Playing.
Blowing trees,
From pillar to post
Careless wisp and sway.
Ancient songs of night and day.
Blowing trees,
From post to pillar.
The wearied, yet fresh soothsayer.
Witchdoctor on high
Of fears yet to come.
Blowing trees!
The sway of old worlds,
Unravelling like gales,
Out to sea.
poem by Peter Vealey
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I saw the leaves.
I saw the leaves
Clearer today.
The picture on my wardrobe.
Lonely as it is.
Saw myself from how others
Could paint me
First time never.
Saw the garden as my home.
My home, just as my refuge.
I saw the leaves on the bush,
Outside my bedroom.
Their wistful, insistent rustling
Amidst the moaning wind.
poem by Peter Vealey
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Talking to yourself blues.
The phone`s not going
To ring you know!
The clock ticks your life away.
On a sunny autumnal day in the country.
Damn!
How i wish,
I had that book of addresses
To console myself
Of friendlier days.
But that phone`s not going to ring oh!
I`ve got to go out
And bring about.
Some changes without
To within.
poem by Peter Vealey
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A Poetry Reading
A flabby, forgettable face
Kills the muted, unnatural silence.
She laughs timidly
In childlike embarassment.
The famous poet.
Stares at the ceiling,
Trying to conceal his yawndom.
Next to me
They wonder
Why i do not clap
Automatically.
The safe enclosed evening
Is
Programmed for
Proceeds to the.............
poem by Peter Vealey
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Thrust the slack.
Thrust the slack.
What is it all for?
The thrust, the slack.
The taking it all back.
What is it really all for?
A little move diagonally forward right,
To be replaced by a shadowy figure
Of the night.
Where is it all leading to?
The stem, the flow.
The inevitable woe.
Where?
Oh where is it all going to?
poem by Peter Vealey
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First Poppies.
You came out
Of the sky,
To help me and keep
Me dry.
Answered pleas of despair.
With a simple offer of an ear.
You came out of the sky,
To ease my bleeding heart.
Kind and thoughtful,
Decent and sweet.
You came out of the sky,
To help me and keep
Me dry.
On the day in my garden.
My red poppies took root
For the first time.
poem by Peter Vealey
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Delusion of time.
It`s just a delusion of time.
We thought we were more
But we aren`t,
No more than before.
No less than the future.
It`s just a delusion of time.
We thought they were here
Forever.
And now familar faces and smiles
Are not (just distant memories.)
And nor will ours
Be,
Eventually.
The road of the future
Is littered with the past.
poem by Peter Vealey
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Ragged and Wise.
I Looked into my garden,
At the bluebells.
And thought of a wood,
Far away and long ago.
I could never return to (anymore) .
Ragged and wise.
I never, ever saw your lies.
Why is love so unwise?
I`ve loved my garden,
It`s every new growth and nuance.
But never as much as
I longed for
Your smiling eyes.
Once more,
Ragged and unwise.
poem by Peter Vealey
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The Arrogance of Humanity.
Never ceases to amaze me.
The arrogance of people.
Listening to a woman speak
How important it is to
Bleat on about
Drinking whiskey neat.
The arrogance goes on unabated.
Drink loosens jowels but nothing
Fresh is stated.
Never ceases to amaze me.
The self importance of the ego.
Its lust for power is never satiated.
The life and times of the 'I', 'I', 'I'!
poem by Peter Vealey
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Passing the baton.
It had to end.
We had all this.
So absorbed in all our comforts.
Photos, framed memories,
Holidays, various locations.
It lasted longer than
Either of us,
Secretly dared to hope.
Now we are just someone
Else`s memories.
Isn`t that the way,
Time immemorial.
We all think we
Are more important
Because we outlived 'you'.
How sad!
Feel the quality,
Not the width.
poem by Peter Vealey
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