Posts Tagged ‘reflection’


the old, run down mill

stares at its reflection

in the deep darkness

of the still, silent river

as ghosts of men,

women and children

drift by on currents

stealing them away

to new places to haunt

 


I’m not myself today

I’m not me, whoever me is…

 

But I’m not that person today

I was myself yesterday

 

And the day before that

Or at least the person I think is me…

 

Tomorrow I could be anyone!

The Queen of Hearts swimming in tarts

 

The owl, or the pussycat, or both

The Ancient Mariner rapping in rhyme

 

I can be anyone I want to be…

But who am I if I’m not me?

 

If me, is not me, who is me?

Which me is me? The real me?

 

The me that makes me, me…

But I don’t want to be

 

This version of me

Whoever this me is

 

I want to be me

But not this me

 

I’m not myself today

I’ve no idea who I am…


remembering my father who would

fashion a rifle for me

from any old block of wood

carved and sanded down to

look like the Lee Enfield

he fought with in WWII

copper piping for a barrel

a nail for the trigger with a

rusty hinge for a guard

off i would go to fight a

war where no-one got hurt

no-one got injured

no-one got killed and

we all returned with

limbs, eyes, brain intact

no need for crutches or wheelchairs

as we ran through the

valleys and woods that were our

battlefields, hiding behind bushes

climbing trees, leaping streams

jumping embankments before

we conquered the black hill

as we played out our war

with wooden weapons

the only scars we gathered

when we fell and cut our knees and palms

as we ducked make believe bullets

that never fired or hit and we

swore blind we had never been shot

even though we hit our target a mile away

how brave we felt playing our

pretend wars with weapons of wood

that never hurt anyone

and now i look back

and think how all wars should be fought this way

until exhausted from a day’s playing and running

you go home for tea and a telling off from mum

and after a good night’s sleep

you are ready to fight another day

in the only war our young minds understood

and our only fear was the telling off from our

mother’s if we were late home

2014 Review

Posted: January 1, 2015 in Kim Moore
Tags: , , , , , ,

Kim Moore’s first blog of 2015 a review of 2014.

Kim Moore

Last night I got one of my many empty notebooks which live in my house and started to write down the name and date of all the Sunday Poets I’ve featured on this blog.  I wanted a record of these names to check I hadn’t missed anybody off, but I was also curious to check the gender balance of the Sunday Poets as well.

I’ve had a little twinge of guilt every now and then because I felt like my enthusiasm for individual poems was driving the selection of the Sunday Poets – which is good, but the downside of this is that I had no idea whether I had an equal number of male and female poets.  And I really want to keep an equal number really – so going forward in 2015 I will be keeping this at the back of my mind as the poems go up.

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one more drag on the tab

as it flickers and fades

into the cool sea mist

never to taste his breathe again

as the sea stumbles

onto the wet tongue of tarmac

free at last to pleasure itself

with the shop windows

swinging pub signs

alternating neon lights

those are all that remain

of the holiday makers

caravan movers

and summer shakers

have left for another year

leaving behind dreams of

love lost, love found, love unrequited

in the echoes of the shells that

creep slowly over grains of sand

that cling to each other as the

seaweed crawls over them

hoping to reach the neon lights

that glint off the beach

that can breathe again now

it is free of the pounding of feet

the slams of bodies

the digging of castles

and he watches through eyes

washed by the mist of the sea

as the signs sing in the breeze

to a promenade where nobody walks

except for the sea

and the darkness filters in

sharpen the edges of a

town that slumbers

and he lights another cigarette and

tastes the sea salt on his lips

as the gulls sing one last song