What Are Dreams
What are dreams?
they are not what they seem,
I dream of the day
after we have had out say
to see you, sat by a window,
the sunlight upon you,
It highlights your glory
your face tells its own story,
What are dreams?
Only dreams *sighs*
What are dreams?
They are not what they seem,
to dream of touching you,
with more than just my words.
My voice trembles
as over words I stumble.
Its for you I yearn.
What are dreams?
Only dreams *sighs*
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poem by Robert Green
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Single Day
Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not in his thoughts
Not a single day goes by..........
Where his heart does not feel
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not want to reach out
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he dreams of his love for her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not dream of kissing her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not dream of holding her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not ask. Why?
Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not his first thought on waking.
Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not his last thought before sleeping.
Not a single day goes by..........
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poem by Robert Green
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Empty Spaces
In a room long left vacant, he sits at the window looking out, cobwebs adorn the room like Christmas decorations. The window glass dirty from neglect.
In his reverie he hears the joy now past, sounds of fun and laughter. Long gone but not forgotten.
A movement in the corner of his eye, a glimpse of a reflection in the window pane, but he learnt long ago not to focus on them as they would vanish.
Darkness falls and the moon rises over the garden and casts it glow on her face, she has returned to him again this evening to bestow her smile on him, her lips move, no sound, but words perfect, fall upon his ears.
Without him turning she stands beside him, slips her hand in his, just to let him know.
poem by Robert Green
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Hang The Lover (Death Of A Lover)
The rope is loose
Swinging from the gallow
Rounded in a noose
Hard lump I swallow
I have done wrong
Step forward, take a bow
I stole her song
Rope around my neck, allow
Forward I stare
Rope tightens
The blame I bear
Heartbeat heightens
Last words spoken
'I love her you see'
Now only a token
Deaf ears, hear my plea
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poem by Robert Green
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My Walk II: Spring
Ducklings floating serene
Over water shimmering glean
Throw in some bread
Ducks now fed
Walk on up to the Grand house
Nothing quiet, save the field mouse
Trickling stream
Down hill on a lean
Flowing water
Calming as we wander
Cool breeze
Through leafless trees
Fallen trees laying about
Birds singing, never a shout
Clouds float by
Masking blue sky
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poem by Robert Green
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My Walk III: Boy of Two
Boys wellies
Wet and smelly
If only they could talk
About his walk.
Around the lake
For exercise sake
Puddles just made for jumping
Landing in the middle both now soaking.
Pulled along by a boy of two
'Come on Bampy no need of a loo! '
' Chase me fast'
Legs pumping as I past
He giggles and laughs
As he now passed
To the horse chestnut tree
For a conker to see.
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poem by Robert Green
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A Lifetime In Your Hands
Baby.
On the floor they lay
Not a wrinkle or crease to save
Little hands do wave
Wanting to play
Young child.
In dirt and muck
Hands still mild and soft
More by youth than luck
Plays the young child hands aloft
Teenager.
Learning in school
For peers appear cool
In paint and ink
Their hands do stink
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poem by Robert Green
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Artiste
If I were a painter!
I would paint a picture of you,
If I were a songwriter!
I would sing of my love for you,
If I were an author!
I would write a story of love,
But I am only me
as you can see.
If I were a painter!
I would paint a picture of you,
I brush your hair,
with gentle strokes,
with a touch of brown,
and of you on your bed.
I'll make you blush and glow,
With a single stroke I can
make you smile again,
But I am only me
as you can see.
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poem by Robert Green
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Trees And Dreams
Wooden soldiers
Tall and strong
Guarding woodlands
In rows so long.
Hard and fast
Taller than grass
Grown to last
of old, cut as a mast.
Reaching skyward
Surveying all around
Casting long shadows westward
Towering flora that abound.
New saplings now old
One story they have told
Deep roots make them bold
As branches unfold
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poem by Robert Green
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My Walk
Leaves sparkling with colours of red, yellow, brown and gold.
The peacefulness of the walk
a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind,
yet somehow gives a little calm to the raging waves.
Birds chirp their songs to each other
playing musical chairs across high branches.
Stop for awhile
try to catch a glimpse of a field mouse
busy on it's journey through the undergrowth,
but it stays elusive to my eyes if not my ears.
Fallen trees lay about in perfect posture
offering the rambler a seat to rest and look around.
Bluebells in abundance
covering the floor like a carpet,
swaying gentle on the sometimes breeze.
Young sapling trees point skyward
chasing old gnarled ones to reach a passing cloud,
straight as an arrow the young ones against the twisted shape of old.
Walk past a familiar spot once shared
with a lover so far away,
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poem by Robert Green
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