Owen Cullimore Poems

This old Pocket Watch
In 1680, made in MaidaVale
If it could talk
What a tale it could tell
...

Down in the village
In the center square
Lies a little Gothic Shop
People hardly know it's there
...

Out in the forest, deep still water's sleep
As through the bushes soft flowers peep
A reflection shines of bushes nearby
On top of the water like a quiet Angels sigh
...

She moves like an Angel with gossamer wings
with all the delights that being from heaven brings
that angelic smile that lights up a room
and her wonderful hearts glow that always lifts the gloom
...

As I sit in silence in the park
The sun shines through the trees
I feel the wind upon my cheeks
And my dress rustles in the breeze
...

Sitting in this cell
with deep regret
after a night
I will never forget.
...

As they sat on the veranda of the Hotel Exotic
Drinking the old G & T
Between reminiscing their lifelong romance
And the occasional hot pot of Tea
...

A Mythical place so far away
That legend has tempted us with for years
So sublime and tranquil
Kissed only by a Rainbows tears
...

As I sit at staring at my mobile phone, waiting
For the telephone to ring
I think maybe I will be lucky
A love letter maybe, the Postman will bring
...

The night becomes dimmer through the trees
Which gently sway in the night time breeze
The disappearing Sun glows gently in the distance
The afterglow meeting little resistance
...