A Poet's Utensil

There once was a young man called Peter
Who wrote lines in poetic meter
His sonnet a story
That should have been gory
But turned out much nicer and sweeter

Inspired by the poets we follow
Whose meanings were sharp never hollow
But we are still yearning
For rhymes that we're learning
And therefore our verse seems to wallow

Next time you are sat with your pencil
remember it's Peter's old stencil
for lines that are flowing
and leave us all glowing
A form is a poet's utensil
© Jem Farmer 2009, all rights reserved.

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.