poem
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Tights Tights. Now there’s a word, Which is quite absurd, Panty hose is just as bad, And pop socks are a daft fad, The men all like stockings best, But those straps are such a pest, Knee highs seem to be knee lows, Falling right down to my toes. But tights take the crown, For
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When Will It End? Branches stab at me, Fingers uncoiling, reaching out, I push past them, panting, When will it end? Voices fill the air, Guttural, gathering momentum, Someone sees me, I shiver, When will it end? Lights fill the forest, Footsteps thunder, coming closer, Shouts shoot through me, I scream, When will it end?
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This week’s Guest Writer is Gopika N, a talented young poet who has appeared in this slot a number of times. Here is her latest stunning poem: FAREWELL TO MY SOUL… I am bidding a farewell, Waving my palms and Not letting the sluggish sting Deluge from my mirrors. Mirrors, that hold a
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Here is part two of my new weekly series where I set you a writing challenge. Here’s last week’s challenge if you missed it. This week, your challenge is to write about ‘socks’. Well, I didn’t say your challenge would be easy! Here’s my effort: Socks I just can’t seem to get it right, Look
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If you’re feeling the after effects of Christmas and feeling a little low, here’s a silly poem to cheer you: Who am I? I’m not a creature who is loved the best, In fact, most say I’m an awful pest, It’s not my fault, I don’t mean to be, Nature made me as I am,
Esther Chilton 