Behind the door

they hide from me behind the door
then whisper in the night
for them the darkness is a friend
but I yearn for the light

I feel their touches to my face
they call with soundless sighs
sharp fingers tracing on my skin
each time I close my eyes

no rest for me when black night brings
such visits before dawn
eyes peering, straining in the dark
while longing for the morn

at last as daylight fills the room
night terrors seem no more
as fear retreats into the shade
and waits behind the door

slingshots

though sticks and stones may break your bones

hateful words are cruelly perverse

they fly through the air like arrow heads

and can injure you even worse

no armour exists that will stop the hurt

as they splinter into your heart

no salve has been made to ease the pain

as their meaning rips you apart

with hindsight you’ll suffer again and again

reliving them in your mind

but though memories fade the injuries made  

are not of the healing kind

so it’s silly to charm and say words cannot harm

they can scar you even worse

than those sticks and stones which may break your bones

but don’t stay in your mind like a curse

iamb stew

She thought that it would cramp her style
to write in such a way
– to think in quatrains all the while
would surely spoil her day?

‘Free-flowing stuff’, she’s heard to sigh,
‘would be a waste of time’,
to meet the brief she’d have to try
to get her ode to rhyme.

She finds that it is not much fun
to wrack her puny brain
when counting iambs one by one
to make up each quatrain.

She’s got more guts than she’s aware,
nothing’s gonna beat her,
she knows that judgment will be fair
–  it’s just a case of meter …..

——————————————————————————————————–

NOTES
quatrain – a stanza of four lines, especially one having alternate rhymes
iamb  –  a metrical foot consisting of one short (or unstressed) syllable followed by one long (or stressed) syllable

Voyage

When casting off we have no fears,
with youth and strength well fortified,
inside we’re older than our years
with dreams as yet to be denied.

Flags flying we set sail at speed,
horizons beckon far ahead,
of compasses we have no need,
forgetting all our parents said.

Foul winds may blow us far off course,
yet breasting powerful waves with zest,
no time to stop or feel remorse,
we tell ourselves it’s for the best.

We hit the doldrums now and then,
time hanging heavy on our hands.
Such stagnant doleful days are when
we feel no other understands.

But then a fresh new breeze will start,
and ease us forward carefully,
as gladly we again take heart,
and launch ourselves against life’s sea.

Yet over time strength fades away
until at last there is no more
and inwardly we spend our days
just drifting to that unknown shore.