Biography of David Wood
David Wood Poems
Bluebells carpet the woodland floor Packed so tightly that insects tip-toe Softly and quietly between them. Their beauty unlocks a woodland door
Married villages emptied to the call. Young single men from well-worn towns Changed from suits and flat caps to khaki. They changed their hob nailed working boots
The week after the funeral the house was cleared Memories taken to the auctioneers to be sold off, The polished sideboard and dining room table, The picture frames now empty of smiling faces.
Sonnet 88: Trees
There is never a sight more beautiful Or so amazing than that of a tree, In summer with branches and leaves so full With gently swaying boughs for all to see.
I am your faithful friend, I cannot lie My silver charm waits upon your desire As I stand and wait patiently for you.
Cherry blossom fell like confetti In the wind, but there was no bride Or groom only a pair of robins On the grass beneath the cherry tree.
Of Golden Leaves
‘Tis time to mend this wounded heart Since it slowed to a miniscule beat To see with my eyes the face of the world And say ‘hello’ to all I greet.
Autumn prepares the earth for the cold of winter The warmth of the summer sun has gone Now chill winds blow autumn leaves from trees Making a patchwork quilt on woodland paths.
The Girl With The Pearl Earring
What was she thinking, sitting there? Her blue and gold head scarf hanging Down her back, that pearl earring, those Bright red lips drawn slightly apart.
Sitting on the bed they once shared The old man opened an old shoe box He kept on the wardrobe floor. Inside were the memories of a
Ode To The Golden Daffodil
Daffodils in their twilight fade As May begins to shine Their fragrance lost for another year, A display both delicate and fine.
That glowing orb of yellow daffodil Darkening from yellow to orange glow From the west faint embers that thrill A shimmering breeze that dips below
To My Sweet Love
I lay here dreaming that you love me In that half twilight world between sleep And being awake just before dawn When it is neither night nor day.
As The River Flows Along
The field was dotted with them, Hay bales stacked high on high With field mice and shrews making hay Running and playing between the bales
What is the present going to be, and whom is it for.
What does it cost and where was it bought.
We wander down several avenues and climb many hills
Literally and metaphorically.
We search, and continue searching, we seek but do we look.
There is so much choice, oh what to do.
Searching for a present is like finding our way through life.
We have an idea, and choose a path.
We give life our best shot, we buy what we think somebody wants.