Biography of Evelyn Macdonald
Immigrated to Canada in 1967. Married with one adult son. Work as Admin. Assistant at a major hospital in Toronto. As one of my poems depicts - I'm not a poet, I merely love to rhyme, but I do so much admire all the wonderfully written poetry in this website written by much more sophisticated writers than me.
I enjoy reading all poetry although I dont always understand it. I cant seem to write poems without telling a story (ie a begining, a middle and an end) .
Evelyn Macdonald Poems
For Bill - My Brother
Who was aged five when I was born My brother Who hid my toys and broke my dolls My brother
Blood dripping from the fangs that bite Clothed within the dark of night
Old Age Is For The Birds
When I was young and in my prime I took my health for granted No major ills in middle age I never raved nor ranted So who decreed that when I reached my so called 'golden years' A multitude of problems would reduce my life to tears
Falling snow is beautiful pristine, soft and white a gentle flowing mantle reflecting nature's light
To A Daffodil
Out walking on a fine spring day I saw you there and turned away so you could bloom another day Sweet Daffodil
Not A Poet
I'm not a poet as one can see I merely rhyme eloquently to understand the written prose I read all words and such as those
Trapped within this aging face I long so to be free Reflected in the mirror A woman, that's not me
The Garden Of Life
In Our Father's earthly garden just like flowers, we all grow savouring the life force that we all have come to know
I peek outside my window it's the middle of the night awakened by their arguments I feel I have the right
Impressionable still at seventeen and working for a living years of degradation cloaked the fine art of forgiving
Rain batters on my window pane collects in puddles deep and like the ticking of a clock it lulls me back to sleep
Till We Meet Again
I pass this place so many times but never have gone in I somehow lack the courage to confront the death within
The temperature keeps soaring I feel wet from sweat that's pouring and I'm physically sick from all this sun If I keep up this perspiring
Is This The American Dream?
We move once more in the dead of night load up the car, drive out of sight ever mindful the neighbors might call the landlord & exploit our plight
As I gaze in the mirror, what do I see
A face that's familiar stares back out at me
A face that I've known for many-a-year
A face that's a friend and no-one I fear
A face that has weathered most life's ups and downs
A face that is sometimes creased with a frown
A face on the whole that is happy and glad
A face I can say to myself's 'not-to-bad'