Biography of Della Perry
I am a teaching assistant who writes poems and stories for adults and children.I am married with two grown up boys.
Della Perry's Works:
Mrs Perry's Poems
Poems in approx 30 anthologies, poem diaries, by United Press
Winner of poem contest - Seeds of Inspiration
Winner of short story contest
Other stories and poems published in other local newspapers
Della Perry Poems
Love opened his arms, he welcomed me Into that warm embrace But it wasn't enough, not enough for me I was still part of the race.
She Was Like A Rainbow - Rainbow Girl
She was like a rainbow A delight after a storm Shimmering so elegantly And vibrant against the backdrop of sky
Cheated of childhood Sharks ripped a toddler to shreds Screamed at the paternal threads were sliced. A tiny egg, cracked apart,
Wow, you are the bomb You attack my senses You charge my soul When you're near I'm set on fire
It's okay, I can screw up, didn't you know son, This is just a rehearsal, I can make mistakes And cock up, cause next time I'm reborn I'll have learnt from them
Therefore, I have no answers No reasons echo in my empty cavity of mind Solutions are hidden in complexity cupboards Doors jammed shut with rhyme
Ludlow's Busking Twins
Costa coffee, cup large than the table Steam rising into the warmth of the day Pleasant chatter, narrow lanes of old Blue plaques on terrace walls
Locked in the attic Sat in the dark While other's voices Are heard in the park.
How terribly sad that the elation is great When the awaiting feline meows Pleased at your arrival How it leaps to greet you
My wintry friends were out today Waving cold, bare arms in the breeze, 'Hello friend, ' whispered the trees.
Echoes Of Ridicule
The voices echo around Bounce off the nerve endings Hurt so much Constant ridicule
Queen Of Fake
She is the Queen of Fake Lovely and thin, sick in the bin Every hour without fail.
Stepping along the golden sands Stooping to collect pink and beige shells Took me straight back to my youth When we did this together.
The door was ajar Light gleaming through the crack Tempting your inquisitive mind After knocking on the door for so long
Key Stage 2 Poet
Its truth glares from the mirror
Hanging crippled on the wall
I'm not a 'Blake, Eliot or Plath'
Not educated enough to follow that winding path
I'm just a Key Stage 2 Poet.
My silly jottings mean so much to eleven year old philosophers
But not a lot to the more mature generation
Who tend to roll their eyes of disapproval.
Never mind, thought my heart be down-trodden by its failure