You can read about how I got started collecting and writing poems in the About section of this blog.  A recent trip to Italy inspired me again with all of its poetic beauty (the picture above was taken along the shore of Lake Como in northern Italy.)  So, I’m working on writing poetry again.  But, none of my recent attempts are yet worthy of posting here.  All the posts below are poems that are favorites of mine or that I or one of my friends have written.  You can click on one of the assigned categories on the right to go straight to the particular category. 

Have fun and I would appreciate your comments!


We’re here

This year

In fear

The Wall

Too tall

To climb.


Yes, indeed, it’s come to this.

At last, at worst, but here we are.

The silence now a burden,

Delight a burned out star.


No need, no strength, for anger

No pain, not even fear.

Just numb constricted sadness

That leaves no breath for tears.


Is there need for summing up?

Anything at all to say?

Any wit or grace or effort

That could keep all this at bay?


Was it futile, vain and foolish

All for nothing, all illusion?

Was it just a childish gambit

To beguile an empty day?


Yes, dear, someone’s turned the sun off.

Put the pieces out of touch.

Do we now try lighting candles?

Does it matter quite that much?


Liz Williams –



It was my first chance to be someone’s Juliet.

I doubt I looked the part

Squatting with you

On the cold curb.

Some might have laughed at us-

Your hair was longer

Than the closely cropped hair that cropped my face

In the street corner lamplight…..

But they weren’t there.

They would have called me

Cool and bitter.

But why should I have been bothered?

They hadn’t cared enough to smile.

You had.

That night

You babbled about cops and hate,

About dope –

How that had messed you up.

But that wasn’t your hang-up now

And of a girl


Who once said she loved you.

But that was a long time ago

And besides you wondered

If there was room in this world

For that kind of fairy tale love anyway…..

You turned to me

Naively expecting

An old woman’s

Comforting comments.

When at nineteen

I was more tempted just to touch you

And say nothing…


I shifted nervously

In my velvet Capulet gown

Of blue denim

And told  you

Of a boy I loved,

The way we loved

And how the world would never

Keep us down

Because we had each other

And having someone

Was all that could

Ever really matter anyway…

And you smiled back.

Now losing at love

Has dulled

My noble notions

(at least a little)

So I’m glad

That you’ve not

Seen me since –

It’s good that you

Remember me

When I played the role


For life is most

Properly seen in




– Author Unknown

Love Fell


Love fell over and broke itself

into four pieces

of blue.

It fell off a mountain

onto the floor in my room

and sat

to look at


I picked it up

crushed it

and cried

wishing it never existed.


– Althea Quinton

I’m sorry if I don’t conform


i’m sorry

if I don’t conform

to your world,

if I don’t play the game

by your rules,

if I say that the wind

is much more

than the result of opposite temperature zones,

if i say that the sun

is so much more

than the nearest star to our planet,

if i say that love

is so very much more

than physical attraction.

but how could i possibly explain

to one who has never

sought the first yellow flower

in the early spring,

to one who has never

felt the cool dampness of the earth

after a sudden shower,

to one who does not know

that love is made

of a thousand woven fibers,

and that

most of all,

love must have freedom

or it will die.

i’m sorry

that i can’t conform.

but i feel even more sorrow for you,

because your vision

is already so narrowed,

because the sky

in your eyes

will never mean anything more than

an indication of the weather.


– Author unknown –



Time is the dying sun

In the late afternoon,

That melts through our windows

An spills upon the floor.


And we stare into the landscapes

Of our many-lined hands

Wondering of lost moments

Tracing the words unspoken.


For somewhere between our drifting sighs

Time has stopped and caught us,

Posed, enclosed in a still-life prism

In the light of a dying sun.


Laura Kiley, age 14