The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web
Google

The Web Poetry Corner

Lyn Budd

of

Chichester, England, UK

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback



If you have comments or suggestions for Lyn Budd, you can contact this author at:
Marilynbudd@aol.com (Lyn Budd)


Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


Cerzan

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery


Cornwall Speaks

by

Lyn Budd

My body is of granite, but my heart`s made of clay
And I`m rugged and strong in a gentle way.
Through me run veins of copper and tin,
But the years of mining have made them quite thin.
My feet stand on golden sands washed by the sea,
And the westerly winds can blow strong around me.

My beauty by many has long been admired,
And writers and artists I`ve often inspired.
Many legends and myths of me abound,
And the supernatural some say they have found.
But my secrets I have buried deep,
For all of my mysteries I wish to keep.

The people who live, work and play on my face,
They are born of a special race.
Like me they also are stalwart and strong,
And they love this land to which they belong.
They`re all for one and one for all,
I love all my people, for I am Cornwall.


For all the Cornish Cousins

by

Lyn Budd



My body is of granite
But my heartís made of clay,
And Iím rugged and strong
In a gentle way.
Through me run veins
made of copper and tin,
But the years of mining,
Have made them quite thin.
My feet stand on golden sands,
Washed by the sea,
And the Sou`westerly winds
Can blow strong around me.

My beauty by many
has long been admired,
Poets, writers and artists,
Iíve often inspired.
Many legends and myths
of me abound,
And here the supernatural,
some say they have found.
But all of my secrets
I have buried deep,
For these are the mysteries
I want to keep.

The people, who have lived,
worked and played on my face,
They have been born
of a special race.
Like me, they also
are stalwart and strong,
And they love this land,
to which they belong.
I love all my people,
Wherever they are,
Be they near,
or be they afar.

Weíre all for one and one for all,
I am your birthplace.
I am Cornwall.

A Child`s Plea

by

Lyn Budd



I am a child.
What do I see?
Suffering and poverty
Itís all around me.
My parents are dying,
I feel all alone.
Iíve so little to eat,
Iím just skin and bone.

I am a child.
What do I hear?
The calls of hunger
the cries of fear.
I struggle to live
from day to day.
Fresh water and food,
For these things I pray.

I am a child.
What do I smell?
The stench of death,
This is my hell.
With eyes that are sunken,
bodies that are swollen,
Young lives
That far too soon are stolen.

I am a child
And Iíd like to taste
The food
that so many people waste.
In this world
of so much greed,
Mine
Is just a basic need?

I am a child
And Iíd like to touch
The hearts of the people,
That have so much.
Iíd like to know
They really care,
And a little of their wealth
With me theyíd share.

I am a child
And Iíd like the chance,
To grow a little older,
to sing and to dance.
Iíd like to live
for many years,
And help heal
Other childrenís tears.

I am a child
Donít judge me by race,
Nor by the colour
of my face.
Just stop and look
and you will see
Another child dying,
It could be me.

Compassion for the AIDS Victims

by

Lyn Budd

A man was told he was HIV.
He was as distraught as a man could be.
Needles heíd never shared, or used,
And his body he had never abused.
He had heeded the warnings and taken great care,
But his life was left in total despair.

It was no fault of his, this virus within.
He didnít get it by committing a sin.
It could have been blood; heíd received long ago,
Or a razor heíd shared, heíll never know.
Diagnosed too late heíd passed it to his wife,
And it cost his daughter her young life.

Some like him, their families disown,
Left to linger and die with people unknown.
But this man, had his sisters and brother,
Also his loving father and mother,
They care and suffer as their loved one fades,
Praying that the pills will cure his AIDS.

So donít stigmatize or humiliate,
Show some compassion before its too late.
Just let these people know they are not alone,
That your heart has not yet turned to stone.
There but for the grace of God go we,
But do we know what our future will be.

So let us all fight this aberration,
Before it wipes out a total nation.
Weíre all children of God, whatever creed or race,
So let us all the whole world embrace.
The cost may be high to help man recover,
But what price to mankind if no cure we discover.

The Peace of Grace

by

Lyn Budd

He walks beside me every day.
Step by step, along the way.
I have not seen my dear Lordís face,
But feel the presence of his grace,

He guides me on, along lifeís road,
And lightens all my heavy load.
He eases my pain and soothes my sorrow.
And brings to me a bright tomorrow,

He comes to me without a sound,
I feel his spirit all around.
So when Iím left all on my own,
I know that I am not alone.

When this life of mine shall cease,
I pray heíll grant me Heavenly peace.
Forever more with him Iíll be.
Then at last, His face Iíll see.

Blessings

by

Lyn Budd

Blessed to be born in a land that was free
A place that gave love, joy and knowledge to me.
I was blessed with parents, both, with love in their heart.
And sisters, remaining friends, until death did us part.
Blessed with learning that was not a chore.
I was blessed with many talents, and so much more.
Blessed with many friends both young and old,
This was the way my life did unfold.
Blessed as a wife and also a mother,
I would not of chosen the life of another.
Iíve never been rich, but Iíll never be poor,
Money could not buy what comes to my door.
Never known disappointment or been under duress,
My life all through he did so much bless.
My Lord shows to me so much love and care,
Blessings, I feel Iíve had more than my share.
But now I pray one more blessing he`ll spare,
That one day in Heaven heíll welcome me there.

The Forgotten Casualty of War

by

Lyn Budd


I was a young man, still in my prime.
Healthy, active and strong.
Happy most of the time.
Life was for living,
Before itís too late.
Life was for loving,
But not for hate.

They sent me to fight in a foreign land,
Where fate, it decided
To deal this cruel hand.
I was fighting to set the people free,
From their oppressors.
Free from tyranny.
But that war created my living hell
Now my body is my prison cell.

My bodyís disabled, distorted and torn,
And I tell all you people
Not like this was I born.
A life sentence now Iím expected to bear,
Sat here each day, in this, my wheelchair.
Thereís no freedom for me,
Iím left powerless you see.
Dependant on others for all that I do,
Sat here each day with the same old view.

I can speak, see and hear
And have time to reminisce,
About all of the good things
That I will now miss.
The scars on my body,
Yes they are on show.
But the scars on my mind
No one else can know.
The pain it will come
And the pain it will go,
But the memories of that war
They continually flow.

Through the window
I see the world passing by.
I get so depressed,
I just want to die.
No more war,
Iíll know lasting peace.
And all of this pain, for me, will cease.
On that day my soul will rejoice and sing.
As itís carried to Heaven,
On an angelís wing.