy minuscule leaves. Thoughts and the essence of Autumnal fall Entangled, yet free.     Anon
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Becalmed

I can no longer dot the i’s, nor cross the t’s. A pale haze, like Sunday afternoons, pleasant after a glass of wine too many, drifts across my day. I am at peace. I find myself disposed to acquiesce, content to live life at this gentle pace, content, it seems, with how life’s focus, now diminished, takes on the softened blur of evening light. Something sharp is lost. But the time for mourning it is done. The wind that swelled the sails has dropped, the tide recedes, the fierceness of the sun is quenched, leaving the sunshine’s golden glow that speaks the lateness of the hour. A taste of salt upon my lips - no call for worry or regrets - a bitter-sweet recall of what has gone. Julia Duke
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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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White Hawthorns

The day speaks of white hawthorn Sundays Long washed out road trips, reluctant relatives waving you off on arrival. Rain from decades passed, a swishing of glimpses. Parents cramped and fretful. Passing through a littered accompaniment of faceless outlines. Stretched out warming children, car sick, scrunch up weathered newspapers. Pungent smells of nostalgia, almost Springs bouncing forward hours. Eager sweet wrappers lunge for half opened windows to adorn the floating blossom clouds of hawthorn bushes, March’s winds step in much like a bone-chilled but amiable hitch hiker. A querulous sibling rolls over, sickening, falls out in a screeching of tires. Tearfully rain-splattered. Another weekend pulled out and pegged up, redolent of adolescences quickly traversed. Mark Ereira-Guyer
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Mental Health

When is it really quiet? Underwater bubbles pop and sounds muffle. When drowning screams are choked by the deluge into mouth and larynx. Then there’s the sinking, the floating, the bloating. A Quakers’ meeting is quiet enough except for sniffs, breathing, the odd shuffle and the builders outside shouting and cursing about late cement. Then there’s catching up, and clicking back. Laying in clover and ox-eyes on a field is quiet but the wind wiffles leaves, whilst high up a buzzard screeches her woes. Does her mate listen? Then there’s the underground-scratching of moles. I meditate to find the quiet, swim to find stillness. I turn off radios, T.V., iphone, my mind. Yet cables buzz, aircraft streak across quiet skies plants and trees creak and sing as they grow. I seek the grail as I dance echoes of pain and joy I read my poems aloud, and then comes the silence. Sue Foster
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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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Vivacious Freedom

With vivacious freedom I release My inner voice Thomas
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