John Scully

Rookie (19th October 1947 / London)

John Scully Poems

1. Mole 6/1/2012
2. The Soup Run 6/1/2012
3. Pres De La Mine- (Almost Mine) 6/4/2012
4. A New Emptiness 6/4/2012
5. The Playing Fields 6/6/2012
6. We Came In Peace 6/7/2012
7. Same Time Next Year 6/7/2012
8. We That Were Young 6/7/2012
9. Within That Land 6/7/2012
10. World's Apart 6/10/2012
11. A Christmas Song 6/12/2012
12. Kindly Words 6/12/2012
13. Nightmares Came A Knocking 6/12/2012
14. The Aftermath 6/14/2012
15. In The Light Of Things 6/20/2012
16. The Day We Went To Margate 6/20/2012
17. Last Year's Wind 6/21/2012
18. Of Every Truth 6/29/2012
19. Through The Endless Years 7/1/2012
20. The Train Now Departing 7/2/2012
21. Summer's Bones 7/2/2012
22. Indeed I Am Afraid 7/3/2012
23. Of Our Own 7/4/2012
24. A Boat Came Gliding By 7/4/2012
25. Jaywick Sands 7/6/2012
26. The Tree House 7/6/2012
27. A Touch Of Autumn 7/6/2012
28. Through Summer's Door 7/6/2012
29. The Kiss 7/6/2012
30. The Groan Of Grief 7/8/2012
31. Horizons Far 1/18/2013
32. From Yon Far Country Blows, 'His Many Ways.' 2/28/2013
33. A Pilgrim Resurrected 2/28/2013
34. A No More 'Glorious Destiny' 2/28/2013
35. The Darkest Dawn Of Change 2/28/2013
36. To Bear The Sanded Cross 3/1/2013
37. I Will My Own Heart Willingly 3/1/2013
38. In A State Of Grace 3/1/2013
39. Between The Darkness And The Light 3/1/2013
40. Hidden Thoughts From The Heart 3/1/2013
Best Poem of John Scully

I Will Walk With You Awhile

When I know that evening's fog
will no more haunt and cloister me
I will come and walk with you awhile
knowing that my gloomy face will smile again.

For paths of dangers dread
my hobbled feet will careful tread
by waterways and cotton grass
I'll leave behind my city past.

And in twilight, a shadow sun
will stop by chance
for me to draw a canvas green
and sit awhile with you and dream.

For painted daffodils of yellow gold
whisper words I couldn't say
as I walked out with you
that last remembered summer's day.

Read the full of I Will Walk With You Awhile

Mole

Till meadows weep with pollen drops,
And flowers turn to fruit
The ghosts of winter glimmer still
Among the frosty village frocks.
And when the brown thrush comes with throaty song,
Touching barren hedgerows with his wing,
The west-wind hovers or'e my door
And wakes me with a roar.
Till then and only then

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