Poetry Forum

mpalmer123 - all messages by user

9/4/2018 11:13:01 AM
Never is Enough	Quietly with cap to hand he begs on the street With Cross legs he waits with a sigh, so Cold in the pouring rain, with his fingers and toes Going numb he shivers on the floor, gingerly He stands up, stamps and blows the hands. In homeless days with fate the judge, his belt hangs, A gaunt face tired by health, groaning, While hunger pangs pass by the hour, His stomach bends to aching pains and these Sharp steely knives climb inside. Cold floors and sores, the penance of life So frail and unwell with no bed to rest, with Cold drafts a dark stranger and taker of life, As well-wishers pause, strangers to the eye For Hope is the humble friend tonight. On the side street with no money to tell He lives and survives on pence per week, The social orphan with nowhere to go, As money’s is no cure, only a divide And never is enough they all reply.
9/4/2018 11:14:59 AM
The Lady Has Style	Her blue sassy dress dances thefloor That sultry smile still the same With playful laughs she twists her hair, Our feelings high her knowing smile Plays my heart to curvy seductions. A face of interest, the gleam in her eye With a swing of hips, then biting her lips She blows a kiss her charm of old, As her infectious laugh fills theroom She cups my face and we dance a little more. Her passions primed, a Lady indeed, The sincere thanks for a helping hand, She is happy in life and savvy to the world With a show of grit she says how it is, for The Lady has style and always a joy to me.
9/5/2018 12:24:58 PM
The Lady Has Style	This is not about one single person but more of imagination and little parts of people I have known. Not sure how the reader sees it?
9/5/2018 12:28:17 PM
Never is Enough	This is my best poem to date and I have tried to give a picture of poverty in the street. Not sure how the reader will see it?
9/7/2018 7:54:43 AM
Wildlife Gone	The calling birds and buzzing bees Their fragile lives are truly free, One by one the species is gone We have time but not too long. The lush hedgerows in bygone days A passing of life, they go their way As seasons change with warming skies From flippant tales, come our lies. The morning chorus, a sing of songs In waking light these songs belong As Mother Nature quietly cries Man looks on and shuts his eyes. Woods are quiet the songs are missed We pray to God a second wish, As life returns our hurt undone She cries no more and the damage none. edited by mpalmer123 on 9/7/2018
9/7/2018 7:59:42 AM
Wildlife Gone	I would appreciate any feedback as this was a quick one and not sure if it is a poem?
9/8/2018 3:05:37 PM
Not getting any feedbacks	Hi, I was new to the PoetrySoup and been away for 1 year or so. In that time I have also done 3 new poems but not sure why many read them but do not provide any feedback?
5/31/2022 11:47:21 AM
Poem on the being cold while homeless	This has taken me a month, and I need to confirm if the join between the sentences are correct, or should I not wander so much? I have only shown 4 people at work(i do this in the evenings/weekends). Can you be honest please? Cold and Homeless again An arctic freeze has been slow on coming, My refuge is drawn to this old wooden bench, I find these days flick like empty pages, With nothing to say, boredom sets, God, I hope he hears me. You see two worlds when they stop and stare, As if a crash, and I, the show for prying eyes. In truth I am just a pawn in these homeless games. This icy ground is a killing zone, in nature’s fury and Contempt these hellish Wind-chills wrap and sap my warmth. The extremities were the first to know, in a viral touch, A cold numbness pales the skin, And I am prey to these deadly shivers. These crumpled clothes were never the shelter For a winter blast, packed layer on layer, They give no cover from the bite of a minuschill. I have slowed to this inching shuffle, for my Frozen boots shred the toes until they bled, while I wince and groan with every blister. The chatter of noise gives me interest, oh to Hear someone’s voice, and with it, the words to keep me sane. I can never cure this chronic fatigue, For my mind drifts in and out with a nod, and drop of the head, Knowing one day this may be the last. Will I see an angel before I die, someone to listen and never Preach, with words of promise to lift the soul. I wonder how it will end, will anyone know of my name, Know my face on seeing, or am I another to fade away.
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