Words forming poems
Word Play
I love to play with words
And let them roll around my tongue
Allowing them to slip through my lips
Watching others react is fun.
I love to watch them form
On my computer screen
Falling in to line as they tell
What something means to me.
I love to play around with
The words on me screen
To move a word here to there
Better revealing what I mean
I love to play with the sounds of words
To gather them in to a rhyme
As for finding perfect rhythm
I never really make the time.
So if you too love to play with words
Come visit me at Word Play
Where I play with rhyming words
To discover what I have to say.
Debbie Chilton (c) Copyrights 2012
Time was too short
Hold your love ones very tight,
Kiss the little ones every night,
Tell your partner of you love
Every time your day comes to part.
You never know when you say the last good-bye
Never miss chance to call,
Always make sure you say thank you,
Let your friends know they’re in your thoughts,
Never wait a day to say what you can today.
You never know when you say the last good-bye.
Don’t put it off until tomorrow,
You can never hug or kiss or laugh too much,
Don’t say I catch up soon,
Set a date & make a plan.
You never know when you say the last good-bye.
The calendar flips over, another month is gone,
The time is ticking, to late at night to call,
Tomorrow I take a coffee round,
No more waiting for time to come round,
You never know when you say the last good-bye.
We always think we have tomorrow,
Can I tell you my friend that’s not true,
We can be left standing behind,
We may have tomorrow, but
. ..
You never know when you say the last good-bye.
I didn’t know it when I said good-bye,
It be the last time we would speak,
We were kidding around and I said I’d pray,
You say we’d talk again when you got home.
I didn’t know I said my last good bye.
PS I love you.
Snow
Icy particles
Cling close
together
Scatter on
mountain peaks
Already
mystical disappearing
As the midday
sun seeps its warmth
Crystallise
water drops slowly descend mountain peaks
To see the
powdered stuff return again in July advised our tour guide.
·
* *
The
promise of snow
The unseasonal cool winter’s day
At minus 6 degrees brought the promise
of snow,
As we ascended Mt Wellington,
The tour bus now well on its way.
As we wound our way up the mountain
peak,
Our driver pointed to the snow gates,
Which stop mountain traffic in event
of snow,
Small mountain streams testified to
the promises snow I seek,
‘It’s minus 6 up top’ our driver
informed us,
We should see snow up there today,
And sure enough as we approach,
We could see white clumps from the
bus,
Excitement a 44 I’d never seen snow
before,
As I peak through the window icy lumps
appear,
Scattered on the desolated mountain
slopes,
For my first experience of snow I
headed out the door.
There was no sign of powdered stuff,
That I defined as snow!
Clumped together were icy particles,
The drive assured me was snow puffs.
‘Its early season, don’t you know,
All you’ll see today is icy particles,
That turns to water slush though out
the day,
Return in July to view the powdered snow!
Debbie Chilton © Copyright 2013
Evolving Room
The room is still.
Planted on firm foundation,
Centred!
Creating balance and space,
The room is still,
Its walls do not move,
But the flooring does,
In case the paint goes splat.
The room is still,
As is the door frame,
But the furniture evolves,
From coach to day bed and back,
The room is still,
Its walls don’t move,
But the art that hangs on it does,
The wind blows them down.
The room is still,
As is the door frame,
But items go in an out
Changing the room to suit my mood,
The room is still,
Its walls don’t move,
But the plants do,
So they can chase the rain to grow,
The room is still,
As is the door frame,
The nick-nacks come and go,
As the room evolves,
The room is still,
Its walls don’t move,
But the cushions fly,
As I work out how to sit,
The room is still,
As is the door frame,
But the table moves
Just in case I have company.
The room is still,
Its walls don’t move,
But just everything else does,
To evolve to suit daily my needs,
The room is still,
As is the door frame,
The candles, the tea pot, the mat, the paints and brushes,
They all move as the way the room was designed.
The room is still,
Its walls don’t move,
Things do,
Creating balance and space,
The room is still,
As is the door frame,
Enter, look and enjoy,
But leave things centred,
The room is still,
As is the door frame,
Its walls don’t move,
So contented I smile.
Debbie Chilton © Copyright 2013
* * *
The
smell of spring
Ahrr! Hum! What is that smell in the air?
I smell it! I smell it! I smell it everywhere,
That fresh smell you smell as you step out the door,
No! Not that fresh smell you smell as you hear the sea
raw,
Its like something band new . . .
No! Not like that blue car that is Sue’s,
I mean ‘fresh air and new’ mixed together,
Like it’s something to do with the weather,
That smell! That terrible smell,
A smell I smell and my eyes begin to well,
And the my eyes being to itch,
And the runs through my nose that twitch.
That smell! That dam smell,
As the fluid in my nose begins to swell,
Dripping out the other end,
And the tickle in the back of my throat descends.
Its then I . . . sneeze and sneeze, and sneeze some more,
And then cough . . . the coughing begins to raw,
Now the waters running from my eyes,
I sneeze, I sneeze and I can tell you why.
Its spring and everything’s about to sprout,
That’s it! That is that dam smell, I shout!
Nice clean fresh air they all talk about,
Arrh. . . Tooo! Nooooooooo! Its spring! I shout.
That’s what that dirty rotten smell I smell,
That nice clean, fresh and new smell, I could smell,
What did I say. . . Its only smell it this time year,
That smelly smell ─
that bring my eyes to tears.
The smell of spring!
Debbie Chilton ©
Copyright 2013
All rights reserved. These poems can not be printed for
any reasons other than personal use unless
written permission is received from the author.
Please email me your request.
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