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

Margaret Roberts

of

Rotherham, England, UK

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback



If you have comments or suggestions for Margaret Roberts, you can contact this author at:
cusick@cusick.f9.co.uk (Margaret Roberts)


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


All in a days work

by

Margaret Roberts

Through the churchyard
dank and sopping,
we lead the mourners
as we carry the coffin.

Our shoulders bent,
our knees are buckling,
if it wasn't so serious
we would be chuckling.

Nevertheless our steps are brave,
with a little luck
we'll find the right grave.

"Ashes to ashes" is the vicars cry,
warning us all that the end is high.

A final goodbye.
A last amen,
and they all thank God
it wasn't one of them


Unseen Beauty

by

Margaret Roberts

I know you're blind,
you can't see.
Take my hand,
walk with me.
Over green grass,
under a sky of blue,
I know these colour mean nothing to you.
I wish you could smell colours.

Fold your hands as if in prayer.
Open the tips
there's a flower there.
Spread your arms,
imagine these,
layer upon layer
create the trees.

Touch the trunk,
feel its size
spreading woody arms
towards the skys.
I wish you could see trees.

SHADES OF AUTUMN

by

Margaret Roberts

My silent steps trespass
the soft Summer meadow,
seeking that which no eyes can see.

Nimbus clouds lean low
as my tears blend with the rain,
washing the earth.

Does she hear the ave
I breathe?
Will my soft tread warm her?
sleep in peace my love.
Soon the door will open
and by your side
I will slumber forever.

Not Quite Myself

by

Margaret Roberts

Here we sit, my leg and I,
both plastered.
Was it the demon drink?
Or was the pavement to blame
for my being lame?
I think from now I oughta,
acquire a taste
for drinking water.

ROBIN ISLAND

by

Margaret Roberts

Centuries gaze from
his slitted eyes,
this man.

Caged for his
humae Ideals.
Freed at last
from the chains of tyrrany.

But how long before he
he returns to the
dungeons of forever?

Himself and Singe.

by

Margaret Roberts

They walk the bogs and boreens,
Himself and Singe.
Sketching their thoughts
on minute pads
as the fields of Conammoragh
stroll beneath their feet.

The pads they discard
to the vagaried of the wind,
their message etched deep within.

They found every
of interest and charm.
No tale so boring
or story farfetched
to hold their attention.

They were told of the mass
fleeings to the land of plenty
where gold littered the streets
and wondered at their return,

until their eyes were tempted
to the lush green fields
catching up to the mountains,
and they nodded.

They heard of the poverty and sadness.
The endless scatching of soil
for sustenance
and they saw the beauty,
as they tramped the hills
of Conammoragh,
Himself and the stalwart,
dying Singe.

Anniversary

by

Margaret Roberts

For your silver wedding
we wish you well,
though the years that are gone
were a living hell.

The years to come
will take the same course,
so cut your losses
and file for divorce.

Hush

by

Margaret Roberts

I have a secret
I'll never impart.
I'LL keep it forever,
Close to my heart.

When Will They Learn

by

Margaret Roberts

Horror curls the stomach
as deperate men
employ desperate means,
bring havoc to their
own land.

Their wrongs to be righted.
The counties united,
they,ve lost sighof their
imposible dreams.

An endless,
tragic,
bitter circle.

Shattered Dreams

by

Margaret Roberts

I looked into her
sterile eyes,
through to her
sterile heart
and knew it wsa over.

No more would I linger
in sweet ecstasy,
within once warm arms,
grown cold like
Winters snowy peaks.

She knew!

Desire lay like
ashes between us.

One brief dalliance
from our sacred bastion
denied me all my
tomorrows dreams.

Must I pay?

by

Margaret Roberts

The buff slips pile higher,
they are our quarterly greeting.
I'd love to throw them in the fire
but we only have central heating.

Blockage

by

Margaret Roberts

I've not picked up a pen
for many a day,
now that I have there's
nothing to say.

I could talk of religeion,
politics or war
but what's the use?
It's been said before.

To thrill to the moon,
the stars and the shore,
this I could do
but it's been done before.

Let's speak of love
between woman and man,
parents and children,
owners and pets.

Dream of fresh fields,
far countries,
jet sets.

The blue of the sea.
A snowy mountain top.
Now that I've started,
where do I stop.

Call It Day

by

Margaret Roberts

FOR YOUR SILVER WEDDING

For your silver wedding
I wish you well.
'Though the years that are gone
were a living hell.

The years to come will
take the same course.
Cut your losses and
file for divorce.

A Race Through Life

by

Margaret Roberts

In the lanes of my childhood,
all do die or dare.

The roads of my teens,
I was suave, debonaire.

Motherhood streets were
bowed down with care.

Now finally i've reached
life's thourofare

Outcast

by

Margaret Roberts

A gay rake.
Devil may care rake.
'Till nature decreed
no more!

He faces the ultimate,
unknown darkness.
A blossomless tree.
Life laid bear.

Death a fruitful
ecstasy.

Smudged. Smitten.
Socially smeared.

Panic Stricken

by

Margaret Roberts

Watchful.
Wakeful.
Ever fearful.
Talons drumming
staying me from the
sanctury of uncunciousness.

Then dawns sweet paleness
soothes my hammering heart.
Quelling the frantic claws.
Lulling the edges
of unreasonable fear.

District Sister

by

Margaret Roberts

She runs around
busy as a bee.
often she
is all at sea.

She tends the sick
and the dying.
Sometimes laughing,
often crying.

She deals with enemas
and sore bums,
all of these
she overcomes.

Her humour's never
on the blink,
though now and then
her heart must sink.

If she left
how we would miss her.
She's the salt
of the earth
our district Sister.

District Sister

by

Margaret Roberts

She runs around
busy as a bee.
often she
is all at sea.

She tends the sick
and the dying.
Sometimes laughing,
often crying.

She deals with enemas
and sore bums,
all of these
she overcomes.

Her humour's never
on the blink,
though now and then
her heart must sink.

If she left
how we would miss her.
She's the salt
of the earth,
our district Sister.

No Justification

by

Margaret Roberts

The soft breeze
from the window
turns to dreadful chill
as I watch in despair
the message unfold,

of desperate men
empoying desperate means,
trying to righten the wrongs
of an oppressed nation.

I see the nightmare
of black merging with red
for the right to be heard.

Folding my hands
I pray their cries
for justice will echo
in the hearts of every
free man.

High Rise

by

Margaret Roberts


There they sit,
eyes vacany,
looking nowhere.
Their inside
a teeming mass
of loneliness
and misery.

Trapped forever.
Suspended at
great height,
through the non caring.
Non imaginative,
develish edifice
destroyers.

The Last Goodbye

by

Margaret Roberts

Goodbye to my teeth.
Goodbye to my hair,
my manner is quite
underbearing.

My bladder is week,
I feel like a freak
and an aid to my ear
I am wearing.

My eyesight is dim.
I'm told that I'm thin
Old age comes
without caring.

I'd put up with this.
Even blow them a kiss,
but even my bones
need repairing.

Trying

by

Margaret Roberts

It all started with a chat.
We can't do this .
We cant do that.
Then twisted dough
to make a plait.

Flowers appear in
great profution.
It's not magic,
no illusion.

Corn creations
in a pile,
peg bags stretch
at least a mile.

Lavender bags we
make and fill em,
for that wonderful
cause,
Macmillan.

Lavender bags we ma at least a mile

?

by

Margaret Roberts

Pandemic screeching.
Seering heat.
Pain.
Desolation.
Emptiness....

Poiesis

by

Margaret Roberts

Enclosed.
Warm.
Safe.

Then pain.

Thrusting.
Pushing.
Then primeval cry
of blessed release.

What iIs love

by

Margaret Roberts

What is love?
Is it the glow
that I feel
when you hold
me in your arms?

Arms that held
our first born.

Or maybe a
greater love

for one who
gave his life
to renounce
our shame.
Was it in vane?

Our World

by

Margaret Roberts

If you take a train
will you arrive
will it blow up
so few to survive?

Work in a tower several
stories high as death comes
creeping through the sky?

Enlist in the army
go to Iraq
what are the chances
of ever coming back?

Stay in your home
where you will be safe,
a burglar breaks in
rearranges your face.

Thereís muggings
drugging,
murder and blood
culprit not to blame
just misunderstood.

Government takes all
just like a gannet,
Iíve booked my seat
to the new planet.

Come Journey With Me

by

Margaret Roberts

Come journey with me
to dance naked
on a moonbeam,
lie entwined in the
soft arms of a cloud
wander the cosmos
many mysterious chambers
and as morning drags
the night forward,
gather stardust to warm your
cooling fervour Ďtil our journey
shall begin again.

Desperate Deeds

by

Margaret Roberts

The soft breeze
from the widow
turns to dreadful chill.

I watch in despair as
the message unfolds.
Desperate men trying
to righten the wrongs
of an oppressed nation.

Before me a nightmare
of black merging with
red for the right to
be heard.

Folding my hands
I pray their cries
for justice will echo
in the hearts of
every free man.

Burning Bridges

by

Margaret Roberts

I close my eyes and see
Our bridges burning.
Dragged from your arms
to a land I have never know
to be among my kinfolk.

Another life has been
thrust upon me.
Would that I could warm
my spirits in the flames
I left behind.

Shrivelled in my loneliness
I seek the sea, praying in my
wild imaginings, for a
a ferryman to row me over.

The water covers my eyes
as it does our bridges.
and there you are
arms wide open

Winteres Day

by

Margaret Roberts

I rinse the night from my eyes
and look out on a world of white,
the silence broken only
by squabbling birds scratching the
Winterís crust for sustenance,

their tiny vee shaped claws the only
imprint on virgin smoothness
soon to be covered by softly
falling feathery dew.

The blushing breast of a robin
almost lost in the blood red fingertips
of the holly tree, watchful as the
shadows of ravens swoop near.

My thoughts are at prayer
as distant bells proclaim
the miracle of
Of a blessed new morn.

Patsy's Wake

by

Margaret Roberts

The Banshee had hardly
stopped screeching
when the house filled
up for the wake,
keeners were
weeping and wailing
enough to make
the widows heart break.

Patsy was propped in a corner,
his coffin an utter disgrace,
still he looked grand
with a pint in his hand
a cadaverous leer on his face.

The fiddler was swinging,
a tenor was singing
songs of old Erin Isle,
moonshine was flowing
the house it was moving
with everyone dancing in style.

Puteen was brought in abundance,
gallons stacked in the hall
just as the insults were flying
inciting the men to a brawl.

Things became overly heated,
many were thrown through the door,
it was then that a bottle hit Patsy
who fell on his face to the floor.

Today he goes to his maker
marked by a toll of a bell,
sadly he never reached heaven
but received a grand welcome in hell.

Forever

by

Margaret Roberts

No moon tonight.
No stars.
Only darkness
mingling with my
thoughts of you
holding her.
loving her,
whispering thistledown promises.

How long does forever last?

Pink stains
the morning sky,
the last pill gone,
no one to mourn
as I leave darkness behind
for a brighter tomorrow.