Ecanus•net :: Poems
So here we are, Fallen Angel's poetry page. I thought about arranging them by subject, then I thought about arranging them by date, and then it all started getting rather complicated, so I decided instead just to stick with a plain and simple A to Z by title. Want to see all the poems with titles beginning with C? Just click the 'C' and as if by magic the poems shall appear! Them squirrels that run this place ain't half speedy!
This is my assorted collection of poems spanning the years. These cover many times, places and feelings. Some have details of where I was when I wrote them, what I was doing, and what inspired them. With others, it's so long ago now I've no idea where they came from, only that I liked them enough to keep them around.
Some were written as 'me', some for other people, and some while I was trying to get "into character" for whatever I happened to be writing at the time – the weird ones, I'm claiming insanity grounds on. ;–)
Welcome to my World
Imagine your head feels as though it's been crushed by a vice, a headache unlike anything you've ever felt before,
where every part of your head hurts and the pressure is unbearable, and it's a pain no-one can see.
Imagine a world in permanent soft focus, where things come in twos, where things disappear momentarily,
where you can't tell how deep a step is, where bright light is a pain you can't stand.
Imagine a world that sways around you, where you feel as though you're in the middle of a storm on a cross channel ferry,
feeling dizzy and sick – yet you're standing still.
Imagine you're so totally exhausted that your body doesn't want to move and all you want to do is sleep,
yet an incessant roaring in your ears keeps you awake.
Imagine feeling lost and fearful, confused in a place you used to know well.
Welcome to the world of IIH
Welcome to my world
What colour is the wind?
What colour is the wind?
How big is the sky?
Things like this are important,
when you're nearly five.
Where do snowflakes come from?
Where does Jack Frost live?
When you're young the world is wondrous,
and everything's so big.
Who paints the colours of the rainbow?
Who teaches the birds how to fly?
The world is full of questions,
Who? How? What? Where? Why?
For the young anything is possible,
and imagination has no limit,
It's a time for working the world out,
and finding your place in it.
It's a skill we lose with age,
and it's unfortunate it happens that way,
because keeping young and enthused and learning,
is about finding wonder in each new day.
When the Fat Man Cries
The fat man laughs
and the fat man smiles,
But if you look very carefully
There's something in his eyes.
Always the joker
Always the fool
Always the one
who you pass in the room.
You sometimes laugh
and you often smile,
But you never look carefully
Because there's pain in his eyes.
And you may be the joker
But you're certainly the fool
And you'll only ever understand
when they pass you in the room.
Clean and bright, virgin white
A blanket of snow reflects clear sunlight
A carpet unmarked, without a flaw
Landscape smoothed more perfect than before
Jewelled crystals sparkle on trees stripped bare
Sharp frost hangs in the clean morning air
Even sound is hushed in this perfect world
Walls and trunks frame snow sculptures wind whirled
Here and there a splash of brightness, holly berry, ivy leaf
The wonder of this perfect world is all too brief
Underfoot crisp snow crackles, loud in the hush
Wary robin red breast peeps from his perch in frosted bush
Quiet far away comes the drip of ice water melt steady
Though still early the winter wonderland is fading drip by drip already
As the winter hazy sun rises higher in the sky
The wonderland fades without a goodbye.