View Full Version : Jeffery's Poetry Gallery

November 16th, 2005, 5:49 AM
Summer Sun

He opened the door and -
Is it a brazen disc to wither or
A glorious orb to warm the heart?
Whichever it is is an individual matter,
One in which Nature affects every part.

Some mortals shrink gasping,
Help me to the nearest cool - the darkest room,
Or leafy arbour - preferably by a
Green/blue pool.

Others relax and saunter, soaking
Up the radiant rays,
Their faces upturned like sunflowers,
Paying tribute to summer days.

A naturist will rejoice,
A conservationist will ponder
The unusual strength of solar rays.
Scientific knowledge says
There could be a heavy price to pay
For every extra beam glowing on us today.

Ode to choice

Magnolia here, magnolia there
All through the ground floor, the bedrooms, the stair.
Simply must change it before we go spare.

How to get rid of this shade of distaste?
How can we do it with ease and in haste?
Perhaps we should cover with paper and paste.

Daddy is busily scraping and sanding
The kitchen, the cloakroom, the hall and the landing.
Perhaps we should have some embossment or banding?

Trouble there is when making decisions
Causing a lot of family divisions,
While Daddy is filling in all his incisions.

Now that we come to dispel melancholia
What do we choose from all the portfolia?
Why something not quite, but nearly -- Magnolia.

The Tree

Wandering through immaculate,manicured greens,
I see the eucalyptus tree.
It's brown trunk
Snaking up to tufts of blue, green leaves,
And I think
Of where the tree
Should be.
That distant land
Of brightly coloured birds,
Kookaburras, lorakeets and parakeets.
Of bush fires, "the wet" and droughts.
The drover's and the musterer's call,
The bound of the kangaroo
And the sound of the didgeridoo.
I see pitch black men
Sitting on blood red earth,
Beneath gum trees,
Watching the deep blue sky
Turning to flame,
As the sun sets
On that vast land
Where the tree
Should be.

Going for a Walk

He packs the case, laying precious items gently down;
Pulls on his coat, looks round to check;
Smiles at his image in the mirror,
Before clicking the door, working the handle,
Making sure it's locked, secure;
And sets off down the path.
A carefree nod and smile,
'Morning!' he calls
To slightly remembered folk,
Who cheerfully smile back, and go about their lives.
He feels the fresh, free air of Salmon
Feed his lungs, invigorate his mind.
Life is good; he begins to whistle -
Quietly - remembering the old tunes.
The shopping centre's busy as he looks
In windows, past his own reflection
Staring back, questioning the face
That has, momentarily, some doubt, some fear.
One deep breath for composure
And with a practised move he leaves the case,
Smoothly and lightly as a kissing, virgin snowflake,
And glides away, an unrecognised shadow
In the bustling, shopping crowd.
The flat crack that whips down the street,
Bouncing from wall to wall,
Flinging iron and glass into children, women, men.
He hears, and is satisfied.
His ears are not programmed to hear the screams and cries
As children are orphaned, parents bereaved,
Blood and flesh are sacrificed to his ideals.
A carefree nod and smile,
'Morning!' he calls
To slightly remembered folk,
Who cheerfully smile back, and go about their lives.
'Morning!' he whispers to himself
As he unlocks the door,
And switches on the kettle for his tea.

(I couldn't find the Class Teamwork Poem.)
~God help me, I will search harder when the weekend comes!


Away from the pounding of the childrens disco night
Empty crisps packets
sticky wrappers
Up the darkened road the moons own light
Were on the tops
We want to stop
Far below lights straddle slopes
Necklacing unknown roads
We just sit and silently stare
Grandma it just seems like the whole worlds a funfair.
Oh the wisdom of being five.
So open, so aware, so alive!

Grandma I can read now, Im already on blue book four
I can read all by myself, one day Ill read every book on the shelf.

Grandma show me how to be an artist, I want to draw
faces, and houses, and the sea shore
the air and flowers Id like to paint.

I want to be good one day, how do you get to be a saint?

I want to be a window cleaner or a fireman
Anything with ladders, I can climb, I can.

How come Grandad knows everything?
Is there a book you can get with it all in?

How do you get to do the Olympics?
Do you have to run or can you do magic tricks?
I can jump and swim, Im not bothered what I do
I just want a gold medal, Id give it to you.

Grandma do you know what, some people dont even believe in God?
And they say rude words like bums, boobs and sod
And you know whats worse, some even live in Disney-land.
Grandma how is fish canned?

We hold hands and walk together
Paddle in puddles, rejoice in weather
Sledge down slopes and laugh and scream
Eat strawberry toffee and chocolate-chip ice-cream.

We can fly kites that dip and dive
And catch the wind, and wake at five
And yawning, walk to hear birds sing
Be detectives, search for signs of spring.

Roll down slopes of mooth green grass
Gaze in pools as smooth as glass.
Drive along making up silly lines
Gobbling moments of precious time.

Carefully colouring copious pictures
Painstakingly sewing with great big stitches
Performing plays and dressing up
Drinking deep of childhoods cup.

Cuddling close by a roaring fire, we explore
The Wind In The Willows, they beg for more
The Secret Garden and Charlottes Web
The Little Prince, its time for bed.

Church, theatre, concert, pantomime
All to enjoy at just the right time.
Grandma you know our father, God who loves us all
Well, is there a Grand-God that we an call?

Oh yes, we have a real, grand God.

Little pieces put together
a mosaic of memories,
tiny bits that make it whole,
like a cracked window,
through which people see.

A tired broken heart,
of jagged glass that lie,
in sparkling pieces on the ground,
and with trembling hands,
I cradle them with woeful sighs.

the delicate pieces of my love,
the shining joy of my adolescence,
reflections of my sorrows,
and melancholy everlasting,
as I hold my shattered innocence.

I've lost some pieces over time,
some I've tossed away,
others cut my hand without mercy,
and with my tears mixing in the wounds,
I put those back where they lay.

The shards on which I hold dear,
I put upon the injured wall,
pin them up fragment by shred,
to once again find myself whole,
praying my heart will not fall.

Like petite uncut gems,
my heart seems torn and hollow,
but the pieces that remain,
left on the floor where I fear to walk,
a path most fear to follow.

You walk in them without doubt,
you glimmer with a smile,
you eyes shine with gentle kinship,
and sitting in your angelic hands,
sets your cheer in denial.

The bits and parts of your own heart,
lay crippled and torn in your embrace,
your lonely tears betray the image,
your own mosaic was disfigured,
deep sorrow shadowed by a sunny face.

gingerly I collect each piece,
of your peaceful; merry past,
and try to fill what's incomplete,
fill in gaps and missing parts,
in hopes of something which will last.

Pieced together by pins, tape, or string,
against a wall that may shatter.
if we take our fondest moments together,
and make one heart between us,
what we left on the ground won't matter

Emptiness In Mind

I sit with worry and emptiness in mind..
have you forgotten me when i need you most
or is this the reason why i need you so much
why does the darkness seem so cold
so empty
so far away is my soul
the part of me that makes me shine
makes me whole
keeps me alive
hidden from me
i try and try to see
what's keeping me so empty inside
that part of me
that part that shines
i fear it's gone
lost again
gone again
so i mourn with sadness inside
to never ever really shine


What a mystery love is,
I thought that it wouldn't happen again
But I was wrong
I'm here again writing
Writing about how I feel
I fell again
For a girl
This girl seems like no other I've met
I want to be more than just friends

I know that I just recently met you
But I can't help how you have made me feel
I have a bit of a crush on you
And that's all I got to say
Why did it happen?
I do not know
Do I regret it?
No I don't
I want to be a part of your life
And be someone special to you
I want to keep your hugs
And to stay at your side
Don't judge me for what I'm saying
But some how I find myself liking you
I don't know how it happened
But I do hope I can stay at your side
And on this day I say to you
I like you
And there's nothing I can do about it
I've tried not feeling this way
But I can't help it
So please let me stay at your side...

Landscape rocked by bombing,
Targeted earthquakes for palaces and towers,
Flashes and holocausts
Competing in the sky with stars,
Armoured caravans
Crawling across a dusty land
Destroying like belligerent ants,
Liberating anarchy to rock the world
And loot even its smallest jewel.
A cradle should be gently rocked
So that the babe asleep
Dreams of the growth of love and peace
And the delights in Eden's garden -
Gently rocked not overwhelmed
With war and conquest's thunder.
A cradle? What cradle this?
Civilisation's cradle
Snatched at and ruined
By the arrogance of power.....


Random thoughts ...
skipping through my mind
floating crystaline images
frozen in space and time

the view from here
seems so beautiful ...
my daily grind dutiful

Echoes of the boy
I used to be
sneaks up...
laughing scornfully at me
'Look at you,all lost and forlorn'
then skips away to
the shadowy recesses of my mind

frozen, lost in time

These are copyrighted by me, and only for my use. (Unless you wanna line copy, then I don't care.)

I hope you've enjoyed?

November 16th, 2005, 5:06 PM
When you post a showcase of a lot of your poetry, its easier for the person who reads it, to read them seperately in individual posts.. then to post them all in one long post... but its okay ^^

All of your poetry is good, my personal favourite though is "Cradle" just because it deals with so many emotions in a sense with whats currently going on in this world, and the detail you put in it is deep.

I see that you put some of your poetry in stanza form, but others you didn't.. such as "Going for a walk".. it can work whatever way you want it, but works better if you break it up.

Nicely done on all of your poetry! ^^

November 17th, 2005, 6:17 AM
Why, thank you!
Mr. Gwartney, *My Creative Writing teacher* has taught me to write them in variations, so..yeah.
I'm glad someone likes it, though!