Tag: Poem

Sentiment: Man’s Golden Hamartia

By Guest Blogger, Rebecca Wilson

Sentiment: Man’s Golden Hamartia

No strings
they say,
Love will only tear you apart,
but let’s be honest,
how many people can say
they really listened to that advice,
they told you
from the start?

Sentiment: Man’s Golden Hamartia

A stage of lights,
we dim them when it gets hard.
Because no one
wants to play the lead part,
when inside,
you feel yourself
crumbling,
Shards of glass sticking
in your chest.

Sentiment: Man’s Golden hamartia.

With each day you love someone,
a new string finds itself
wrapping around your heart, loosely at first
So you don’t know how vulnerable you really are.
A few times maybe, you’ll feel a harsh tug,
a warning, a reminder
of the blood that’s to come.

And then one day,
when Time decides that the web
Is complete,
all those strings will pull tight,
and you’ll feel your whole body constrict.
Love, love, blood and loss,
since when did I let myself become a play thing for Grief?

A strange desire,
to feel numb, cold,
knowing that you’ll remain trapped inside the warmth of attachment,
even if you try to throw open
all the windows.

And then
In an ironic twist of fate,
Grand old Time,
Love’s initial thief
Will walk in and decide to give you
at least some form of relief

He doesn’t cut the strings,
or allow them to dissolve
Instead he covers them,
in liquid gold,
to set and shine in your chest as


He slackens the grip of the strings still clinging to your heart,
letting the blood flow stop,
at least in part.

His work of art
comes to life in your chest,
a gradual sculpture of forged golden acceptance,
That to do this day,
is still shining with
the memories, the laughter, the tears

And never once forgetting the ones who made up all those years.

An absence of love, Man’s real Hamartia.
And sentiment, the Golden one,
punished and scorned, for the ruthless Truth
its voice cries out.

And
In spite of our attempts
to vainly silence him,
He will speak, he will speak.
He will be heard, there will be light.

And now his voice
Will echo all the way through,
The longest and darkest
of all our nights.

#rebeccawilson

'Self Doubt' – Poem by Meredith Schumann

We all have it – especially writers.

I hope this poem helps anyone else who has to deal with it. I don’t claim to be a poet, but sometimes the words just happen, then happen to mean something.

Image: Pngtree

The Voice

There’s no way you can sing and dance
Said Voice with sneering, snarling stance.
Your playing’s crap. Your singing’s worse.
Makes fingers twitch, makes eardrums burst.
– Creative stuff’s just not your thing.
– The Voice said Girl just pack it in.

Your needles break, your knitting sags.
Failed projects lounge in patchwork bags.
Your hemming rips, your beading flops
Applique flakes, and stitches drop.
– Creative stuff’s just not your thing.
– The Voice said Girl just pack it in.

And writing? Girl, for goodness sake,
You’re barely literate. You’re fake!
You self-indulge. You scrawl your name
With fallow dreams of shallow fame.
– Creative stuff’s just not your thing.
– The Voice said Girl just pack it in.

I’ve read your awful stuff, Voice said
You’re destined never to be read.
Remove the stories from your head.
The only decent scribes are dead,
– Creative stuff’s just not your thing.
– The Voice said Girl just pack it in.

What makes you think you’ll ever scrawl
A story strong, a tale not tall?
And why would any person buy
Your ‘Camping Tales’ or ‘Baby’s Cry’?
– Creative stuff’s just not your thing.
– The Voice said Girl, just pack it in.

So, when I’m low, the Voice is loud.
And when I’m strong, the Voice is cowed.
I’ll do it even if it’s bad
Cos if I don’t I’ll just go mad.
Yes. When I’m low, the Voice is Loud.
But when I’m strong, the Voice is cowed.
– Creative stuff’s just not your thing.
– The Voice said Girl, just pack it in.

#poem #selfdoubt #thevoice #lesleyatherton

What’s the Cringiest Poem You’ve Ever Written?

“orator fits, poeta nascitor”
An orator is made, a poet is born.

Mine is less of a poem and more of a song. I am in my early 50s now, and wrote it back in those idealistic days when I was all of sixteen, thought I knew everything there was to know about the world, and when new age travellers were constantly in the news.

If you want to read something that will make you cringe even more than David Brent from ‘The Office’, you just need to take a look inside the songbook that’s been with me since the age of fifteen.

For those of you who can’t look in person, I’ve typed it up this particular corker here:

https://www.scottmartinproductions.com/pastpresenttense

Just scroll down to ‘Peace Convoy Partisans’. You won’t regret it, if only that you view your own writing more favourably.

And with that in mind, I challenge each and every one of you to fight back with an even more cringey contribution. Don’t be afraid. We’re all friends here!

Minute Poem – ‘Upside Down’

Minute Poem

1 (8 syll) The straw that broke the roofer’s back

2 (4 syll) A roof of thatch.

3 (8 syll) With match to watch, his aerial 

4 (4 syll) Came unattached.

7 (8 syll) First mend the fault, then watch the sport.

8 (4 syll) That was his bid.

5 (8 syll) First roof, then tile, then aerial,

6 (4 syll) That’s when he slid.

9 (8 syll) He clung to life on gutter weak.

10 (4 syll) And fall he did.

Christmas Card Rhymes

I was asked to put together a few very simple Christmas card rhymes – with a Christian rather than a secular feel. These were what I came up with. Feel free to use them on your own Christmas cards, but do credit me!














This card is sent

This card is sent with tidings
True strength and joy it brings.
For there was born a Saviour,
For there was born a King.

Could he be my Saviour?
Could he be yours too?
The crying baby born that day
Would grow to speak the Truth.

Could he be my Saviour?
That boy, God’s gifted son?
Yes – on that day, a boy was born
Who would save everyone.


No room at the inn

No room at the inn,
But the stable was free.
The first home of a boy
Who would soon die for me.

No room at the inn,
But God’s house isn’t there.
So where is God’s house?
It is everywhere.

No room at the inn,
But my heart has room free.
And there’s room in the Church.
Both for you and for me.


A stabled lamb

An angel speaks
To shepherds, awed.
“A boy will come.
Your God. Your Lord.”

A stabled lamb.
A newborn boy.
Three wise men visit
Full of joy.

The son of God.
He has arrived.
To influence
So many lives.

A mother’s pride,
A father’s love.
A precious gift
From God above.


More than

More than – a baby born.
More than – a prophecy.
More than – God’s child on earth
More than – what eyes can see.

Love – how we live our lives.
Love – how we spend our days.
Love – how we talk to God.
Love – how we learn to pray.

Review of ‘Light Reading Poetry’ (by Peter McGeehan)


Over 40 poems which vary from the sublime to the ridiculous.

The sublimity of, ‘The Swan’ – for example:

Majestic, pure white vessel,
Gliding on silk waters…
They dance in unison,
The lifelong pair…
Blessed is the life they lead.
An example to us all.”
It seems only fair that I give an example also of the ridiculous. I love ‘The Link’ in which Peter tells us about a diverse selection of people, just so that he can tell us about them in the verse:

‘Abby in Bangor,
Just singing a song.
Leslie in Swansea
In her boat ten feet long.
Abdul in Derby,
Driving his cab,
Paul Massey in Lincoln
Doing tests in his lab.’
Peter’s prolificity is inspirational, and here in this diverse selection of poetry (as diverse a selection as were the people in ‘The Link’!) there is much depth as well as daftness. I particularly enjoyed the song-like quality of ‘The Kaiser’s Gun’. Also lovely was ‘Seaman’s Prayer’ – a poignant entreaty of a man struggling against the sea, to his God and those who might remember him in their prayers. 

Another prayer-related poem (‘I’m 13 Today’) appears on the opposite page and is no less heartfelt, though the subject matter is perhaps a little more shallow – a young man requesting a girlfriend who will be ‘cheap to take out’ as his ‘hormones are rushing’. Lovely.