If I Were An Artist - Ian Duquemin

If I were an artist 
And you were my muse
I'd not find your vibrant colours to use
The rainbow in you, I could never compare 
Your aura… The sunshine that flows through your hair
No artist could paint such a beautiful view
Your universe eyes are the highlight of you 
So I'll try as a poet. And write what I see
To capture the beauty inspiring me

Ian Duquemin

Image: Jacek Malczewski (1854-1929)

Blue Woods - Tony Gardner

Blue bells nod their sleepy heads
In old sun-speckled woods
To spring time music of the birds
In glades where once she stood.
Her laughter rang like Fairy bells
In youth when Life was gay
And often we would wander there
Along the blue bell'd way

Today I walk that path alone
But still she's there with me
Her shadow dances soft upon
That old sun-speckled tree
I hear her laugh like Fairy bells
And I'm not sad you know
I can always find her here
Where the Blue Bells grow.

Tony Gardner

One Knee - Diane Scantlebury

One knee’s sore from kneeling
We used to give applause,
We still perform the actions
But no one remembers the cause,
There’s a personal tragedy
Behind every sensational line,
Our eyes skim over death and injustice
We’ve become atrocity blind,
One knee’s sore from kneeling
What’s the point?
Do we really care about the cause?
When nothing changes,
Do we have to keep up the applause?

Diane Scantlebury

Image : Pixabay - YvonneHuijbens

Bluebell Wood - Richard Fleming

Springtime in Bluebell Wood: trees
stand like galleons.
Sunlight illuminates their leafy masts and rigging.
They rest, becalmed, as breezes animate
their bluebell ocean,
creating turbulence and subtle currents,
that imitate that other, greater sea
beyond.

Artists come here year by year
with skill, technique or passionate concern,
with misty lens, charcoal, brush or pen
but some pass by
who simply gaze and stand
as I am standing now,
embracing, in this soaring moment,
a sad, sweet symphony in dusty blue.

Richard Fleming

The Last Days Of Freedom - Lyndon Queripel

The rules are taught in schools of thought
Signed and designed to read the mind
Ultra sonic sound, new programmes found
And frequencies bent from past to present

Are these the last days of freedom
Before we see the dark conspiracy
Are these the last rays of light
Before they disappear into the atmosphere

Now’s the time to block the future shock
Not to be slave to the deadly microwave
And surrounded by a fog of electro smog
As toxic clouds pass by the eye in the sky

Are these the last days of freedom
Before we are to be denied the key
Are these the last rays of hope
Before we’re all seen on the global screen

Voices overheard,  recording every word
And needle points begin to pierce the skin
Taking over control of your heart and soul
A number in the queue for the zombie zoo

Are these the last days of freedom
Before we dare the bare truth to share
Are these the last rays of love
Before we all draw near to a life of fear?

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - StockSnap