Leslie Philibert

Bronze Star - 2,826 Points (6th March 1954 / London, England)

Leslie Philibert Poems

Comments about Leslie Philibert

  • Frank (popeye) Pulver Frank (popeye) Pulver (4/7/2013 8:03:00 PM)

    Mr. Philibert, thank you for helping with some of my errors on some of my poetry. I am here to say that we use very differents styles of poetry. I have only been writing my poetry for a few years and it helps me get out some of my feelings so I do not forget them in life. I am person that forgets a lot of things in life pretty easily.

    As poets we try to pour out the feelings from our hearts and souls. This is what helps me in my daily life, I have a life that was almost taken from me so I am trying to make the most of it by writing down my thoughts.

    I hope that when I leave this place in life that my children will see the work that I done in my life. So please do not criticize a poet's work. We might not see their ideas but we still need to respect them for their work.

    3 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Philo Yan Philo Yan (8/15/2012 6:31:00 AM)

    Your poems are thought provoking and I have to read it a few times and reflect your meaning.

  • Yvonne Rautenbach (8/14/2012 11:11:00 AM)

    re 'Hospital' absolutely brilliant..must find time to read more of your poems later

  • Aivilo Gnuoy (8/8/2012 3:09:00 PM)

    Your poems are well written and I enjoy reading them!

  • Kayoko Kan (7/11/2012 6:15:00 AM)

    I enjoy reading your poems- a vivid blend of descriptions that enrich the mind, thanks.

Best Poem of Leslie Philibert

A Dry-Stone Wall Near Coleraine (For Seamus Heaney)

As if the pale stones
share the warmth
between two sides;
sea and field cut,
early light and full morning;
the path weathered and slow.

Read the full of A Dry-Stone Wall Near Coleraine (For Seamus Heaney)

Escape

When the silence is as taut as a violin string
the rest awaits as you climb past the invitation
of an open window, your day in shopping bags

that redden the joints of your hands, as if you
wait helpless at a busy junction, the heavy trucks
that throw warmth and grit in your face,

this is graceless, like worn slippers under a hospital bed

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