Free Verse
A Pressed
Flower
She looked like
a pressed flower, well preserved
with a little too much powder on her nose.
She had a sweet face, blue, doe like eyes
and wore a row of pearls at her throat.
In her heart I saw a ghost of love, but I knew she didn’t
want the world to see.
She wore white gloves and a little bonnet,
yellow, like a buttercup so as to make her face light up.
Walking a little slow, she breathed a heavy sigh,
leaning on a nobly stick as she passed me by.
There was a gust of wind and leaves flew all about
and as I looked her petals fell, so softly, to the ground.
There she slipped away, like flotsam on a shore,
a once so vibrant rose, whose buds would bloom no more.
A Gentle
Soul
I picked up
my paint brush
to capture your face.
Pretty eyes, perfect nose,
and a smile to melt ice
and catch the sun.
But were your eyes small
and your hair dull.
If smiles were teardrops
and wiped out the sun
you would still be my love.
For between the paintbrush
and the canvass
there is your gentle soul.
Bones
I love the bones
of you
I love your tousled hair
I love your fierce, angry glare
I love the bones of you
I love your warm brown skin
I love those chocolate eyes that I sink in.
I love the bones of you
I love you hands, your feet, your toes
I love the way you scrunch your crooked nose!
I love the bones of you
I love the crinkle in your cheek
I’d want to eat you for you are so neat
I love the bones of you,
I love you to your very core
I love your scars of long lost wars
I love your bones.
Connecting
1 Poets Lane
Lyrical
Watford.
If I could touch your soul with my emotions;
let my inner feelings be undressed,
and if by chance you saw me as a lover
instead of just a simple loyal friend.
But then, these things are just imagination.
My love for you must stay closed, under wraps.
But should you read these words and feel like minded
please write to me at the above address.
