Happy Halesworth Poem

The trouble-free Incandescent Glow Of The Sun,

Alluringly Blinds Me In The Summers Heat.

The River Echoes In The Background of my mind,

Making Me Aware Of The Simple Beauty Of Life.

something innate That holds So Much Mystery.

The breeze Is Soft and tender On Fresh Face,

And For The moment I Forget It Even Exists.

Friends Talks Around Me And Play Fight On The Velvet Grass,

Every One Of Them Has A Story To Tell And A Song To Sing.

Time Has Stopped In Its Tracks And I Regret Nothing.

All I Feel Is Appreciation For Everything,

For The Season,

For The Company,

For the open minds that Keep Me Feeling Alive.

Relaxed, I bathe in the warmth of Polaris And Diana,

I take one More Glance At The content and educated,

And with a Final Breath I Fall Back Into My Mind.

Forever Grateful To The World That Received So Little,

And Gave So Much…

Edward Ramsden

20/9/2006

 

 

Wrote this lying on the grass in the park in Halesworth.

Surrounded by amazing people who were amazing freinds

 

This poem makes me miss them a lot.

Seluj

How Can i have nothing to say,
when the lights envoke emotion,
when stars seem to Scream to speak no inhibitions,
and the wind whispers soft insanity.
should i push the social boundries to move the walls of progress
i leave a few a moments to catch my breath, and wonder why im blank
iv spent years devising a perfect plan and making the world seem nicer,
laid under the moon and closed eyes till slumber,
but it all seems usless now.
one txt could settle an ancient score and even change whats to be,
or do i sit here alone with the world on my back, just wondering whats wrong with me.

 

Edward Ramsden

 

Wrote this a long time ago, about someone amazing who helped me find my way in life without ever knowing.

____________________

She’s stirring to the thrashing, Of a Very divergent Drum,

She’s Sitting On The perspective, Wondering When the Dawn Will Come,

She welcomes and absconds, but in the Silence Sheds a Tear,

So much potential she cannot fail, No Minute to spend on fear

Escaping to Her dream terrain that changes every year.

A few would label her Siren, splendor beyond credence,

But those who know the Truth keep a powerful Defense.

She is in word a flower, one that you wouldn’t overlook,

Building this world that little bit nicer, as we get hastily overtook.

I wouldn’t say she’s perfect, as that removes the feeling of progress,

But she’s fuel for the soul, and she’ll Stop and revive your breath.

 

Edward Ramsden

 

I wrote this about a girl called Dawn.

She was amazing.

 

 

I Called it __________ Because I didnt want people to know who it was written for.

I Often write poems about and for people but never give them away.

The Long Road home

Iv Walked For many Years In Self Pity And Despair

The Light from Polaris Shines Bright To Me,

But Seems To Lead Me Nowhere,

The Ground I walk Looks Dark As I regress,

To The Past That Seems To Me No Less,

Than Memories of the Ones I Have Left,

The Sand Moves In the Wind and the Shadows Whisper,

Calling Her Name As I Move Nearer,

A Light Comes From the North and a Smile Crosses My Face,

Maybe the Reason I Was Pursuing the Light,

Was It in Fact The Love Of Her Grace?

Caution Is Swept Away Like the Weed In The Sea

The Answers To the questions come Quickly, But Still Seem Dark To Me

I Stop And wait A Second More,

So That I Do Not Break My Stride,

And Hopefully All the Pain She Felt Would evaporate inside,

er Shadow Is Not Constant and I Will Not Step the Mark

The Boundaries That Will Certainly Wound and Even Break a Heart,

I Stand Away and Still I Hold Her,

So Physical To Touch,

That Soul’s Reliant on the Comforting Embrace

I Wouldn’t Miss That Much,

For what we Share Is So Much More

That The Lovers Guiding Will,

Our Embrace Is So Delicate and Elegant,

That Time Itself Stands Still,

Now My Cape Covers Her,

To Shelters Her from the Storm

As We Sleep To Dream of Dreams Again,

And Be Together Once More.

 

Edward Ramsen

9/12/2005



 

Another story of unrequited love.

A common theme in my poetry.

 Maybe one day someone will suprise me and tell me they secretly love me.

Then maybe I can write a poem about that instead.

I've heard it does happen to some people.

 

 Just not me.

Natalie Johnson 2nd Final Draft

She’s snow in summer,
A welcome Surprise,
She’s the midnight Rain,
When forlorn stars hide,
She’s the aroma of the forest,
When oak trees bloom,
She’s a cottage in the country side,
A Home with a View.
She’s soft grass in the summer,
Where Daffodils Dance,
She’s moment of pleasure,
That lasts and lasts.
She’s A Rose in winter,
Too stunning for words.
She’s the whisper before bedtime,

That’s rarely heard.

 

Edward Ramsden

 

This is my second version.

I liked this one better but other people disagree.

Natalie Johnson

She’s snow in summer,
A welcome Surprise,
She’s the midnight Rain,
When forlorn stars hide,
She’s the aroma of the forest,
When oak trees bloom,
She’s a cottage in the country side,
A Home with a View.
She’s A Rose in winter,
Too stunning for words.
She’s the whisper before bedtime,
That’s rarely heard.

 

Edward Ramsden

 

This is really how I felt about her every day.

I dont think she ever read it.

Her

Her Poison Kiss seduces me And I Kneel to Prey,
Upon The Cold ground Where I Cry for her Name,
In Smiling I Make A Wall of Pain that is unbreakable To Her Eyes,
Her Piercing Shrieks Curse My Veins And Make Me Bleed Inside,
A Lock Of her Hair Is Kept Close To me And Breath Her In As Much As I Can
Before I Fall And Die in The Mud Which Makes Me A Bed For Deaths hand,
Sinking Down In Her Tormenting Scent That Stabs My Sinuses Like A Sharp Blade,
And wallow In The Mess That Over The Months Of Mistakes I Have Made,.
Lying That I Have No Regrets when In My Mind There Is A Million And One,
Hoping Every Sad Mistake Will Be erased By a happy One
But Still Her Image Is Like A Clear Windows That Fogs On A Sunny Day,
And Still I Wait For The Light Of The Evening Star To Wane The Sun Away,
And Through The Window Of The Soul Lies Raquia,
Where The Land Exists For The Spirits, The Gods, Me And Of Course her…

 

Edward Martin Ramsden

12/6/2008

I dated a beautiful gothic model called Clem.
I dont think she knew how to be happy.
She put herself outside society so much, I just wanted her to find a place of her own

This poem was and is for her.
She never read it.