Poems

Frowns are on every Muse's face,Reproaches from their lips are sent,That mimicry should thus disgraceThe noble Instrument. A very Harp in all but size!Needles for strings in apt gradation!Minerva's self would stigmatizeThe unclassic profanation. Even her 'own' needle that subduedArachne's rival spirit,Though wrought in Vulcan's happiest mood,Such honour could not … [Read more...] about On Seeing A Needlecase In The Form Of A Harp – The Work Of E.M.S., By: William Wordsworth

Oh cry!.. why?Cry because the nation is burningLike wildfire spreading faster than lightBringing tears from the eyesTears that flow like the river nile Oh cry!.. why?For the pain of our fallen heroesFor the struggles of our parentsFor the hope of a better worldOne with peace and happiness Oh cry!.. why?So that our voices can be heardThe sounds of our pain can be feltMaybe … [Read more...] about Cry!, By: Sonde Yemi

The captive Bird was gone; to cliff or moorPerchance had flown, delivered by the storm;Or he had pined, and sunk to feed the worm:Him found we not: but, climbing, a tall tower,There saw, impaved with rude fidelityOf art mosaic, in a roofless floor,An Eagle with stretched wings, but beamless eyeAn Eagle that could neither wail nor soar.Effigy of the Vanished, (shall I dareTo … [Read more...] about On Revisiting Dunolly Castle, By: William Wordsworth

I’m grey, I’m cream, I’m beigeHe’s hereI feel his rageThe orangeThe redNo yellow or greenNo In betweenI’ve seen mauve and purple huesI made decisions from green to blueI’ve seen the light from grey to whiteAnd fail againIt’s black, not quite!It’s quiet, I am alone it’s grey but sweetIt’s cream but neat it’s beige but today I have another page! … [Read more...] about Colours, By: Helen O Hare

The feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn,Even when they rose to check or to repelTides of aggressive war, oft served as wellGreedy ambition, armed to treat with scornJust limits; but yon Tower, whose smiles adornThis perilous bay, stands clear of all offense;Blest work it is of love and innocence,A Tower of refuge built for the else forlorn.Spare it, ye waves, and lift the … [Read more...] about On Entering Douglas Bay, Isle Of Man, By: William Wordsworth