Amy J Richardson
Biography of Amy J Richardson
I am not a poet, I merely write down the words and emotions that assemble themselves in my head occasionally. I write them as a release (hence why many are quite dark) and only hope that one day I might produce something truly awe inspiring. Even if I fail at this, there is always Hope.
Amy J Richardson Poems
Tears Of Red
I sit alone, it's all too much, Why can't i just be dead, I need to free the hurt inside, So I cry my tears of red.
Where Would You Drive?
I'd drive away, just away, With nowhere to stop and nowhere to stay, Away from the darkness, away from the pain, Away from humanity, away from the shame.
Secret Whispers Of The Moon
Into the field I walk at night To pick a single blade of grass, And under the eyes of a thousand stars I look to the moon and ask,
Like A Diamond In The Sea
All above the world From where the light shines down, And the planes fly through the clouds That are gloomy grey and brown.
Paint The Town
The little boy runs with his toy and smiles That boy could fun for miles and miles,
Chop the apples carrots and oranges give scraps to the dog that begs, add monkey nuts
We ventured up Helvellyn this weekend, she wasn’t kind. She stung our cheeks and sent weather to numb our minds.
The Sleepers lie in Belfast and the world they fail to see, for greatness lives a long time the life of growing tree.
With Wolves I Awaken
With wolves I awaken In a jungle of life My claws are blunt I rely on the knife
White Plastic Sheet
The ups and downs of the terrorist towns, A million smiles replaced by frowns. Who would believe that the world could be, So brutal as to kill a child of three.
There’s so much hurt inside, When every day I spend, Every minute of every hour, Wishing for the end.
Prisoners Of Nature
The thin limbs of grass reach for me. Trapped people waving for freedom. Silently wailing, longing for release Arms grasp my feet to drag me to my death
Oh Why Butterfly?
His wings of jade and amber, Wink, like gilt pennants in the sun. Oh why butterfly? Just flutter on by.
I quiver through the sky, Alone and vulnerable. A fairy with a feather-light soul. Yet I am content,
In the dark, the floor is made of spiders,
Even little bugs, just like gliders.
Oh dear I’m scared of the dark,
Especially at night time, deep in the park.
I hate little spiders, snails and slugs,
And those that are tiny and live in rugs.
Some are black, some are green,
Some are so tiny, they can’t be seen.
Some can fly, some can crawl,