A Poets Mind

In a poets mind,
silence has stopped chatter,
traffic noise, childish play.

A hum from a distance sings,
words begin to congregate.

Choosing nouns, verbs and
adjectives, words collected
from the gentle light…..

Lines of tenderness and love
merge into a lovers pledge.

Music for her mind,
sonnet of love and promise
to adore forevermore.

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poem by Bob Blackwell
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Our Sun

Our Sun
on edge
of world
signals
days rush
has finished,
dusk, and
twilight
time begins.

Our Sun’s
warmth stays;
it’s love
still warms,
removes, the
shadows from
our souls.

Moon,
a lightened mirror,

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poem by Bob Blackwell
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If We See

We can…
notice nature suffers,
how pretty flowers wilt
in heat of midday sun,
how plants are broken
by the wind, how some
die from frosty cold.

But…
still see natures beauty
blooms, a cascade of
colour, lights our much
divided fractured world.

Which…
has no concern, so
occupied by conflict, war,
discrimination, worry and
its greed for many things.

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poem by Bob Blackwell
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Change

Happens,
all the time,
changes come
then changes,
change.

Change
means
something,
sad, exciting,
frightening.

Broken promises,
a loss of love,
divorce,
a loss.

New seasons,
snow in winter,
spring blossoms,

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poem by Bob Blackwell
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Fear

Means you
are a slave
to thoughts,
of future dreads.

An apprehension,
a trepidation,
a feeling of dread,
a sword above your head.

No reason to fear,
do not tell your fortune,
the future is not here,
please do not to fear,
try not to be a seer.

But crimes are everyday,
tomorrow I could be
robbed, hijacked, raped,
of this I’m frightened.

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poem by Bob Blackwell
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Spirit of Africa

To
visit Africa,
to spend time
to notice
beauty of the land.
To feel its heat,
to drink it’s waters,
to observe, to marvel,
at its creatures,
great and small.

To see the diversity
of its people, in all
their rainbow shades,
to feel their warmth,
their love, their
big-heartedness.

Means Africa,
has touched your soul,

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poem by Bob Blackwell
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Am I Crazy

Words that keep on coming
into my crazy mind, but why?
they enter they run around,
confuse, they drive me mad.

Nuisance this world of ours,
silly too the words that come,
they go away to come again,
in and out, they roundabout.

Turning they fly into my mind,
where or how who made these
crazy words come in, silly too
To I find my mind so troubled.

Am I mad, am I sane, am I crazy,
am I nuts, am I around the bend,
am I creating, do I have a problem,
do I have a gift for crazy thoughts?

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poem by Bob Blackwell
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