Bernard Shaw


Bernard Shaw Poems

81. Imagination. 11/4/2003
82. A New Start. 10/14/2003
83. A Poem A Day. 10/18/2003
84. Completely Lost. 10/24/2003

Comments about Bernard Shaw

  • Richard Brown (2/25/2018 12:06:00 PM)

    Please can anyone confirm that these poems are by GEORGE Bernard Shaw, the Irish playwright, or is there another Bernard Shaw poet?

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  • Booboo Yogi (6/25/2014 10:07:00 AM)

    Do these dummies not realize that Shaw has been dead for over 60 years? This is called Comments ABOUT Bernard Shaw, not TO him. Jeez.

  • Claudia Klotz (5/23/2005 3:46:00 AM)

    Hello Mr. Bernard Shaw,
    I´m a pupil of the HLA Graz-Eggenberg. I have been reading your poem 'Teddy Bear' and for a moment I must think of feelings when I was a small girl. I believe this is for instance a feeling which the reader of a poem should have. I mean that you really have the ability to put many true feelings into your poems. And this is admirable. I hope you will always have fun to write poems. Good luck for your future.
    In admiration,
    Claudia Klotz

  • Martina Kocher (2/15/2005 12:48:00 PM)

    Dear Bernard Shaw
    I'm convinced that you are a very good poemwriter. My favourite poems is 'Silvery Moon' because it is so wonderful. I also get every day a poem from your homepage to my e-mail adress and I'm always happy when I can read one of them.
    Love,
    Martina Kocher HLA Eggenberg

Best Poem of Bernard Shaw

Completely Lost.

Have you ever had that feeling?
That you are completely lost.
Your mind and senses reeling,
As in a dark foreboding frost.
Nothing but nothing is as it seems,
Words like phantoms come and go.
It is as if all the bizarre dreams,
Have turned your brain to snow.
The ticking of the mantelpiece clock,
Cuts the silence like a knife.
Your mind is in a mysterious block,
You ask yourself is this my life.
Perhaps I am just getting old,
Brain and body gone to pot,
Where are the times that I was bold,
And my brain could solve every plot.

Read the full of Completely Lost.

Ghosts.

In my house there lives some ghosts,
Mischief is their second name.
They always seem to be drinking toasts,
Usually from my best champagne.
I cannot say they are as drunk as Lords,
For that would be going too far,
But I fear they often rattle their swords,
As they stand around in my bar.
They tell some pretty tall tales,

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