Ten miles until I reach my destination. Clouds high in the sky, sun under a sky that I will never really see. A metallic shine on the bonnet of the car, casts me into an eternity That I also never thought, That I would know. Ten more miles, the radio, so quietly playing. Silence pleases me. My pups still laying, so joyfully upon my lap. Breathing in the summer smells... And sensing the blueness of the sky, black and white, In the pupil of their eye. No cars but mine, to pollute the environment, Wanting to walk, But wishing to fly. Like a swift. In the beauty of the sky. A poem given no words by a beholder, but listened to by many an ear, To take away the words, That I give, And I live. In a community of words. But only as the last citizen. Boneata Bell 12.28PM 15th March 2011
Power. You either have it, or you don't. And that's the way it will always be. So, I'm sitting in my garden in England, it's a tourist area. I'm imagining the beach to be over crowded so apt for the comfort of the garden. The back garden. It's private. The garden itself isn't small. Or large. It just, is. Just average. I've noticed the flowers my step-father planted last year have suddenly come to life given the glorious heat. Notice the emphasis here. Glorious . I am a sun worshiper. So, all sorts of colours line the garden, oranges and reds, separated by standing solar lights. This is my mother's little piece of involvement regarding the garden. My step-father is a gardener you see, so it's our job to stay away from it. They change colour, the solar lights that is. She likes colours, all sorts of colours bright beautiful colours, but if I had it my way they would be plain white. White is a classy colour and wouldn't cont...
Sam (This poem has been published by the Grimsby Telegraph) Nothing would take away my breath, But a beautiful hero so close to death, He made me wish that I were God, To save this dying, faithful dog, Although he'd never see my face, He plodded around with a friendly pace, Although he'd never hear our love, He would hold onto the stars above, His fur is so soft, golden brown and white, He will try to live with his entire mite, He made me believe this wasn't the end, That every angel, he would befriend, But when his kisses reach their last, He'll remain our future, not just our past, He is a fighter with the angel's he'll fly, Because he is special to us he'll never die. This is a poem I wrote about a dog owned by Elaine Drury at the local hedgehog sanctuary. I went their after finding a poorly hedgehog and when I met Sam he was absolutely beautiful he was death and blind too, he was a real inspiration. Boneata Bell
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