Tag: poetry
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The Wild Doves At Louis Trichardt
As a proud South African, it gives me great joy to share with you this poem written about my homeland, in fact in one of the most beautiful places here, Limpopo. Enjoy. Morning is busy with long files Of ants and men, all bearing loads. The sun’s gong beats, and sweat runs down. A mason-hornet…
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Joining The Poetry Racket
There are a lot of poets out there, apparently everyone is a poet, on some level. So I thought, if this is the flavor of the week, lets take a taste shall we? With that here is my entry for poem of the week! Roses are red Violets are blue I see the likes Your…
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UW – “…Free as the hurricane…”
Lo! In the mute, mid wilderness, What wondrous creature? – of no kind! – His burning lair doth largely press – Gaze fixt – and feeding on the wind? From his stately forehead springs Piercing to heaven, a radiant horn, – Lo! The compeer of lion-kings! The steer self-armed, the Unicorn! Ever heard of, never…
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Unicorn Week – My Precious
Owing to some unicorns actually having existed over time, by whichever means, the unicorn embodies an ideal that one could say, teases us, with a possibility, a glimmer of hope that they may be real. For some, beyond doubt. It is perhaps a dream like creature, one that hints that it just may be real…
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Unicorn Week – Dream Unicorn
The saintly hermit, halfway through his prayers stopped suddenly, and raised his eyes to behold the unbelievable: for there before him stood the legendary creature, startling white, that had approached soundlessly, pleading with his eyes. The legs, so delicately formed, balanced a body wrought of finest ivory. And as he moved, his coat shone like…
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Blenkinsop (The Fat)
Have you ever found a book from your childhood that made you laugh? I unfortunately came across one such item, and it had so many bad jokes, this was a poem that for some reason used to make my child brain convulse with laughter. I warn you, it is very stupid. Just thought I would…
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The Lamb
Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, bid thee feed, By the stream and o’er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the valves rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?…
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The Tiger
By William Blake Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deep or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist…
THE NECROMANCER 