Oh Britain, of Weather Most Foul by The Quillmatic Bardinator #poem

Oh Britain, of Weather Most Foul 

by The Quillmatic Bardinator

Sonnet for the British Weather

When lofty clouds do gather in the sky,

Where raindrops dance 'pon cobblestone,

The tempest’s fury whispers as she flies,

A symphony of gray, a weathered tone.

Yet in this misty veil a beauty lies,

The verdant hills adorned with dew-kissed green,

Where daffodils and primrose rise,

Their fragile petals in the breeze careen.

Oh, fickle sun, your warmth is but a tease,

For every ray is followed by a squall,

And chilly winds sweep through the ancient trees,

As if to test our spirits, one and all.

So let us raise our mugs of tea on high,

And toast to Britain’s ever-changing sky.

©Sarnia de la Maré FRSA Tale Teller Club 2024

www.taletellerclub.com

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Donald Trump by The Quillmatic Bardinator, A Poem for the Modern Age by the wannabe Shakespeare

A Sonnet for Donald Trump by the Quillmatic Bardinator 

 

 Upon the grand stage power's tempests brew,

A man of gold and bluster takes his stand,

His words, a whirlwind, sweep across the land,

Donald Trump with voice anew.

His towered pride, a monument to self,

A gilded throne, where ego reigns supreme,

He tweets, he boasts, he spins a fevered dream,

While truth and reason falter, lose their wealth.

In echoes of the past, we find his kin,

Julius Caesar, craving godlike sway,

And Richard III, whose twisted path unfolds.

Macbeth, with hunger for dominion's sin,

And Lear, whose kingdom crumbles day by day,

This, a tragic tale of power writ in gold.

©2024 Quillmatic Bardinator / Tale Teller Club

Shall I compare thee to a Dating App, Sonnet by Quillmatic Bardinator™

A Sonnet for the Digital Heart

Shall I compare thee to a dating app? 

Thou art more swiping and more algorithmic. 

Rough profiles oft shake the lonely heart, 

And lonely hearts find love in digital seas.

Sometimes, too hot the Tinder flame doth burn, 

And often is the Bumble match unreturned,

And yet, thy legs doth open wide, 

Revealing glimpses of love’s sweet surprise.

But softly now! What light through Grindr window breaks? 

It is heaven, and Cupid is the take. 

Arise, fair swipers, and let us chat away, 

For love awaits in pixels and emoji.

So long as profiles last and phones remain,

This modern sonnet shall sing love’s refrain.

©2024 Quillmatic Bardinator

Let's Go Swimming Poem and Live Reading by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

 Let's go Swimming

Let’s go swimming

Where the ocean never ends

Where the lost and lonely people

Catch up with their friends

Where water babies go

The seas

to ever roam

In search of mothers' love

Thrown in from up above

Let’s go swimming

Where no one ever grows

Where time stands still

For those

who chose

To walk the sandy beds

With the bubbles

of the dead

To guide them

without dread

Let’s go swimming

Under the seven seas

Naked in

our dreams

Where warrior women

freed

Search for babes

in weeds

Let’s go swimming

With angels wearing wings

Whose death songs sing

In echos from the shells

With lovers

saved from Hell

Let’s go swimming

And stop this endless time

Capture love sublime

To save it from the tide

Ⓒ 2022 Sarnia de la Mare

Mummy, they’re killing children again, a poem by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA #war #poetry #poem

  Mummy, they’re killing children again

Mummy, they’re killing children again

I saw blood on TV this morning 

over coffee

brown swishing fluids, 

shit and limbs and blood

the new milk 

for breakfast

Mummy, they’re killing children again

I saw men

Big

Strong

Powerful men

camouflaged in decency

a coverup so sinful

they closed their eyes

as the guns took fire

into the tiniest of beating hearts

Mummy, they’re killing children again

I saw homes

razed to unsafe grounds

where the rats now know

they are no longer

the vermin 

of the earth’s war tapestries

hung so proud

on the walls of the victors

Mummy, they’re killing children again

I saw mothers wailing

their pain so deep it 

ejected

their wombs,

laid bare their eggs

like a feast for the 

soldiers 

of hate

Mummy, they’re killing children again

when will they come 

to take us

to rape us

deny us

a life once promised by

a God we can no longer find

a God who does not see us

a God who does not 

hear our grief

Mummy, they’re killing children again

in front of my eyes

the bodies pile high

over breakfast

@2023 Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

The Pain of the Dead by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA for Tale Teller Club Publishing

 

In shadows deep, where darkness weaves,
A tale unfolds amongst leaves.
Moonlight whispers, a specter's hymn,
In the haunted night, where fear begins.

Through twisted branches, a chilling wind,

Sings the sorrow of souls who've sinned.

Deadly echoes and distant wails,

Hymns of the dead and tragic tales.

Beneath the boughs, where shadows dance,

An eerie trance, I saw by chance.

Phantoms lingered in the midnight air,

Their hollow gaze, an empty stare.

A midnight walk, with tombstones old,

I heard stories and secrets told.

Whispers rising from the cold, damp ground,

A chorus of the lost, the only sound.

Creaking floorboards, a ghostly moan,

I traipsed the house that they called home.

Shivers on my skin like frost,

Where broken hearts and hopes were lost.

A spirit's touch, a frosty breath,

Chilled by graves, the embrace of death.

They forced me then to dance and sway,

In the ghostly night, where phantoms play.

Beware the hour when the clock strikes twelve,

For the netherworld, its secrets delve.

In the realm of souls still so forlorn,

I felt their pain and brought it home.