The Fairy Woman
Who is She
She is The Fairy Woman
She says my name
She speaks with her eyes
She sees my soul
Naked
She calls to me away away
My mind she weaves with spells
I am caught
And unresisting
Enchanted
I know her now
She is mine. I am hers
The Fairy Woman of Donegal
She makes the snow swirl
She makes the sun sing
She knows me
She knows me well
[...] Read more
poem by Martin Swords
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Smith
What is this magic you do?
Taming the fire
Bending the earth
Making beauty from brute strength
Giving death a sharp edge
Creating in your mind and fire
Tools and everydays that
Humblefolk might live in peace
Making death and making life
With the same hammerblows
Are you a god or a man
Or the spirit of earth and fire
That men fear and love you, Smith
[...] Read more
poem by Martin Swords
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
It Was a Good Day
The Anniversary Hand
It was a good day
Everyday
It was a great time
All the time
Since I met you
It was a great life
Full of life
It was good together
Altogether
Just we two, plus two
And though it wasn’t perfect
Some might say
We think it’s good together
Day to day
This family way
[...] Read more
poem by Martin Swords
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
It's Better With The Good Eye
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
Looking back at oh so far away.
Memory’s just another way to see.
A place to go on holiday for free,
Forty years ago if it’s a day.
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
And was that other person really me,
What changed, why could I not stay?
Memory’s just another way to see
The way things were around us then when we
Thought all our dreams were surely on their way.
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
[...] Read more
poem by Martin Swords
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Artificial Paradise
It’s an Artificial Paradise
Here in the Vale Da Plenty
Security keeps the peasants out
Unless there’s bins to empty
And shirts to iron
Beds to change
Floors to sweep on Wednesday
They’ve a Portuguese lady does each week
They think her name’s Miranda
But they’re not sure
They’re always out
At the clubhouse bar veranda
Ferdinando cuts their grass
And trims their Bougainvillaea
If he trimmed for them
In Tunbridge Wells
[...] Read more
poem by Martin Swords
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!