Green.

Green are the valleys
green are the fields
green are the forests and long rolling hills
green like the shamrock and eyes with a smile
green as old Ireland
The emerald isle.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Ash to ash

Hide yourself and sit and cry
you had no time to say goodbye
priorities were always there
now there's no one left to care
it seemed like a perfect morning
then disaster without warning
try to think of all that's been
looking through an endless stream
of photographs you thought were trash
dust to dust and ash to ash.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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That special kiss

Let me kiss that special kiss
the one that's more than touch
that gentle pressing of the lips
persuading blood to rush

The kiss that makes you tremble
and makes your legs go weak
a moist embrace of tenderness
that takes you to your peak

With a heady scent of passion
It makes your body sway
the kiss that penetrates your soul
and takes your breath away

It lingers for a lifetime
you never will forget
the bursting of your senses
when our emotions met.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Gentlemen the Queen

A view to see of red and gold
the horses march ahead
and through the great imperial gate
the stately coach is led

With many years of joy and tears
the Queen admires the crowd
she's seen it all her head still tall
a wave a smile a bow

A sea of heads and arms and legs
erupt as she goes by
the banners wave the big parade
the screams the shouts the cries

Only in old London town
could such a sight be seen
oh what a wonder she endows
gentlemen the Queen.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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I and me and you

I am the redeemer
I will search your soul
to look for all you've given
and seek for all you hold

I will give no quarter
no inkling shall you find
of weakness nor of favour
as I explore your mind

No sympathy nor anger
no pity and no shame
no laughter tears or empathy
no reason to explain

No humour nor no sorrow
no tenderness nor pain
I seek the true epitome
of all that you remain

[...] Read more

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Down by the old river

I was a young man my trade was a deck hand
my first love the clipper the old Rosalea
we sailed from the old town down by the river
to Bombay and Shanghai we traded for tea

I met a young girl down by the river
she said we could marry and live on a farm
I told her I'm sorry my heart's with another
we kissed as we watched the sun o'er the yard arm

I know when my time comes and I meet my maker
I'll have no regrets I'll be happy he'll see
for I'll have my ashes cast out on the river
that I once supported and now supports me.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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A Sonnet of Love

Skin of creamed alabaster
lips of cherry balm trees
she looked like a Godess from antiquity
her smile like a halo
and voice of a dove
she walked like an Angel a symbol of love
small birds sweet with music surrounded her grace
the air seemed to whisper her name in a wish
the sun tugged at clouds to stay out of the shade
flowers would bow as she passed by their way
her robes seemed to flutter they wanted to dance
her rythm and movement held life in a trance
beauties not earthlike it comes from above
and sings with all nature a sonnet of love.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Back home to my girl

I saw the stars weep
in the desert tonight
and I heard the whipoorwill call
all alone in the world
heading west on the trail
how I wish the stars tears
would put paid to my fears
and mend my poor heart
that's been broken apart
and take me back home
to my girl

The ghosts of the winds howl
make sand fountains dance
and swirl with the brushwood
as the moon pays a glance
the shadows leap round
to the wolfs mournful sound
how I wish the winds song
would help me roll along

[...] Read more

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Four Minutes

Tuesday morning half past eight
that's the time that I awake
see the shadows on the wall
hear the early morning call,

Draw my breath and wipe my eyes
I'll arise at 35
the time just now is 31
tuesday morning has begun,

Think of all that I must do
the time is nearly 32
I'm going to have a busy day
tuesday mornings under way,

Sitting up I greet the dawn
and wonder where my socks have gone
the time has just left 33
tuesday morning's mad at me,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles M. Moore
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What is the love of a woman

What is the love of a woman
that I simply don't understand
for when I speak she captures my breath
and her heart flutters deeply inside her chest
like a small bird that trembles inside the nest
What is the love of a woman

What is the love of a woman
that I simply cannot work out
for when I kiss her my senses she grasps
and her body feels faint for the want of a gasp
like a butterfly wishing the summer would last
what is the love of a woman

What is the love of a woman
that I simply wont be without
for when I caress her she captures my mind
with a passion and fire of a volcanic kind
like a bee in a rapture of honey he finds
what is the love of a woman.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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