Colin Breck Boardman

Colin Breck Boardman Poems

The painter searching with his eyes,
Finds fickle beauty to espy;
The poet weaving metaphors,
Turns upon an obscure clause;
...

I'm sorry if I did bore you so
Or bore you even now,
Perhaps you didn't really know
Me as you may have thought though,
...

What evidence there lived a muse of fire?
None, save these lines of burning tears
Which once they to the open air transpire
Will leave no sign that she on Earth was here.
...

O, how I smile!
I smile at the morning sun,
I smile when the day is done;
I smile at a cup of tea,
...

'I am no one',
He said,
'I am as the midnight sun,
I am nobody,
...

I shall no longer whine up to the Moon,
No longer pine in hope as sweethearts do,
No longer play the lover's lonely tune
Or serenade her horning head anew.
...

What care I for Beauty's shallow face
When all about is colour'd grey and dun?
Why should I from these darken'd shadows race
To bathe upon brief moments in the sun?
...

I'm glad that I still have a heart
And feel the way I do,
I'm glad that all these feelings art
Experienced as true,
...

Some people are contented with their faith
And see the world through a different lens
And in their miracles and their magic bathe,
As Father Christmas the young children ken.
...

Underneath a willow tree,
Beside this opening lock,
Weeping away the Autumn sunshine,
As the narrowboats rise and fall,
...

The night stalker,
Whose open silver'd face
And bright eye
Under the aegis
...

Slipping through my fingers,
And accelerating away
Towards destruction,
With a ringing heartbeat,
...

Most thngs are oft forgotten in one's life,
No longer meant to be though hard to take,
Some things becoming rotten cause one strife,
And thus in our learned wisdom we forsake.
...

The bright and empty plain drifts far away,
Off to the furthest reaches of despair,
Yet still some tough contenders have to stay,
To suffer hard the harshness they find there;
...

For posterity I'll write my verse,
The present doesn't care,
Thus it is the poet's curse
To wish ourselves elsewhere;
...

First there was a usefulness
At the very start,
With perhaps a ruefulness
Though one wouldn't call it art.
...

The one,
(If indeed she is)
Doesn't know;
If she does,
...

My birds are my salvation and my curse,
Though in their hooded state they can not to see,
Since living day to day, in their forms diverse,
They think upon themseves and not on me.
...

I saw you yesterday,
When you visited
Of your own accord
And deigned to speak
...

Each swollen word, each pause, each phrase,
Must carry forth a tune unsung,
Each line, each little thought must raise
It's game beyond the bottom rung.
...

Colin Breck Boardman Biography

I started writing sonnets in 2009 having been inspired by the poems of Shakespeare, Sir Thomas Wyatt and Spencer. My excursions into blank verse and alternative structures are inspired by the work of Milton, Auden, Hughes, Hardy and Frost. My aim is merely to capture the essence of an idea or emotion and to weave it with other analogous subjects within an enduring metaphorical framework. I often combine subjects with Falconry.)

The Best Poem Of Colin Breck Boardman

The Painter Searching With His Eyes

The painter searching with his eyes,
Finds fickle beauty to espy;
The poet weaving metaphors,
Turns upon an obscure clause;
The falconer with hungry hawk
Between the shadows lightly stalks;
Uncertain what will there appear
Born upon a smile or tear;
As lovers wend beneath the stars
Each must fasten on their prey,
Or else let spritely spirits pass
If all should shyly melt away.

Colin Breck Boardman Comments

Colin Breck Boardman 22 December 2011

Dear Alison Hunter, Thank you for your kind comment. I shall try to download some more for you. You must try the sonnet sometime. Think of it as a four stanza poem with Intro, development, finale, conclusion. Good luck!

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