My Poetry

I began writing poetry in high school, and have written many poems over the years. Faithfully copied into one special book, they have remained exclusively mine.

A journey of thoughts, emotions and memories.

 

Now that I have published my first book, and to celebrate this beautiful new website, I have decided to launch my poems out into the world.

 

The first era is the 60’s and 70’s, followed by the 80’s and 90’s, and finally 2000 onwards.

 

Enjoy!

October Days

Autumn

And the earth is cold,

Much colder than the yellow warmth of summer told,

Colder even than the green-grey mist

Of morning hinted

 

Images

Golden, browny-red,

All have long since gone, and in their stead the blue wind stares

Autumn now no longer warm but harsh

And bleakly friendless

 

Sorrow

In the trees reflected

Leaves that point their jaundiced forms against an ice-grey sky,

Clouds that drift in fleeting hopes of finding

Spring, or tears to cry.         

                                               © 1968

Love Lies Bleeding

Nothing can move me now

I feel barren, yet churning with impulses

As yet unexpressed,

Causing only a slight trembling of the hand.

I cannot stand the silence.

Like the dark it thuds, and pricks my skin,

Pressing, oppressive, screaming for attention

Begging release.

Don’t interrupt, please don’t interrupt.

Why don’t you ever understand

I don’t need help, not that kind.

Not the kind made up of small derisive chat

And superficial comment.

I agree with your thoughts,

I am perhaps impossible, difficult,

Don’t say masochistic

Clinical term

Categorizing me

I will not be
Classified. 

 

 ©1969

ALONE

You are my only reality.

 

You are constant.

 

But sad to think

 

You can never leave me

Only because

 

You were never

Totally

With me.

 

 

 

 

© 1968

Love Lost

Is it that I do not know you?

That drifting past my mind

Your thoughts evade me?

I cannot hope that you will ever lose your past indifference

Your self-concern

Your total lack of all responsibility.

And yet I want to reach you,

Need to help you find yourself,

The self that should have been.

If only one could change, before the end is realised,

Before the trembling tether snaps between confusion and reality.

Then, seen through self-complacent apathy

Life abandons hope, direction.

Aimless, through your blind aversion.

And now, through time, the gulf has widened.

Yes I would try, if I could hope to see but once

A flickering, but once, a merging of the ways

A sign, however slight, of sympathy for someone else

For someone else who needs you

More than you yourself.                                                                      

                                                                                       

                                                                                                         ©1969

Thoughts

 

Late the sunlight glances through my

 

window

And the white paint gleams in streams of

 

strange wetness.

The surrounding shapes once white, now

 

grey, form shafts of contrasts.

No black and white divisions, but soft   

 

recessions,

Glimpses of the future.
 

                                                           ©1969

Rain

 

Strange the sound of rain

When one lies low 

                        in bed

                          listening

 

Like footsteps on dry leaves

When one walks fast

                        with feet

                          pattering

 

Like windy autumn nights

When gusts blow soft

                         the trees

                             rustling      

   

 

 

 

© 1969                 

Kindred Spirit

It was as if I’d always known her

There she sat, alone on the edge of a rock

One of many that dropped in shelves

Towards a gently ebbing sea.

The rocks showed clefts an ridges,

Holes and breaks that told too clearly

Just how little permanence there is,

And how much change.

She seemed absorbed in barnacles and limpets,

Occasionally prodding with a plimsolled toe

As if to question their assumed security.

Once or twice she moved her head,

Not noticing me, but giving me the chance

To notice her.

And certainly I studied the small round features

Framed by straggling brown blonde curls,

The green eyes mournful, almost discontented 

In themselves.

Her nose was one shade browner than the rest

Her mouth just slightly sad.

She sighed, and tried to pull her cardigan

More firmly round her shoulders,

Frowning slightly at its resistance,

Tiredly resigning herself to its preferred role

As a strange sleeved wrap, hanging off her shoulders.

Indeed it suited her shawl like, for although

I guessed her age to be not more than twelve

She had the look of someone older, understanding.

I only knew that of all the people lazing in that quiet bay

She alone would I have chosen as a companion,

And I  ten years her senior.

How I sat but yards away and did not speak

I’ll never know.

But when she turned at last and met my gaze

We smiled, as if

We knew each other’s problems,

And it helped to know.





© 1973

              

Broken

It lay there, on the cold tiles by the fireplace,

Well and truly smashed.

I stared; I felt cold, like those tiles

Frozen into the room’s interior.

Why did it have to be one of three?

Leaving two with no beginning,

No end.

I knew I should clear away the fragments

But I felt too much like crying.

No doubt the cat….but

Why think about the cause, sufficient that it fell.

My creation

Moulded to unite the lines and curves of my choosing

Creating, at least for me,

A meaningful form.

One transition was perfect,

This second change is cruel

I would rather have come in

To find

That original lump of clay.

 

                                                                                             © 1973

Cats

Cats know how to have

    A good time

       Doing nothing

Or very little

    All of which 

       Is quite exhausting

And requires

   A lot

     Of sleep



                                                                 © 1989

Memories (..in more ways than one)

When I try to remember

The important moments in my life

My mind is like a VCR

When the remote

Doesn’t work properly

And the tape fast forwards

Instead of re-winding

And you hit pause in all the wrong places.

                   © 1989

Cadboro Bay

Walking along the beach

Every morning.

Precious minutes

before the day begins,

Before the cries of gulls

And the soft crunch of

feet on pebbles

Gives way to telephones

Traffic, and terribly important tasks

 that should have been done yesterday

Or sooner.

This is the only way

to start the day.

To breathe in the fresh damp air

To smell the salt waves

Rolling in with

reassuring repetition.

Yet always something different,

Some new discovery

A fleeting kingfisher

The splash of a distant seal

The strange bark

of an otter

The hollow call of a raven

Or the high pitched cry

of an eagle.

In ever changing patterns

The river plays with sand and rock

Presenting new challenges

For us

Early morning explorers.

This little world

of natural rhythms and unspoilt beauty

A daily reminder

Of how

The whole world

Should be.


 

© 1999

AUTUMN

Autumn leaves are falling,

Each little death

A hint of winter still to come.

Nature gently dying

In hues of gold and red,

A final splash of glory

Before the monochrome

Of black and white

Sets in.

Fruit lies rotting on the ground,

A feast for sleepy wasps

And angry buzzing flies

Who dance once more

Before the final curtain call.

The gathering birds

Sing restlessly in tree tops

Swayed by threatening winds,

And squirrels run to hide

Their store before the cold

Sets in.

The sun grows distant

The moon draws close.

She gleams through early darkness

And seems to welcome winter

As her season.

The fallen leaves swirl up

And dance through golden days

And morning mists,

Until the frost creeps in

To still those final stirrings

And send the silent earth

To sleep.

© 1999

More to come!

AK

© 2020 Angela King-Harris | Site designed by Alex King-Harris, assisted by Nicholas Harris-Whittle

  • w-facebook
  • Instagram