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Best Poems Written by Charlotte Watkins

Below are the all-time best Charlotte Watkins poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

Larking In the Mud With Grandad

I, to the pasture's green could run, 
and fly a kite beside the sun,
but choose, I do, to linger still, 
among the dirt, what is my frill?

Low, be it may, to sink my feet, 
into the slimy, pungent peat, 
but with my grandad by my side, 
would daily stroll along the tide.
To rescue guls stuck in the mud,
or gather sticks for firewood. 

As luck would have it on one day, 
the tides did change and under clay,
a viking boat from days gone by, 
with shields of pine and rivots ply. 
Unmasked itself from muddy deep, 
a secret for ourselves to keep.

Each day, we returned, with a spade,
with picnic full of marmalade,
and feasted there beside the boat,
in our wool hat and winter coat.
Charmed not only by history, 
but by such untold mystery. 

Then on one fateful dreaded night, 
the waves were high, the wind a fright, 
storms blasted down upon the shore,
Until the longboat was no more. 

My granddad early on that day, 
forgot to mention or to say, 
he felt unwell, or rather ill,
but trudgeoned on, a soldier still.
But in the haste of wind and gale,
I didn't realise he was pale.

By the morning when I awoke,
to no smell of cigarette smoke. 
I went downstairs and saw the fridge,
his oatmeal there, still on the ridge. 

Maybe a lie in, thought my head, 
I ran upstairs to grandad's bed. 
There asleep, I thought at a glance, 
I nudged him, but he kept his stance. 
He was gone, how? I hugged him tight, 
and ran for the river at twilight. 

So here I am beside the tide, 
Waiting for the mud to reside. 
But if it does, what shall I do? 
For treasure is nought, without you.

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

God Is In the Air Tonight


God is in the air tonight.
Do you feel his presence, this passing night?
He comes as a whisper, but full of might,
whilst heaven, and stars, twinkle bright.

Our God is in the air tonight,
he comes, all dressed, and robed in white.
To watch, his children, with pure delight,
and bless those whose hearts are contrite.

Yes, God is in the air tonight,
feel his presence, now burning bright.
Pray for wisdom, to do what's right,
and ask for safety, this winter's night.

For God is in the air tonight,
this does indeed, my soul, excite.
As I invite, my Lord tonight,
to be, my one, eternal light.


01.05.2023

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

Time Is a Precious Number

Time is a gracious thing, 
Not designed to be troubling. 
But rather, allows us to, 
Make ourselves whole heartedly anew. 
It promises a new tomorrow, 
When the past harbours sorrow. 
Allows us to learn more, 
Make memories like never before. 
Enables our dreams to soar, 
And understand life's precious core.

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

Becoming One Through Faith


Why fear tomorrow? 
Does one not have faith? 
Surely faith and fear can not reside in a common resting place?

One can not barter with the Lord and claim faith, 
or seek counsel with another and know trust. 
Vanity casts our minds and hearts aside selfishly, 
when the works of his hand differ from our own intentions.

Why do we turn to God only in times of affliction? 
May we instead praise his name in the morning, 
rejoice in the evening and thank him before we sleep. 

Let not the war that wages in this world consume our hearts. 
Make sure in ALL things it is God and Christ Jesus we seek.

One must choose to whole heartedly discern his ways through prayer and scripture,
and work tirelessly in everything we do. 

Faith can then be put to work, 
fear shall be ever cast aside.

For we shall ask only what we need, 
we shall pray not only for ourselves, 
and we shall rejoice irrespective of the outcome.

That is when we shall become one through him,
in him and with him,
guiding us until the very end of time itself.

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

Curly Hair

The magic gem of curly hair,
Procures itself in sodden downpour.
Frizz retracts and curls define,
Revitalised by heaven's moisture.
No brolly required.
No wind-swept locks.
A long-awaited makeover,
Of the most natural kind.

28/04/2019

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

One On the Chin


I know life is fleeting, it all but crumbles to dust,
willessly washed away by the passage of time.
So easily lain waste and forgotten.

Yet for me who knew her dearest,
so easily enamoured by her graceful nature,
swooned over by her cosmic appeal,

chose not to sever ties with this short life.  
But honour her in my lasting days, knowing
full well the reconciliation that death shall bring.


Contest: One on the chin Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Date: 10/09/2020

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

Sour Grapes

What gratitude is of greater reprise,
Appraisal sought within four wall confines.
Yet tests congure my personal demise,
Subpar intelligence is redefined.
Determined only by pure blood descent,
Whose family heritage dominates.
But haste, why linger, such foul discontent,
Saved from years of unethical debate.
Bitter sweet rejection bore new mercies,
Undrained from society's precedent.
To pursue a life without fallicies,
Devoid of tragic human sentiment.
For now, I delight, reap labour's success.
My life is all mine, to live and to rest.

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

I Can Hear the Rain Old Edinburgh Town

Arthur's seat sits hidden by the cloak of night, his head up in the clouds. 
Princes Street lies empty, no royals, no life, no crowds. 
Nelson stands neglected, having made a monumental mistake. 
Charlottes' going square without new books to articulate. 
St Giles has closed his doors to weary pilgrim seeking refuge. 
The Palace has lost its money, its reputation, its gold. 

Up at the castle, the one o clock gun, 
sounds to mourn Edinburgh's loss. 
For all I hear, tonight and every night, 
is the pitter patter of the rain. 
It marks the tears of old Edinburgh town wondering, 
will I be loved again? 

Where be the Scottish man in kilt with bagpipe sash? 
Or corner street drunken birthday bash? 
Edinburgh weaps the soil untrodden, 
those lost of late shan't be forgotten. 
May we once more run wild with glee, 
old Edinburgh town, the land of the free. 

5.15.21

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

Fragile

 
Why is it so, 
that so easily, 
my mind rebukes, 
the wisdom of its days, 
and follies with jokes of ill witted humour,
which serendipidously challenge friendships hand,
casts love and joy aside in an instant,
derails the path ahead,
and makes for
a future,
alone.

Details | Charlotte Watkins Poem

Trigger Me, Why



Oh how, I cry, disdain toward the word,
that gaslights sanity and truth defy.
When hapless, hopeless person, undeterred,
begs ask the question, of the victim, why?

Does thou holdest thee in purest contempt,
whilst quick, to grant, my aggressor pardon?
Lest I, in whom, no violence breathes, attempt,
to find, just cause, yet does, in myself, shun.

Yet still, it is, not I, that strikes the blow,
not I, in whom, is ruled, by selfish gain.
Not mine, the tongue, from which, hate seeds doth grow,
nor my, the hands, whose vice-like grip, chokes pain.

So when, I'm asked, the accusat'ry 'why?'
I'm shook, as you, dispel my truth, as lie.