The Tree Searching For The Light
it a bit more easy
being so hard on myself
perfect and has life all sussed out
is the way forward
slowly but surely from experience
prefer the circle to be virtuous rather than a vicious downward spiral.
the problem as it arises in the mind.
taking a few steps with some help to stop the darkness coming again.
like a tree growing it is best to search for the light again.
I could reach out through your
Poem and grab you by your hand
or arm to thank you for taking the
time, giving the thought, searching
your imagination, studying your
subject matter in order to put your
‘quill to parchment’ and thank you
for posting to my group –
No that’s wrong of me to say;
It’s ‘Our Poetry Group’ and always
will be for as long as I draw breath-
Which is why I need it to be close
and friendly and interactive and happy
(Yes I know that’s too many ands’ ok?
I am a Poet and Writer after all….) But-
I will never be bereft of your wonderful
writes and words and kind minds and
undoubted agility and ability with what
I call written words of art –
Yes and I realise and I know from my
own experiences in life that we all
have our own particular ‘life cross’
to shoulder or to carry or to bear
and we always will, you see it’s
our own cross of life that makes us
what we are, it makes us the type
of poet that we have become…
only I could reach out and touch you…
and …thank you and…
…tell you this…
I could…I would…
Poems by Ian Conway – ‘The Positive Poet’
IT’S NEVER TOO LATE
Would you recognise your childhood face
Hidden in a crowd?
At the start of life’s wild race
Before no holds were barred
Were you taught to be kind and good?
Those years long ago
But found it hard to do as you should?
As life’s demands did grow
Oh, that’s just life – we may start well
But only saints succeed
To walk a blameless path through life
Unspoilt by unworthy deed
So be kind to yourself – do not sigh
And anyway, it’s never too late to try!
AN ANXIOUS FRIEND
He told me how, in the past
Life proceeded without any pain
Confidence came easily and decisions came fast
And only small worries remained
He asked what had changed to make life now so grim?
Was it him or was it life?
Something outside or something within
To cause his anxious strife?
If it comes from outside like a malignant voodoo
How to beat so powerful a force?
But if comes from outside then surely others too
Would feel it equally of course?
But they don’t, so it must come from inside himself
Good. He can deal with that, with some help
Love is to feel
At first I thought
It was the voices
All around that
Their soothing melodies
In the afternoon sun.
But as the stars
Of my soul
Came out to play
Glistening for the
in the inky blackness
It was not those voices
That had changed
But my ears:
I could hear a
From the chinks
In the white noise chatter.
That small voice