Work in progress Poem(s)…

Ever been doing something or in my case nothing really and words just start to compile in your mind. A turn of phrase or just a thought that seems to be moving? This was my day yesterday and I have to say it has been a long while since it last happened. It was nice and while I don’t think my writers block is completely gone, it is definitely lifting from time to time. So while it is not good I feel the need to share my work in progress in the form of two seperate poems before I leave to go do real work for the day. Comments are, of course, always appreciated.


Still and Calm

The surface of the waters are still and calm

The waters are still and calm

but underneath the surface a storm is brewing

seething and frothing, churning and gnashing

a sea of greed and rage

a riverbed of love and hate

a tempest of raging passion, a path of destruction

silently burbling to the surface

coming slowly awake-

a silent scream, growing in volume

sending an echoing vibration louder and louder

clawing to the surface, growing in rage and anger

The surface of the waters remain calm

neither a burble or a gargle marring the surface

to hint at the chaos running rampant beneath

and surface remains still and calm

as it all combines and comes rising up

all stops and holds its breath-

a moment between a butterflies wing flap

Until the surface is no longer still and calm

and the water is no longer still and calm.

A Pacing Wind

A pacing wind I do play

roving the hills and hiding in glens

over a brook a brook I cannot name chasing a

memory I cannot remember

seeking something long lost

or perhaps never had

but no-

it was once there in a far off time

a glimmer I catch in passerbys

they too who have forgotten also

seeking an elusive torment

it flitters about on edges of dreams,

vanishing on waking, leaving only

a sorrow quickly forgotten.

but what of this who don’t


Those such as I?

are we to be left wondering for an eternity? seeking an elusive memory?

one which haunts and teases and will not leave you what little peace there is?

for surely the memory can bring you no peace

better to indulge in the pacing wind, roving the hills and hiding in glens.


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