Great Bravado
I stood watching the flowers wild,
That congregated around my feet.
And viewed the insects like a child,
As they dined on nectar, Oh, so sweet.
Their busy lives amazed me so,
Each committed to the job they knew.
Climbing stems with great bravado,
Retrieving loads of fresh honeydew.
Miniature world of bugs so small,
Bustling about all through the long day.
Some with a scurry, some a crawl,
All hoping to make a good headway.
I felt I shouldn’t move, for here
Was a city hidden in this place.
And with one step, I had a fear,
That I might deliver coups de grace.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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One Tiny Heart
Wake up and hear the bells ring out,
Proclaiming Christmas Day,
As congregations everywhere,
Kneel down in homage to pray.
Such celebrations here for us,
One birth of such acclaim,
What news! Here was a baby who,
Could cure the blind and lame.
One tiny heart beating for us,
A 'human' sent by God,
To cleanse the world of evil deeds,
When on this earth he trod.
The many words he uttered,
Were spoken to save mankind,
And even in our present days,
This babe is there to find.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Glorious Flight
The wind it whistles wild and bold,
Blossoms tumble with its force.
And daffodils bend their heads of gold,
As off it travels on its course.
With power it holds all in its sway,
The trees they stand so strong and tall,
But even their branches have to obey,
This turbulent unrelenting squall.
You sense it in a petal's fall,
And in the compression of the grass.
Yet you don't see the wind at all,
Invisible. Though you feel it pass.
It can be gentle for a spell,
With soft carresses, soothing, cool.
But once enraged, it's hard to quell,
And has its own established rule.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Loneliness
Loneliness becomes a 'space' in time where,
Nobody seems to speak to you, you are alone,
Suspended, whilst time endlessly continues,
And your alien existence turns your mind to stone.
Will no one come to break the voice of silence,
Will no one listen, do they ever know
That you alone are calling in the darkness,
Can they to you, some great compassion show.
Many thousands in our world are waiting,
For a word of comfort and a friendly smile,
We must have more concern for one another,
To keep us safe along each measured mile.
Please take the time to fill that 'space' for someone,
Please take the time to speak and to console,
For all of us need love and understanding,
And then, we are not alone, our lives are whole.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Perfect Blend
The horizon stretches smooth and still,
out across the sea.
A whisper, on its lonely vigil,
beckoning to me.
A pathway is illuminated,
shining o’er the scene.
And all my troubles are negated,
by this sight serene.
Forever moving, waves travel far,
flowing endlessly.
Giant theatre where all can star,
on a stage that’s free.
Wind, rain and wild storm, their schemes they send
lashing down with might.
When peace descends, comes the perfect blend,
two eyes adorned with light.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Www.poemsinthemind.com
Why is it that so often, the poems you try to write,
Only come into your mind, in the middle of the night,
Suddenly, a really wonderful, sentence comes to mind,
And then you start to mould some more, and that is when you find,
That come the morning, it has gone somewhere within your brain,
And however much you try a recall, it will never come again.
But if you get up to jot it down, it's not at all a good idea,
As once you've become wide awake, your sleep is never near.
Why can't we have a file in there, to which these 'flashes' go,
And with a www.poemsinthemind.com, we could reproduce them, so
That every time we start to think, we need not have to fear,
For then, when we get a super line, it's kept for all to hear.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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December Days
A foggy day, the dampness clings,
The cold seeps in to abuse the bones.
A soggy day, a rain’s shower rings
With music filled with many tones.
No view to see, all is obscured.
The distance is not in my sight.
No blue to see, I’m not assured
That it will clear and give respite.
The scene is vanishing ahead of me,
Mists floating everywhere you glance.
A screen is banishing the shrubbery,
And therefore there is no advance.
It’s found, this haze on December days,
When temperatures move up and down.
It’s fogbound on the carriageways,
And all across the old hometown.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Shining Like Brilliantine
Along the track a horse and caravan trundled,
Brushing the green and verdant grass between,
Inhaling the cool fresh air, she walked beside it,
With the bridle’s brass shining like brilliantine.
Inside were all the items that she treasured,
Gaily painted articles of her youth.
A crystal ball, her means to make a living,
Within a lonely Fortune Teller’s booth.
Her Mother, and Grandmother had before her,
Told the fortunes of a thousand curious minds,
This tradition in her blood’s forever present,
A Romany woman takes on what she finds.
Climbing swiftly up onto the wagon,
With melodious words, she flicked the fraying reins.
Coaxing the piebald on to their next location,
Sauntering off down new found country lanes.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Fireflies
A lake softly shimmering, in the evening's sunset glow,
Fireflies are dancing above it, moving swiftly to and fro,
Like a shower of confetti, they gyrate in a swirling mass,
Hovering over the surface, lightly humming as they pass.
Sparkles of light flickering, whilst they quickly skim, advancing
Across the water, each one striving to fulfil the art of prancing,
As if, in one mad moment, held fast in a rhythmic trance,
They become, totally mesmerized, by the magic of the dance.
With all these fireflies parading, they are, such a wondrous sight,
Their grand display, becomes a vision of absolute delight,
Thousands of them have gathered, to join this vast array,
Each one glittering with luminosity, at the ending of the day.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Oh, Come All Ye Faithful
Carol singers standing huddled together in the snow,
under a glowing lantern.
Their voices raised, the sound drifting away,
through the frosty night.
Joyous singing. Praises ringing.
'Oh, Come all ye Faithful'.
They're the only people out and about
on this cold Christmas Eve,
no one twitches their curtains to look,
or open's a door in welcome.
No mince pies or a glass of sherry on offer,
to warm the heart and lubricate the throat.
Even though they're well wrapped up
against the bitter winds, gloves, hats, scarves,
they certainly don't lack stamina.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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