Tag: Verse
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A Poem about Nothing
This is a poem about nothing, ’cause nothing is what’s in my head, I really wanted to write something, but my brainwaves all seem to be dead. The empty is rattling loudly, the dust bunnies dancing around, it’s making the Nullarbour Desert, look like flourishing ground. But I shan’t be dissuaded, from making a blog…
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What covers us on the outside
What covers us on the outside, may not be who we are on the inside. If only our skin were like clothes, to easily change when we desire. But we come pre-packaged, according to a code, and those that do not feel the fit, must need to take bold steps, to match their outside to…
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A little bit of silliness
The thought “I feel despondent” popped into my head when I was driving to work one morning earlier this week, (and yes, I do think strange things sometimes, although the constant need to leave your place of comfort and go to work for someone else can tend to do that to a person) and of…
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Another Day
Another day, another dollar, is not a path I wish to follow, another day of happiness, is all the course I wish to set. © ceenoa
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There’s always a price
There’s always a price, even if it’s not known, there’s always a price, even if it’s not shown, so before you agree, make sure you can see, the cost that you’ll pay, clearly. © ceenoa
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Monday Memories
A poem from long, long ago … You told me: never trust anyone. I took your advice, but I never thought you meant yourself. © ceenoa
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Wordy Wednesday
Sometimes we just don’t hear them, those little wake-up calls, our ears are full of cotton wool, until we take the fall. We wonder why we stumble, there was nothing in the way, our eyes don’t see the rubble, that we look at every day. Our voices become loud and brash, to compete with all…
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An Answer for CJ: smile with Pam Ayres
I have been immortalised in a Limerick (read to the end of the post to find it, you’ll enjoy reminiscing about rhymes as you do) by Christi at Feeding on Folly, and so I have reciprocated with a verse of my own. Christi had asked, via Feeding on Folly, for our favourite poets, and I…
Ceenoa 
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