Fiction > Share your writing

Just a couple of poems

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Maidenscombe:

MEMORIES OF SUMMER

The lonely lane dwindled through the archway of trees,
Cold grey tarmac, cushioned by autumns golden leaves.
Solitary reflections renewed the memories of summer,
As a bronzed leaf spiralled down to a growth of heather.

Fearless marble lions stood firm unto the hint of winter,
Wrought iron gates reflect grandeur they canst remember.
Roses stood tall waiting for the final summers inspection,
A Crocus lay down and dreamt of a last minute salvation.

The lush green grass flowed, as the tides with the breeze,
A greenhouse fell back, without the slightest hint of ease.
The mansions fallen, now resting on the rich brown earth,
As tree branches stored energy, for their next virgin birth.


ANIMALS KINGDOM

Glowing with magnificence from an age gone by,
Castles standing still, with its footings in the wet,
Although now ruins, its battlements ruled the sky,
Defending a lost treasure, which no one canst get.
                                         
The grass now grows, where the knights they trod
Their shiny armour still reflecting the light within,
Their horses in the yard, quietly waiting to be shod,
Dead servants are ready, the tournaments to begin.

Echoes of a time gone by, the lights now blown out,
Proud armour now lining a museum along the road,
The crumbling stable is home, for the solitary goat,
Looking for animals have gone, save a golden toad.

Rich:
These are excellent poems - thanks for sharing them!

Maidenscombe:
That damned obsession, writing.

I am so distant to my friends, I’m held in time,
Writing stories, they are just exercises in mime,
Noting a riddle, one that has rhythm not rhyme,
Tales of future or past. Of memories not mine.

Mentions of aliens, this planet they came to see,
Do they attack now? As a battle there would be,
They could return when we’re dead, a century?
To get a free new world, a gift from you and me.

Of vampires, zombies, monthly werewolves too.
Tales of  the creatures, that never went to a zoo.
Demons that live to scare the crap out of you,
Glints from their colourful eyes, they aren’t blue.

Do I write with a pen, a lead pencil or quill,
A computer using a word processor as well.
And those new names so that friends can’t tell,
if it’s them, else they’ll exclaim, what the hell?

Rich:
Good, intense poem there. Thanks for sharing, keep it up!

Maidenscombe:
From a time of old.

As with the time of old, their present time passed,
Remaining within the stones of the stone circles,   
From a forgotten past, waiting for the time undone.

They would search the land, if the Goddess called,
Then respond, and rising up from the circles of old,
To protect the people, the land, and protect the all.

They would do battle with the demons on the land,
They’d go to fight the demons that lived in the air.
They’d even go to hell and fight the demons there.

A force of evil, it had sought to control this world,
But the maidens, they faced her, fighting her fold,
To a new beginning, a life, they healed the ground. 


Glowing eyes in the undergrowth.

Deathly bright, from the nightly light, its eyes watch from the gloom
Seeing, staring at the mime, hearing the deaf of the nights full moon
Shouting its thoughts, it is smelling the sounds that float in the air.

Moving forward, into the light, walking fast. It is tracking its prey.
Then faster, not running but chasing. Stopping, it goes to ground,
Sensing that now, this is the time, its victim is unaware it is there.

This nights rewards, its stomachs rights. Leaping out into the light,           
Moving on a path passing through the trees. Stalking turns to sight,
Seeing them, then chasing them, their fear breathes a new delight. 

Pounding hard on the ground, it’s gaining, it is guiding their fright,
A glint in sight, seeing a light, it brightens the darkness of night,             
Standing at the edge of the trees, it looks at the lights of the town.

Quietly moving forward, keeping watch to the man on a lonely path,
Through the borders of the planted false gardens in the towns park, 
Gliding over the branches, and the lost leaves of yesterdays growth

Onto the cold dark ground where cars are parked till the light of day,
The man now walks, seeking the light and life of his drinking hole,
And the wolf grins, its gleaming eyes rise up till it’s the height of man.
                                                     
It sees the man walk into a house filled with life, drink and laughter,
Padding across black stones it swings open the doors and growls,
Watching with glee as the humans scream and run from their destiny.
                                                             
Quietly, happily the werewolf returns to a familiar ground, its home,
Its eyes they’re beginning to glow like flames, burning a deepest red, 
Such deathly bright of darkness light, then it growls, a fulfilled groan.

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