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A moving poem deserving more readers :)

Originally posted on Belfastdavid's Weblog:

I sit back,
close my eyes,
free my mind,
reach out my hand
to touch whatever’s there.

Sometimes soft sand upon a beach,
sometimes rippling water of the sea,
sometimes grass growing on a cliff top,
sometimes naked flesh of inner thigh
above a stocking top.

But every now and then
I reach
and nothing’s there.

I search and search.
I need to find
and touch again
familiar things I love –

the mug from which I drink my tea,
a book with well-read pages,
my favourite teddy bear,
your hand.

View original


A wave moves higher up the beach,
Water splashing round our feet; you cry,
With every jump you prove yourself that you can fly.

Above us clouds are moving in opposite direction,
I try to find your hand, but you’re too far.
A wave moves higher up the beach.

Some seagulls come quite near us, curious
Like children we wonder about shells,
With every jump you prove yourself that you can fly.

Away we are, away from what has kept us lonely.
No need to go back to the car and drive from here.
A wave moves higher up the beach.

North Sea darkness where no sun shines.
Flotsam and jetsam, we are home here.
A wave moves higher up the beach.
With every jump you prove yourself that you can fly.


I saw you for a moment as you were -
your shoulders lower and a silent stare;
you had been gone a while.

When you saw me, you dug out a smile,
although, let’s face it, we both knew
that it was over, me and you.

Oh fashion, I’m so sorry I don’t care!
I can’t be bothered with what clothes to wear.
So all the best. I’ll keep the grey mohair.



you can’t fly over a war
unless you are an angel
or become one

Save the fruit

You eat an apple.
There is a snapping sound
as your teeth enter the skin.

I know that it is screaming,
but you insist all is silent
while you go on killing the fruit.

I saw another apple crying on the tree.
Don’t tell me it is dew.
I know that it is mourning.

Baker’s Bad Boys book is available free

A free read, written by a wonderful poet :)

Poetry by Ina Schroders-Zeeders

Copy of Poetry by Ina Schroders-Zeeders.


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