3 poems.

Some other examples of writing for school.



The legs aflame

Feet of ice

And stony indifference.

The eyes of the crowd

As we lumber and lurch

One uncertain step to another.

A desire understanding,

Not sympathy.

Lost in the desperate battle for movement.

The issues of right

And true respect.

The questions of why

And how

We find the nerve to rise

And conquer the beast.

The burning flame of hope

Is forever the reason

To fight each day

And shout our thunder.


Morning Break.

What makes a perfect time?

A quiet moment,

Sitting by the window

With tea on the table,

Watching the rain fall.

Nibbling the corners of a biscuit

Delicately removing the chocolate.

Then bravely holding the trimmed remains

Soaking in the sweet brown brew,

Before swiftly placing the soft mass

Into my waiting mouth.

But for now,

I wait.

I am not by the window

Where brother and sister sit

Happily disintegrating their’s

Into a chocolate mess.

I wait for Father

To lift the cup

Slowly to my lips.

With every tilt,

A sigh of disappointment

Disguised with a look elsewhere.

A frown,

Pained by guilt,

As each piece of biscuit is broken up

And fed between my dry lips.

In a fit of hope

I reach out.

The cup falls.

Father gives his smile

And wipes the little brown pond,

Spreading before me.

I’ve seen him,

Shaking his head

As I try to play

With stunted arms

And withered fingers

When will he see

Beyond this sentence of anguish?

I can forgive him

For my shackles of impairment

I can forgive him

For the times when I sit

And wait

What cannot be forgiven

Is the stigma of difference.

For I am just like the others

I am both strong and weak

When will he see?


I made a snowbird.

A blustery day

Shook the grey street.

Dancing litter,

Faces pointed into the wind

Fighting the dominant breezes.

I folded the paper,

A sharp crease

Pressed out with care,

Transforms a plain white sheet.

Up she went.

Into the twisting air,

Diving, soaring,

Skirting the roofs and eaves,

Reaching the chimney pots.

Pecked by pigeons.

Jealous of her shining white coat.

She came back to me,

Re-pressing her dynamic shapes

I sent her up again.

Willing, eager,

She looked down,

My faithful flyer.

“Look at my snowbird!”

Passing on the pavement

She threw a casual glance,

And down she came.

Disheveled ruffled paper

No longer my snowbird.

Sitting crumpled on the floor.





Author: mcchrystalise

Because of MS, (it's a swine of a thing) I no longer work because I no longer work. I blog about the things I think about. I love music.

2 thoughts on “3 poems.”

  1. Well done Steve I write normally just on the computer but I am trying to write with pencil and paper again, much harder now than I thought it would be controlling the scrawl.


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