Everyone's poetry group

poetry shared by interested members

Members: 18
Latest Activity: Apr 24, 2015

Discussion Forum

Can anyone be well versed in Poetry?

Started by Daffyd. Last reply by Daffyd May 15, 2012. 28 Replies

Poems to my mind are free flowing thoughts that are captured and reduced to writings that are in most instances put abroad for the delectation of like minded dreamers. It is my opinion that such…Continue

Ted Hughes' last poem to Sylvia Plath

Started by ree. Last reply by Linda L Oct 7, 2010. 6 Replies

Thought this was interesting: the New Statesman published Ted Hughes' last poem today, which addresses the death of his wife Sylvia Plath:(Excuse the gossipy headline — grabbed this from the…Continue

Tags: process, writing, poetry, plath, hughes

Any thoughts on this poem?

Started by Mary Anne Lonergan. Last reply by Mary Anne Lonergan Aug 28, 2010. 2 Replies

 WEDDING PARTY’S THOUGHTS  The bride, she fretsIs her dress, fitting and correct?The groom eyeing his bride,Six years too long, he fretsHer maid of honour daydreams“Welcome to housewife slavery,” she…Continue

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Comment by Daffyd on April 24, 2015 at 3:58pm

Poems are like the desert sands that cannot be grasped  and fall through one's hands. A fleeting thought albeit in rhyme may taunt and tease us for a time. Floating jigsaws of words askew come together in a poem that's new.

A thought expressed in this timely way may live forever and a day. Such thought may inspire anew a couplet or a rhyme from you. 

Comment by Daffyd on March 29, 2015 at 3:35pm


Treading carefully as one might

In the darkness of ancient night

I reach out toward the diminishing light

To seek the meaning of life.

What is the purpose, what is the aim

Are we but players in Nature's game

Evolved but to label and to name

Whilst we seek the meaning of life?

Did we create in our elusive way

A religious regime to revere, and obey

With prayers that are chanted by night and by day

Extolling the meaning of life.

With prayers yet unanswered, and a faith unbowed

Requesting salvation from a place in the cloud

We dress our beliefs in a linen shroud

Whilst we unravel  the meaning of life.

Comment by Linda L on October 7, 2012 at 10:17am

I'm so happy to finally see another post here and I am guilty too of not contributing..........Well done, Kimberly...........a pleasure to read and read have stirred my creative juices and let's hope that we hear from "the rest of our fold....who have stories to be told!"

Comment by Kimberly on October 6, 2012 at 7:09pm

When I close my eyes,

I feel you near,

but when I think

of home ....

I float away and

I remember..

A time in the mountains,

a younger me,

the lake sounds

at sunset,

the mountain weather,

the wolves around our house,

the people's faces that come to me

when I close my eyes..

The people that have stood by me,

and those that have not...

I know your heart my friends. 

My life was a simple one,

except for the country club,

and the senators..

the push to marry their sons,

while I married the enlistend man.

Can you imagine if I had

ever told those sleezy Senators

what I really thought? 

Nay, rather an honest,

even if jealous man,

love over floweth for me.

Comment by Linda L on November 30, 2011 at 3:23pm

I took this photo this past weekend near Sauble Beach.  Seeing the contrast of the two roses, it inspired me.......

Comment by Linda L on November 30, 2011 at 3:20pm

The November Rose

It’s easy to bloom in the summer,
The warm sun’s rays gently coax your petals to unfurl
And you bloom in an explosion of colour
And heady perfumes make our senses whirl
And then you are gone too quickly
Your withered blossoms hang with a faded curl

Ah, but the November Rose is something else
She waits until she knows her time is here
The cold strong winds will not keep her from bursting forth
To laugh at the clouds and gladden our hearts dear
She teaches us that an icy raindrop on our cheek
Is more like a kiss of summer dew, rather than a tear


Comment by Daffyd on October 31, 2011 at 3:54pm


On this night of Halloween, best stay in and not be seen. For spectres roam with
just one goal, to steal from you your immortal soul........

A Soul Lost

It was almost three in the morning,
A heavy mist was in the
The pilgrim pulled his cloak around him
And made his way across the
The hollow sound of his leather boots
Echoed dully on cobbled
A lonely sound there in the mist,
But that pilgrim was not alone!

His companion, cowled and wraith like
Walked in silence near his
He claimed he owned the pilgrim’s soul
And would collect it when he
So for now, the spectre followed
A mere half a step behind
pilgrim searched for sanctuary
Claiming the Devil’s contract remained

The pilgrim had been tempted,
And in part he was to
He had wished his creditors all to Hell
To be consumed in the
Devil’s flame!
The creditors ceased to plague him
And good fortune came
his way,
So too did a tall cowled wraith,
His companion from that day.

The pilgrim crossed the deserted square,
His aim, to break the
Devil’s hold
By seeking sanctuary in a church
Now that he was grey and
He had enjoyed the Devil’s gifts
For many a year and day,
wraith then took a half step forward
And stole the pilgrim’s soul away.

Comment by Daffyd on October 20, 2011 at 6:51am

THE DUNNY...... A tale from the Outback....



They were funny looking buildings,
that were once a way of life,
If you couldn't sprint the distance, then you
really were in strife.

They were nailed, they were wired,
but were mostly falling dow
There was one in every yard, in every house, in
every town.

They were given many names, some were even
But to most of us, we knew them as the outhouse or the

I've seen some of them all gussied up, with painted
doors and all,

But it really made no difference,
they were just a port of call.

Now my old man would take a bet,
he'd lay an even pound,

That you wouldn't make the dunny
with them turkeys hangin' round.

They had so many uses, these
buildings out the back,"

You could even hide from mother, so
you wouldn't get the strap.

That's why we had good cricketers,
never mind the bumps,

We used the pathway for the wicket
and the dunny door for stumps.

Now my old man would sit for hours,
the smell would rot your socks,

He read the daily back to front in
that good old thunderbox.

And if by chance that nature called
sometime through the night,

You always sent the dog in first,
for there was no flamin' light.

And the dunny seemed to be the
place where crawlies liked to hide,
But never ever showed themselves until
you sat inside.

There was no such thing as Sorbent,
no tissues there at all,

Just squares of well read
newspaper, a hangin' on the wall.

If you had some friendly
neighbours, as neighbours sometimes are,
You could sit and chat to them, if
you left the door ajar.

When suddenly you got the urge, and
down the track you fled,

Then of course the magpies were
there to peck you on your head.

Then the time there was a wet, the
rain it never stopped,

If you had an urgent call, you ran
between the drops.

The dunny man came once a week, to
these buildings out the back,

And he would leave an extra can, if
you left for him a zac.

For those of you who've no idea
what I mean by a zac,

Then you're too young to have ever
had, a dunny out the back.


Comment by Daffyd on October 17, 2011 at 2:44pm


Gabriel's Horn

It's a tale of the Supernatural
That's the tale I wish to tell
Where Ghouls most foul and Ghosties
Came marching right out of Hell.
Fiendish apparitions,
That did stun and shock the mind,
Did freeze the blood within the vein
These forebears of Mankind.

What was it that disturbed them?
Why should they come forth this way?
Bringing with them from THAT place
The debt they must repay.
Was it the Horn of Gabriel
That had summoned those long dead?
Was this the Day of Judgment
Which all Ghosts and Ghoulies dread?

Nay, 'tis but a legend that repeats itself
Each millenium, or there about,
When Ghost and Ghoulies hear the call
And all Hell is emptied out!
Beware of the Supernatural
And the tales that are often told,
For when the Horn of Gabriel sounds
It summons both young and old.

Comment by Daffyd on October 10, 2011 at 3:23pm


Peace is the backdrop
upon which we imprint noise,
Peace is the commodity
we all seek
but few enjoys.
Peace is the serenity
that paints a sun
washed sky,
Peace for the youngest babe in arms
is in its mother's
Contentment, relaxation,
serenity and love
All attributes of the peace we seek
through the Son of God above.

Elusive and so
yet always in demand
By each and every one of us
through-out the land.
Quietude for reflection
after a long and busy
Some time to gather up our thoughts,
for some a chance to pray.
time to stop and listen
to rid our minds of doubt and dark despair,
to spend with loved ones
and to show our friends that we do

Peace is the unification
of the Spirit with the
The euphoria that exudes from this
is of the Eternal
Harmonious patterns of behaviour
will bring this peace about,
need to free ourselves from prejudice
of that there is no doubt.
We need
to make that voyage of discovery
deep within ourselves,
We need to clear the bias and the vengeance
from off our memory's shelves.

are wearying ourselves
in the multiplicity of our ways,
We are constantly
denying ourselves
by indulging in affrays.
When we can lift our
through the Power and the mind
Who knows what peace,
our troubled souls will find?
We can increase our own
to enjoy what this life has in store,
We can find, retain and
live in that peace
that we've been searching for.

Peace is not
something we have created
it was there before time began,
We are the ones
we must let God live within the man.
We must prepare that inner
so that He may take up His abode,
We must pray that life's
do not our resolve, erode.
Let our inner sense of
govern what we say and do
Then that peace that we've been
searching for
will embrace both me and you.

PEACE be with


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