Biography of Josephine J.W
I'm thirteen years old and live in Reading, England. I started writing when I was eight years old, and have since then had only a few dry spells. I started out with short stories, and the occasional rhyme...all of my early writings are strictly contraband, until the day I can really laugh over them. I started writing poetry just over a year ago...and I haven't stopped since then, except for the usual dry spells.
I'm a dreamy and a Libran, my passion is poetry.
Josephine J.W's Works:
I wish. :)
Josephine J.W Poems
Flowers Are Flowers
I have some flowers upon my window-sill, The yellow and white contrast so lightly You would hardly notice that they differ at all, Yet one is purity, and the other is frivolity
Wandering aimlessly at the misty station Lugging a velvet heart-shaped case Listening numbly to the conductor's whistle Trudging past endless grey with dreary pace
Moon And Sea
As I kept my nightly vigil On the cliff's rocky edge tonight As the waves crashed below me By the twinkling of starlight
There is a silent tragedy In the setting of the sun When the golden orb Declares its day as done
Trudging through an aimless drizzle That reflects my damp and foggy mind Slogging on in the endless downpour That echoes my mind's constant grind
Suspended above a riveting scene Fathoming lovely things otherwise unseen Eyes trailing over countless dewy mounds of green As the blue of sky reflects serenity
Wandering across fields of white, Strolling through flowering arbors, Dancing out among the corn fields, Gazing over the waters at the harbor
Ebbing as the eventide, Bringing dark waters to your mind, Festering up into your eyes, Brew of waters turns you blind.
To The Fog
Wandering up the hills, Meandering through the dales, Wafting through the leaves, Whispering up the vale
Down the street and through the wooded paths Filled with the scent of other seasons that have passed, I wonder at the flowers and rest beneath the trees, The friends of my loneliness are none other than these.
The Unknown Apology - (A Rhyming Dialogu...
He lay with her and toyed her hair in his fingers, gently, As she was silent and sighed and looked so beautiful, But he sensed that there was something wrong And he asked, so tenderly, had he been cruel?
Memoirs Of A Place
At times my my mind wanders back into it's library of memoirs Of times that I have tried to forget, and things I wish I abhorred. Yet they still haunt me from their murky depths, however vaguely At the times when my mind breaks it's chains, and the heart is free
Life In Winter's Graveyard
Walking down a muddy road In the throes of December Heaving through the decay Of Spring's now frozen embers
Dark Angel's Masterpiece
Eyes' glassy surface reflecting, The charcoal of your empty orbs. Red flame igniting and gleaming, Turning blue skies to lightning storms.
Wandering aimlessly at the misty station
Lugging a velvet heart-shaped case
Listening numbly to the conductor's whistle
Trudging past endless grey with dreary pace
Clutching in your palm a wrinkled ticket
And grasping in the other a padded handle
You glance down at your beating heart
And continue on in your doleful ramble.