I recently wrote this poem and I have been told its good. A few houses are looking at it to publish, but they say I will at least need 6 poems. Have a few but this is my best
What do youse think??????
Home
By Barry K********
Past Slacks garden, and I’m coming home,
its been a while, but I shouldn’t moan.
Throw open the gates, down the big drive,
the lush green fields, bring the senses alive.
Look down at the farm, it changed over time,
With just a quick glance, it all looks fine.
Secret passage has gone, some trees have fallen,
made way for change, progress was calling.
And there is my Dad, he still needs sorting,
He’s gotten old, his shadow is hurting.
And look at my mother, the kids make a run,
The youngest of three, I’m still the blue eyed one.
Put on my black boots, always something to do,
cow could be calving, a horse needs a shoe.
Up onto the tractor, it’s walked our miles,
came in big Boxes and about 20 piles.
Where are the animals – The fields are just space,
I look at my Dad, he has lost his pace.
Where once we had cows, the horses and sheep,
I’ve just empty fields with no promises to keep.
Down by the river, the rapids they rushed,
Its now a mere stream, my memory is crushed.
I remember the salmon, we used to have lines,
cast them at night, in case we got fines.
And where is the forest, I used play all day,
I just see trees, it can’t be this way.
The forest was my shelter, from out of the rain,
I used climb to the top, and forget about pain.
I look for the stream house, which I once built,
I used to fight wars, knee deep in the filth.
I remember that stream-house, built in a year,
I can’t see a thing, it has to be here.
And look at the corn fields, it covered my head,
I’d roll in circles and make myself a bed.
Out would shout Dad “What are you at?
You’ll ruin the harvest by making it flat”.
The shed is there, used be full of bales,
I’d make a big den to interest my tales.
Mum would shout for tea, I’d act all quiet,
I’d have to give in, or cause a riot.
I turn to go home, I can hear the screams,
The kids are playing, they hold the dreams.
I look at the faces, brimming with youth,
Please hold back the day, until they know the truth.
Past Slacks Garden and I’m coming home,
close my eyes, let me be alone,
Just close my eyes, let me be alone.
What do youse think??????
Home
By Barry K********
Past Slacks garden, and I’m coming home,
its been a while, but I shouldn’t moan.
Throw open the gates, down the big drive,
the lush green fields, bring the senses alive.
Look down at the farm, it changed over time,
With just a quick glance, it all looks fine.
Secret passage has gone, some trees have fallen,
made way for change, progress was calling.
And there is my Dad, he still needs sorting,
He’s gotten old, his shadow is hurting.
And look at my mother, the kids make a run,
The youngest of three, I’m still the blue eyed one.
Put on my black boots, always something to do,
cow could be calving, a horse needs a shoe.
Up onto the tractor, it’s walked our miles,
came in big Boxes and about 20 piles.
Where are the animals – The fields are just space,
I look at my Dad, he has lost his pace.
Where once we had cows, the horses and sheep,
I’ve just empty fields with no promises to keep.
Down by the river, the rapids they rushed,
Its now a mere stream, my memory is crushed.
I remember the salmon, we used to have lines,
cast them at night, in case we got fines.
And where is the forest, I used play all day,
I just see trees, it can’t be this way.
The forest was my shelter, from out of the rain,
I used climb to the top, and forget about pain.
I look for the stream house, which I once built,
I used to fight wars, knee deep in the filth.
I remember that stream-house, built in a year,
I can’t see a thing, it has to be here.
And look at the corn fields, it covered my head,
I’d roll in circles and make myself a bed.
Out would shout Dad “What are you at?
You’ll ruin the harvest by making it flat”.
The shed is there, used be full of bales,
I’d make a big den to interest my tales.
Mum would shout for tea, I’d act all quiet,
I’d have to give in, or cause a riot.
I turn to go home, I can hear the screams,
The kids are playing, they hold the dreams.
I look at the faces, brimming with youth,
Please hold back the day, until they know the truth.
Past Slacks Garden and I’m coming home,
close my eyes, let me be alone,
Just close my eyes, let me be alone.
.
Nice poem baz.