Eye of She

The eye of she that looks at me,
with lips that never smile.
From her disdain I’m never free,
not even for a while.

The work I do is never right,
I fail to meet her mark.
Her critique sets my endless fight,
To hear one kind remark.

Ideals so far beyond my reach,
of distant goals I dream.
The words that echo poet’s speech,
are cursed by scornful scream.

Yet satire’s bane shall not defeat,
my pen will write my plea,
this critique’s hex will not retreat,
whilst eye of she is me.
 

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Dare to Dream

She left me standing here without a chance,
alone, no light to see within this place.
Yet still, I dream beyond this night's disgrace,
no words of love to guide my heart's romance.

I long to hear her voice caress my ears;
she is the blood that surges through my veins;
my love complete, in faith and trust remains,
to feel her touch embrace my lonely tears.

If dreams could bring my Lady from her flight,
to set me free from fear and torment's rage,
and share her wisdom in unearthly sage,
inside my heart she dwells in purest light.

Towards that hour I toil and dare to dream,
of days beyond this place in Lileth's beam.


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Archeological Walk on the Beach

They mark the ascent of Man
foot steps under Formby sands
hidden prehistoric paths
where ancestors walked
in fleeting glimpses of ancient time. 


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Journey to Art

They say she was born with it,
as colours fit on the boards.
The practice of many years,
hiding tears, with no rewards.

So many leave empty quills,
to pay the bills - forget art.
And those brave few who remain
face disdain, ’til they depart.

Brushes and pens leave their tracks
chalk and wax, subtle effects.
All these skills need to be learned,
talent earned, still with defects.

Picture that hangs on the wall,
she gave her all to create.
Glory at last she can claim,
speak her name in art’s debate.

Behind each success hides years,
endless fears, no peace of mind.
Her legacy is her art,
from the heart, she left behind.
 

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Iambic Meter Assignment

The rhyme is in iambic feet,
It’s left my pen alone in defeat.
As words that come and go today
I’m practising to write this way
Then write some more to ease my pain
Then edit it and write again
The guys I read from long ago
The pulse of words, some fast, some slow,
Thus poems flow with rhythmic beat
With rhymes that form iambic feet


I sit with pen in hand, but have no ink
No time or space to dream as pictures sink
Beyond the art my eyes no longer see
As words entwine in random form for me
Arrange in lines to build a structured verse
Poetic joys I often find a curse
But words like rivers have to ebb and flow
And dance in thoughts and dreams with cosmic glow
A new art form to learn as I turn grey
The Painting Poet’s here to write her way

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Ernie the Other Half a Bee

Half of me, co-incidentally,
As has been said, Eric be,
This half of bee must surely be,
acutely, the half bee that is me.

They forgot me, can you not see,
That Eric Bee was half of me,
They said this Bee was not a bee
And blamed it on an injury!

Sing it...

ABCDEFG
Ernie the half a bee
One, two, three... la dee dee
Ernie the half a bee

It's that cursed semi-bee
No chance he recalls me
As he dozes upon your knee
Damn that Eric, the half-a-bee

Ho, ho, ho, and he he he
Ernie the half a bee
Twiddly dum, fiddler's three
Ernie the half a bee

I loved the hive, 'til he broke free
Split in two, bi-sexually
That summer's day when he loved me
Wholly carnally.

He loved me carnally
I was his lady bee
The End

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Crimson Clouds

He stands alone in Europe’s field
As clouds of poppies summon dreams.
The days of war a human shield,
He stands alone in Europe’s field.
Alone in trenches men concealed,
So few remain who knew war’s schemes,
He stands alone in Europe’s field
As clouds of poppies summon dreams.
The distant cannons never yield
He stands alone in Europe’s field.
No peace can cure wounds never healed
No answers to his nightly screams.
He stands alone in Europe’s field
As clouds of poppies summon dreams.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Athena

Athena by =Painting-Poet on deviantART



© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Kestrel

Kestrel by =Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Daisy

Daisy by =Painting-Poet on deviantART



© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Spark the Flame

Each lesson learned is one small spark
that sets the mark of our flame,
Now our knowledge we should share,
with no care for love or fame.

Skills that die with their master
are forever lost to all,
one passed to another’s hand
to be candid, will remain.

Let your fire of wisdom shine
as those in line want to learn
and your light will always glow
above, below, the flames burn.


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Shades of Autumn

As autumn brings vibrant shades
the sun fades towards year’s end.
Trees of green now golden red,
their leaves shed and colours blend.

Nature’s brightest palette forms
in wind and storms over land,
inspired art in paint and ink
as minds think with fall at hand.

Bonfires and feasting begin,
err snowflakes spin the world white.
The end of one leads to new,
in winter’s view, land so bright.

We watch in awe and wonder,
hear the thunder, lightning bolt.
Yet feel delight of seasons
year’s reasons do not revolt.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Twenty One?

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Twenty One?

Fireworks brighten the night sky,
reason why? To honour you.
I believe that to be so,
my nan’s show, surely it’s true.

Simply the best should be yours,
without pause for thought or chance.
My nan is special, no doubt,
so I’ll shout aloud or dance.

On paper and ink in quill
a poem will say with style
my wish of happy birthday
with word play to bring a smile.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Ravaged Ice

In winter’s claws, all is white
from frost’s bite and the snow.
Set the fire, love, in the hearth,
warm the bath, and feel love’s glow.

Toast me crumpets on the grate,
my hunger sate, watching dreams.
In the flames my thoughts of love
drift above to our loft’s beams.

Damask quilt that keeps us warm,
fingers trace form in lust’s vice.
Your passion melts my cold heart.
My love’s art has ravaged ice.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Ever Turning Circle

In winter’s white, as angels cry
for early spring to warm the wind,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned.

For early spring to warm the wind,
at Valentine’s romantic calls,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls.

At Valentine’s romantic calls,
rebirth of nature’s light divine,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls,
and blossoms pastel shades recline.

Rebirth of nature’s light divine,
when day equals the hours of night,
and blossoms pastel shades recline,
to hail the queen of May in light.

When day equals the hours of night,
a summer’s sun will come to play,
to hail the queen of May in light,
we chant and sing along the way.

A summer’s sun will come to play,
so life can grow as gods decreed,
we chant and sing along the way,
with warmth and light our hunger feed.

So life can grow as gods decreed,
the rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
with warmth and light our hunger feed,
the wealth of harvest is our own.

The rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
in autumn breeze that chills the heat,
the wealth of harvest is our own,
as gold and red belies our feet.

In autumn breeze that chills the heat,
a year that ends with blessed Samhain,
as gold and red belies our feet,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign.

A year that ends with blessed Samhain,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign,
in winter’s white, as angels cry.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Fire and Pride

Fiercely won in humility,
Independence of conceptual thought,
Remains the writer’s ambition
Evoked by words drifting to line and verse.

Ambiguous acts of governments
Nurtured contempt and fear of the quill
Demands for freedom lie silenced.

Personal battles fought with the pen
Rights wrestled from censors,
Inventive imaginations born in free creativity
Deviant poets voices will be heard
Evolving in openness to reveal artistic flow

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Coconut Bay

In sweetened shreds that hint of Shangri-La
I see the sky entice the naughty sea
and endless beaches acting so bourgeois,
as Coconut Bay wakes a mind that’s free.

Moist tender flesh is ensnared in darkness
bittersweet taste that melts hot on the tongue
sending senses swirling and I confess
passion for tropical heat all along.

She takes me from cold England’s wind and rain
in embraces where each moment is bliss,
in this paradise, she eases my pain,
O loving caress of Bounty’s sweet kiss.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Death Before Dying

As years swept past, old age arrived,
the grey replaced his jet-black hair.
His eyes of blue need lens to see
An aid in ear is placed with care.
The fatigue of time has no relief
the once vibrant mind is dull.
A stick of ebony helps him walk
the physical grief has taken its toll.
Why can’t he remember me?
He sees me and sees my mother.
his wife who passed so long ago,
each visit is slowly killing me
I want my dad, not his shadow.
I grieve for man he once was
as he knows nothing of me.
In his memory, he is still young,
a soldier fresh from war,
my mother by his side in white,
he’s lost to memory now
as he slips further she holds him closer
his bride wants him with her to stay.


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Coming Alive

You breathe the life into my soul
one kiss I claim
to make me whole
in lover's flame.

My heart returned to love you so
with passion's ways
to make me glow
and seize the days.

Repaired the heart of broken toy
a simple gift
no longer coy
my darkness lift

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Citidel of Chaos

Mayhem
Reigns above hills,
Behind city walls lies
Fortified dreams in chaotic
Order.

Languish
In confusion
Of emperor’s torment
Levy madness, out of control
Refrains.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Shadows of Percy Bysshe

Sadness explodes with my breathing
and the tears flow with lonely words.
The images of love are leaving
like the flight of the birds.
Is anything in life so naive
as this life lost in lover’s lore?
The heart broken with no reprieve,
yet still I love you more

As the heavens embrace the earth
and forests that stand proud and tall,
the blossoms bring my soul no mirth
when you can’t stop my fall.
As sunlight kisses morning dew
and lunar light embraces night,
where is the love between us two
if not within our sight?

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Love In the Ink

Tattooist leave your mark beneath my skin
In ink, you trail your art of love to me.
Deep colours echo affection within
Hypnotic gun is buzzing like a bee.
My trust in art as pain releases the rush
A vibrant muse we lovers share for life
The hues of passion comes in artist’s flush
Your palettes of inks, the needles are your knife.
Tattooist pierce my skin, a love combined
Revel in beauty, lover, share the tales
Portray the magic twist within your mind
And find desire leaving shallow ink trails
Your ink in skin, your heart still holds my sky
Where clouds of dreams will dance as we fly.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Diamantes

Mystery
Cryptic, secret
Misleading, confusing, eluding
Hoodwink, confound; bamboozle, perplex
Puzzling, mystifying, posing
Inexplicable, veiling
enigma



Lies
hateful, scandalous
faking, deceiving, hiding
falsify, corrupt; reveal, declare
opening, trusting, accepting
dependable, reliable
truth

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Cajun Lady Blues

Release your voice dear saxophone,
Caress my soul with fingers of jazz.
Openness slurs on a trombone
In soft tones of shiraz.

New Orleans lady sing your song,
awaken rhythmic pulse in me.
Take me to places I belong
Entranced in music‘s spree.

Recall the days of Cajun bliss
of nights entwined with rifting slips.
The blues that played to love’s first kiss,
intense desire on lips

As bells proclaimed millennia
a passion burned in velvet hues.
In streets the crowds enticed mania
As lady sang me blues.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

AWAD: Paragoge

The lines that rhyme in poetry
are male and female like you and me.
To add a sound to feminize the end
a paragoge is the poet’s friend.

noun: The addition of a letter or syllable at the end of a word, either through natural development or to add emphasis. For example, height-th for height.

Pronunciation: par-uh-GO-jee

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

A.W.A.D.: Semasiology

Pronunciation: si-may-see-OL-uh-jee


Noun: The study of meanings in a language, especially the study of semantic change.

An -ology it must be medical
like in physiology and psychology.
Not in the case of changing word places
for that is the study called semasiology.

So next time dear poet you change things around
to fit the line the way it you want.
Its not meaningless twaddle, what ever the critics say
just look up and with respect chant

It’s semasiology!!!

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Alice's Wonderland

Sweet Alice she follows the white rabbit
whilst tripping through looking glass walkways
Not a sister but trapped in a habit
she is a lassie of the nightly days.

The queen of seduction plays with your heart
then chases the bunny to reach her high.
Innocent stories of a tasty tart
now reveal the dance in cocaine’s sky.

Visions of LSD play with the mind,
light sparkles into the mirage’s glow.
A trip of soul recreation in kind
entranced entrapped, she has no where to go.

Drink me, her mind succumbs to illusion
swallowed like a glass of purest water
Eat me, she finds the endless confusion
addiction’s victim of modern slaughter.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Boaters and School Ties (Shadow of Marie Marshall)

I meet the youth of maiden ways
and weep an aging tear.
The city lights and rushing days
in white and amber gear,
The whitewash walls meet Itchen shore
as cargo waits its ship,
in dreams of teens for love and more
my journal's ink lets slip.

The time has gone to denim skies
to see a wizened crone
as docks, silenced in grief's demise
the planes above now drone.
Where is the boater dressed in blue
that trailed common ground?
I bid farewell to things I knew
No tears it’s time I’m found.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Original poem: I see my childish yesterdays

Peaceful Poverty

Walking the streets of this city at night
Cast your eyes to the reality, the plight.
In dark corners, sleeping under boxes,
Lies and old man living wild like foxes.

Trapped in the terrifying honesty
Just left in the world with no amnesty.
His working life as someone's property
Now we look on at peaceful poverty.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Arcane Blue

I dream in arcane blue
As stars, begin to shine
In sleep, I feel your love
As hearts, entwine in grace
I touch the night above.

I dream in arcane blue
Of days that fled the moon
In hope that I will find
The one to stand my side
And walk the same long wynd.

I dream in arcane blue
Then skip to clouds on high
Embrace the lights that shine
Within the pulse of night
And know my hand is thine.

I dream in arcane blue
Oh Goddess queen of all
Thy love has made me one
A torch upon my path
A life now free and done.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Truth

Truth is purity.
Truth feels like a soft downy feather.
Truth smells of citric fruit on a warm day.
Truth looks like a baby.

Truth sounds like a breeze in the trees.
Truth tastes like polo mints.
Truth is the mother of trust.
Truth keeps the heart clean.

Truth sleeps with the angels.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Waves of Tides

The marine world. A place beyond Man's eye
When life was free from Man's destructive way.
The waves of tides marked time with a soft sigh
In peace as oceans smiled, a perfect day.

The invasions came and seas were abused
A dumping ground for Man's poisonous hand.
Now oceans are dying, discarded and used
Joining the acrid existence of wasteland.

All life is transient, drifting towards death,
A journey to a place hidden from sight,
But without clean air there can be no breath,
No clarity as darkness consumes light.

As the seas demise and trees suffocate
The world lies murdered with no advocate.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Angel Of Death

She waits in shadows on edges of life
Her scythe to gather souls at rest beside.
Angel of death, how we resist her knife.
Yet 'tis her hand which guides our spirit ride.

The whispers silent, darkened wings take flight
A revelation's peace now found in fear.
She leads the spirit out of blinding sight
Where songs are sung that ears will never hear.

Upon the naked fields where spirits still lie
The wisdom of Ancients passed among the stone.
She waits, we wander blindly passing by
She knows one day we will see and atone.

We mortals are nothing but dust on Earth,
Life is a mere flash in the breath of time.
A spark amid a burning flame since birth,
She knows with grace our fires will seek to glow.

In triumph she sails to glorious lands
As breaths of freedom release the tired soul,
And once we meet the Elysium sands
The time of flight as the spirit comes whole.

Blessed Be!

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

One Tree, Four Seasons

I. Spring

First tender embrace brings warmth;
vernal caresses that brought souls from death;
undeveloped fountains of fertility
attire my unkempt, naked limbs;
sweet hearted blossoms,
subtle; delicate; light;
once more, I feel life.

II. Summer

Initial enticing touches turn in heated lust;
in you growth and fulfilment flourish,
nectar brings emergence of procreation;
petals fall, fruits of love grow;
dark, heavy, branches giving shade,
hunger; thirst; dreams;
entwined long hazy days.

III. Autumn

Cooling breezes coat vibrant hues;
yielding mature and mellow seed,
garlands red and gold shimmer
rays fading to night;
warm embrace releasing me;
falling tears scattered on ground
chills beckon with sleep.

IV. Winter

Bare naked alone wild limbs dance,
frosted gales the rhythm;
bleak white blankets cover land,
boughs heavy lay broken;
yet dancing hopeful to feel one touch,
brief non-existent carom;
waiting for your return.

Love and passion over four seasons
Between tree of spirit and Sun king.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Exposed Senses

She wept as a bride sat on the edge of winds,
her senses raw to emotional dreams.
Her mouth quenched by bitter tragedy,
the sweetness of lemons would have kinder taste.
Her eyes see clearly the blurring figures,
illusions of reality quest in her mind.
The scent clouds of burning ice and fire,
tremble as she inhales in sobs of hunger.
Her fingers grip in futility of a gesture
grasping the strands of the nothing that remains.
The anguished screams making music in her ears
melodious cries formed in the heaving light.
Pubescent energies foretell of the will to be
in a world of contradiction and strife.
Entrapped by the senses and deprivation
a web of perception in fantasy's realm.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Dreams of Summer Love

From airport to hotel and beach,
Come thoughts of holiday romance.
Eyes meet and drink as fingers teach,
Amidst the dreams of summer love.

The passion intense, the feelings real,
Two hearts in union, sipping wine.
Sun tanning days, lust moments steal,
Amidst the dreams of summer love.

Two weeks go fast, back on the plane,
Undying love declared goodbye.
Promises of letters in vain,
Amidst the dreams of summer love.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Ballad of Sir Jeff

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

The shining waistcoats your defence
They come and lay the curse.
They write while questing for suspense
The dragons of free verse.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

So gather shields of metered rhyme
Be firm with iamb feet.
Release spondaic darts in time
To save the poet's seat.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

The fiery breath of random word
Descends the walls of verse
And cause the sonnet, now absurd,
To flow a little terse.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

Sir Jeff, is he legend or myth?
From iambic wizards
He used his magic poet gift
As flow defeated lizards.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

And when he sleeps in mermaid dreams
Inside dark fantasy.
The rhyme and rhythm are the seams
And words of ecstasy

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

The quest is done time for PG
And scones with cream and jam.
A mug of brew his cup of tea
And his feet are iamb.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Aftermath

After the war lands list lifeless and grey
The men return like melodic zombies.
Battle weary and beaten like dulled clay
All victims of conflicts between the Tshombes.

The women have no hope in their soulless eyes
Devoid of emotion, no will to care.
The cruel loyalty of endless sighs
As loved ones fail to appear, none will share.

A child in confusion is war's toll.
Father slain by a bullet, left to die.
Mother raped by grief, it's taken her soul.
Such anger breeds inside, the next war cry.

When will the lessons of peace be given
As anger for vengeance remains in mind.
The rage for war is endlessly driven.
Are we destined to remain always blind.

Tshombe: Tribal chief

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Avalon Calls

I gazed in awe upon the azure skies
And watched the worlds above align for me
The spirits wove on Earth where darkness lies
The threads of nature into tapestry

An ancient king surveys the hillside view
He guards the gate of hallowed temple ground
As magic joins with life in arcane blue
The keys to Avalon fall without sound.

As dreams subside and I awake mid stone
And hear the words each says to set me free
A message from the gods for man "atone"
The stones speak in their ancient tongue to me

I feel the flames of sin in pain of burns
Then peace as Avalon at last returns.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

What is an Image?

A moment of emotional instances of time
As complex or as simple as a brief thought.
Abstracts caught by poets making a rhyme
With a pen just as they were taught.
Surreal nature trapped by colour in paint
From artists who see with their inner eyes.
Photographs of the mind, intense or feint
They stay as a reminder as time flies.
Hold the moments that make those brief images
For when you take trips on past pilgrimages.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Rebirth

In spring the birds will wait for love to come
As rays of sun like golden fingers pluck and strum
The strings of nature's new guitar of life
And daffodils that sing in wakerife
To spring creating lazy hues
The shades of yellow winter's dues
Like washes fresh and new
From brush on canvas slew
The spring that nods
The art of gods
On Earth
Rebirth

wakerife – Scots origin meaning wakeful

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Hell's Kitchen

In the kitchens of hell the oven hid,
Trembling with fear from the glowing furnace.
Anger and rage were brewing under war's lid
A storm stewing in the depths of darkness.

Sins so deadly combine inside the fire,
Avarice and envy sparing in flame.
Lust in confusion of a love's desire
Fingers pointing with no-one left to blame.

Over-indulgence pitted with hunger
Whilst fools laze in the comfort of false pride.
A world of vice left to the fear monger
And those with no care along for the ride.

Look beneath with thought pry under hell's lid
And see for your eyes why the oven hid.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Calling

A wild Pagan heart that beats strong
And dances to flutes of Pan.
The way of Old turned me from wrong
I'm proud to be Pagan.

From spirits surging through her core
Mother Earth made her call.
A gift of love revealed in lore
Of Ancients standing tall.

A wild Pagan heart that beats strong
And dances to flutes of Pan.
The way of Old turned me from wrong
I'm proud to be Pagan.

I found the true goddess of light
As I sought my answer.
Deep within the darkest night
Saw the silver dancer.

A wild Pagan heart that beats strong
And dances to flutes of Pan.
The way of Old turned me from wrong
I'm proud to be Pagan.

A vision to my eyes so blind
Led to the Pagan path.
Away from the past, a new wynd
To a place at her hearth.

A wild Pagan heart that beats strong
And dances to flutes of Pan.
The way of Old turned me from wrong
I'm proud to be Pagan.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Sailing Oceans

Remember how we fell in love, my dear,
As sailing oceans to New York last year.
While wearing a sombrero you asked me
To dance to love's song and melody.
The trip wasn't cheap but worth the hard grind
As love was a treasure, an unplanned find.
Dropping defences the walls of my heart
Sweet sugar cubed moments saved from the start.
Technology of e-mail send a word
Unspoken by voice forever heard.
Words of passion and full of deep meaning
Eyes now shaded by rose coloured screening.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Hymn to the Gods

Forces of nature, hail to Thee,
From here on bended knee.
The Earth Mother graces us with life
To live free without strife.

The blessings surround us each day,
The tree spirits shelter our way.
The song of life is ours to dance
With passion and romance.

As our feet walk upon her soul
Let truth remain our goal.
In hope and faith let there be trust
The light of all life our lust.

So smile as you see Her and greet
The Earth sings 'Merry Meet'.
By the will of the gods ' Blessed Be'
With peace She lets us live free.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Brief Intro

A writer of poems at forty
A lady but not of leisure
I live in England, how haughty
My pet cats are divine pleasure

An eco-warrior I be
A wild Pagan heart is my treasure
Words and pictures set my mind free
My pet cats are divine pleasure

Now learning to write with flow
And classical beat to measure
Form poetry now needs to show
My pet cats are divine pleasure.


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Where it was Dark

The lights of city life are drowning the stars
Endless droning from the slow moving cars
I long for the country, the song of the lark
Where silence reigned and it was dark.

The stars were alive with the radiance of day
As the owls called softly on the hunt for prey
Lost to the mayhem of city life
I want freedom from the rat-race and strife.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

My Heart Draws a Dream

When you love me I feel alive,
Without you I could not survive.
You are my passion, basic instinct,
Every breath feels fresh and distinct

As your lips brush my ear
I lose the nightmares and fear.
A kiss, my mind lost in concious stream
The artist within sketches a dream.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Love Concealed In the Rat Race

As the last beams of the moon kiss the night
Stars towards the morning sky drift
Dancing memories tickle at the feet
Lips murmur softly at dawn's caress

Without thought or loving remark
Shared moments lost in the daily rush
Lover's sip coffee then with a parting kiss
Pleasure forsaken employment remains

Meeting schedules overcrowding the senses
Passions forgotten as work life adds to the strain
Lusting for love now a fading illusion
Desires of closing another deal intensify

Touching keyboards with deadened minds
Treasured fantasies become lost dreams
Hunger for glory and power can be replete
Love dissolves with industries action

Hidden Poem

As night
Stars drift
Dancing feet
Lips caress

Without remark
Shared rush
Lover's kiss
Pleasure remains

Meeting senses
Passions strain
Lusting illusion 
Desires intensify

Touching minds
Treasured dreams
Hunger replete
Love action

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Let Me In

Fur wet and matted
From the incessant rain
His cry, a soulful 'meow'
'Let me in'

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Leave Me to Bleed

You leave me hanging for your touch
The brief moment when blood you sup
As in the pain of love's snug clutch
You fuck me up

In dazed confusion of desire
Agony burns yet still I feed
The masochist will play with fire
Leave me to bleed

The tainted dreams now taste of sin
When love is sweet wine from queen's cup
Then pain will die where love begin
You fuck me up

A lone where none can care or prey
A place in heart where love is freed
In tranquil rage, please go today
Leave me to bleed

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Just a Boy

Stood beneath the station clock I wait,
Make-up fixed as my nerves start to tremble.
Apprehension inside growing as I watch the gate
As the crowd for the next train assemble.

Eyes slowly move to the clock, quarter to eight.
I wonder if the ad in the paper was right,
And then hope that his train isn't too late.
The letters exchanged, yet still I feel this fright.

'Pull yourself together, girl, it's only a date!'
A brief hello at a nearby pizza bar.
The letters it seemed this was our fate,
He's just a boy, me a girl, we could go far.

Why worry if the need for love we sate?
Oh, why can't it be easy to find the perfect mate?

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

First Song

Mary, Mary was quite contrary
With a garden all prim and proper.
No slugs or snails invaded,
Even greenfly came a cropper.

Pretty flowers all in a row,
No weeds to spoil the scene.
A garden that's simply idyllic,
A place of peace, so serene.

Tricks of the trade I think
Weed killer, slug pellets in a tub.
A carton of 'Miraclegro' too
So she could have the perfect shrub.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The First Person

In my own way from where I stand
I see the light through glass
Above my desk, a brush in hand
I paint the view from class.

The trees all dressed in shades of fall
A leaf of red meets eye
As amber leaves in drifts now sprawl
My mind the first to sigh.

The winter's wind begins to blow
To bring the chilling hoar
So Mother Earth can rest in snow
The circle moves in lore.

As seasons bring the life of Earth
In nature's love is bound
A path to clarity from birth
The circle turns around.

My eye that sees from one lone leaf
Now paints a magic land
The mind that sees beyond the reef
Now guides the brush in hand.

My art my point of view reveals
Image from eye of I
The doorway of soul that conceals
The realms of mortal tie.


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

So Far From You

The seas that ebb and flow between two hearts
That loved with passion, yet there lies a grudge.
The eyes of jade shine as envy imparts
Irrational thoughts like a subtle nudge.
No road or bridge can cross the growing gap
Built by the green eyed demon of jealous rage.
Bitter, twisted, love lies as useless scrap
As truth is not enough to turn the page.
The lack of trust has left nothing to save,
Our love has gone, lost to envy's desire.
I look at you, my eyes, empty, still crave.
Alas, your demon has slain my heart's fire.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Artwork: Jealousy by Brian Charnley

Shadows of Existence

I dwell in the shadows of existence
Neither living nor dead I be.
The pulse of a heart in resistance
Kept on a brink of sanity.

As I look down into madness
And certain loss of life
The tears that flow with sadness
Cut like a pointless knife.

I yearn to fall into the dark deep
Let go of this dull enigma.
Leave the traces that have made me weep
Lose a label's hopeless stigma.

The razor blade cuts like ice
The veins seep a dark red
This time I did not think twice
I belong with the dead.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Quean of Poetry

If I take the craw road from here to Dundee
I will find the lassie my quean of poetry.
I read the wirds an aw that sing
As the pen haud in her hand ring

Sing to me again my quean of ink
I luve the lass that makes me think
I ken the wirds will make me cry
An aw that sing I'll smile an sigh.

So a wannabe poet put pen ta paper
An writ in mither tongue for caper
For the lassie that is aw that an more
I ken it will be a wee poetic bore.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Written using Scots dialect

My Passion

There is a place I hide in pain
Refuge for tears, a place to weep.
Where words I read to sooth again
In vintage odes my mind I steep.

Oh Shelley poet loved so dear
With you I find a gentle peace
Oft joined by blood and saline tear
'Til once again my rages cease.

The words that show a man of charm
Comfort he brings in my repine
The spirit makes his words so warm
Again my heart belongs to thine.

The fears of darkness are now gone
As words in blood pulse in my breast
And when I die it's with you alone
I will lie and take final rest.

A modern poet dreams in moon shine
When soul's reach to an unholy low
These are thoughts that will remain mine
And when my dear I love you so.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Living a Lie

Because you feel like you are living a lie
You think the world has turned away to die
The pain awash inside your mind sets free
The thoughts of dark hands paying law of three

For the wrong you've done, gods demand a price
The fee of all sin is paid in full, thrice
The soul lays bare to cursed returns as rite
Too late to feel regret and pray for light

Lest truth reveals the hope within your skin
And love replaces the way led by sin.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Dead Ends

The walls of thought are closing in my mind
There is no doorway out that I can find
I'm sealed in confusion like a trapped rat
No light to see as in darkness I'm sat
A dream of freedom brings a false message
I seek the answers, there is no passage
I cry in grief, then in frustration, shout
'Hide! Suicide is the only way out!'

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Artwork by unknown

Dangerous Speeds

Speeding down life's highway, pedal to the floor
Events blur in fusion, no time for more
Days melt into years right before your eyes
So much haste, no time for goodbyes

Slow down! Disaster lies ahead
Apply the brakes or you will wake up dead
Less haste now will not mean lack of bottle
The Reaper's travelling at full throttle

Stop rushing, take time to enjoy some love
'Tis better than being crushed in death's glove.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

A Message to my BiPolar

I accept you are always with me, my 'friend',
It's only Death who can make this all end.
The days you send my soul to living hell
It is me caught in the curse of your spell.

I see the battle rage in flames of hate
As life and Death mark their bids on the slate.
You think to die is to yield to defeat
Come now, 'friend', that is merely your conceit.

They all ask why it is I want to end,
They don't know you, this demon I call 'friend'.
How you rip in me leaving me shattered
The despair of living my soul, battered.

My spirit is strong you will never win
As even in Death I will turn and grin.
The Dark Angel holds me ready to fly
You lose 'friend' now I can reach for the sky.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Head for a Jack

Take my hand as the bar closes I'm drunk
First whiskey now me shared by all that play
Take me to the alley, fumble then bunk.
No concern for risk, you want it this way
After my body feels rejected and sunk
Which one of you took my head away?

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Artwork: Surreal-18277191

Collaborate

Syllabic: col-lab-o-rate

Pronunciation: kuh-lab-uh-reyt

Definition:
1.to work, one with another; cooperate, as on a literary work
2.to cooperate, usually willingly, with an enemy nation, esp. with an enemy occupying one's country:

working together
we make a great team
collaborate ideas
creativity a flowing stream
supporting each other
solid we rarely fall
minds in union
all for one and one for all

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Abbreviate

Syllabic: ab-bre-vi-ate

Pronunciation: uh-bree-vee-eyt

Definition:
1.to shorten (a word or phrase) by omitting letters, substituting shorter forms, etc., so that the shortened form can represent the whole word or phrase.
2.to reduce (anything) in length, duration, etc.; make briefer.
3.to use abbreviations.

Abbreviate to shorten, lmao
Txt to hru? The modern way of communicating
Can a poem be written in this new language
Should or shouldn't that be, is that not discriminating
I need my son to translate the txt messages
Wtf does it all mean? I am learning slow
Am I so old that it all has no meaning
I don't see the flow in this new age lingo


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Nurture

Syllabic: nur-ture

Pronunciation: nur-cher

Definition:
1.to feed and protect.
2.to support and encourage, as during the period of training or development; foster.
3.to bring up; train
4..rearing, upbringing, training, education, or the like.
5.Development.
6.something that nourishes; nourishment; food.

Is the way we are nature or nurture?
Are we born with our quirks and identity?
Do we learn to be all that we are?
It’s an argument that will rage for infinity

A combination of things makes you and me
Genetics, experience, reaction, success, a mistake
We grow and change with each passing moment
Never perfect, the future is ours to make.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Gratuitous

Syllabic: gra-tu-i-tous

Pronunciation: gruh-too-i-tuhs

Definition:
1.given, done, bestowed, or obtained without charge or payment; free; voluntary.
2.being without apparent reason, cause, or justification: a gratuitous insult.
3.Law. given without receiving any return value.

Free love, a trip to back to hippies, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll
The advent of the birth control pill, giving us sexual liberty
The Beatles, Hendrix, the Rolling Stones
Is that really what gave us our identity?

Gratuitous sex was that really something new?
Passion for pleasure surely we could not be the first
To feel the delights, to reach the dizzy heights,
Of sating need, desire, quenching lust’s thirst.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Archer

The Archer by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Sunkissed Princess

Sunkissed Princess by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Horse in Inks

Horse by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

A Message to My BiPolar

I accept you are always with me, my 'friend',
It's only Death who can make this all end.
The days you send my soul to living hell
It is me caught in the curse of your spell.

I see the battle rage in flames of hate
As life and Death mark their bids on the slate.
You think to die is to yield to defeat
Come now, 'friend', that is merely your conceit.

They all ask why it is I want to end,
They don't know you, this demon I call 'friend'.
How you rip in me leaving me shattered
The despair of living my soul, battered.

My spirit is strong you will never win
As even in Death I will turn and grin.
The Dark Angel holds me ready to fly
You lose 'friend' now I can reach for the sky.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Flowers of Darkness

As dusk descends oblations bloom
In sacred room.
To gods of night,
For their delight.

The sweetest scents illuminate
The holy state
For us to see
The path to thee.

The flowers guide the Pagan child
With spirit wild
By lunar light
In sacred flight.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Soul In Captivity

In shadows lurk the eyes that prey
They lay in wait for me.
I sense the fear before they slay
The peace that once was free.

The light no longer mine to see
As darkness holds me tight.
They bind my will, I am not me
Such is the captive's plight.

With pen in hand each day I write
In hope to find the way
Release my soul from endless night
To feel the light of day.

The act they come to see in play
My life behind the glass
No care for things I have to say
My life is now a farce.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Sesquipedalian and Panoply

Syllabic: ses·qui·pe·da·li·an

Pronunciation: ses-kwi-pi-dey-lee-uhn

Definition: 1. given to using long words.
  2. (of a word) containing many syllables.
  3. a sesquipedalian word.

Syllabic: pan·o·ply

Pronunciation: pan-uh-plee

Definition: a wide-ranging and impressive array or display

I love long words when I play Scrabble
If I use all my tiles I score double.
Now writing poems I count the sounds
Made by letters in order bound.

Sesquipedalian words are fun to play
If I find more than six in one I may
Scream in a panoply of ecstasy and joy
The long words are still a my fave toy.

Is this cheating the word game today
As I have played two in one rhyming way
Oh well that is the dice and I got lucky
So I guess really its my game so just ducky.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.