Patricia Denise Newman

Patricia Denise Newman Poems

A son sits by his father with questions in his eyes
The father looks down at his son, his pride he can't disguise.
There comes a time when every son must leave his father's care
and venture out into the world to see what happens there.

Hundreds of people are dying
millions more are displaced
and we sit and watch in horror
as Putin destroys the Ukrainian race

'Silence is Golden' the old wise man said
'Why' asked the little boy, tucked up warm in bed.
'I think it's boring' his little sister cried,
as she lay there in crumpled heap with Teddy by her side.

My Mother was a special gem
not one you'd wear in a diadem
nor one you'd display in a solitaire
but a gem, none the less who knew how to care

A Christmas Sonnet

"God rest ye merry Gentlemen" we hear the choir sing
in all the towns and villages church bells begin to ring

In these dark and dismal days
when all around is doom and gloom
Let us seek some simple ways
to spread a little happiness and zoom

Our nation mourns the loss of our Queen
she was our constant light
these days of sadness, grief and pain
she is gone now from our sight

He sits alone 'most every night
watching in the firelight,
his useless hands lie on his knee
lifeless, white deformity.

The cold winter winds gathering speed
as they pass unhindered through skeletal trees
The ground is now covered in muddy, dirt brown
where once jewels of Autumn came tumbling down

There is no Glory in a war
only dead bodies by the score.
Generals shout their daily commands
soldiers obey without demands.

Winter's long days are almost done

Though furrowed fields lie dormant still

It's over, it's finished, the war has now been won,

Thank God it's finally ended; finished; over; done!

See how quiet the road is outside
now that everybody's gone to hide
away from this virus stalking its prey
Brave medics fighting to keep it at bay

Locked in our houses, we peer outside
at the quiet new world where the birds reside,
they brighten our prisons as they fly around
no longer drowned out by human sound.

They came from fetid jungles
Men weary from the stench of war
Not looking for a hero's welcome
Just the peace of their own front door

Japan has at last surrendered
A hard won victory
From the fetid heat of jungles
To the cold unwelcome sea

Who's that walking down the street?
Hair so long can't see her feet
Is it someone I'm meant to meet?
Oh yes, it's my old friend

I wish that I could go outdoors
I'm keeping busy with household chores
Creating meals now fills my mind
with any ingredients I can find


An old lady stepped out her front door
She couldn't believe what she saw
Everybody was masked
"A new fashion" she asked

Sailing homeward from patrol
beneath a cloudy sky
my watchful eye suddenly saw
black spots appearing way up high

Patricia Denise Newman Biography

I have been writing poetry since my childhood and studied it, amongst other things, as part of my B.A (Hons) with the Open University. I was encouraged to write by my late father, H.A. Stevens, who was an amateur poet and artist winning many awards for his quirky style. I have since the past 10 years organised and run a group studying poetry at a local library, many of the group had never written a word, they have now had 2 books of their collected poems published. I have published 3 booklets of my poems, one of which raised money for the Royal British Legion's 70th anniversary WW1, the last one I raised funds for UNICEF following Covid.)

The Best Poem Of Patricia Denise Newman

Fathers And Sons

A son sits by his father with questions in his eyes
The father looks down at his son, his pride he can't disguise.
There comes a time when every son must leave his father's care
and venture out into the world to see what happens there.

'Everything that I have learned has come from watching you,
every thought I comprehend from what you say and do.
The time has come for me to go and find my way alone,
your guiding hand will help me make decisions of my own.'

The father then enfolds his son into a fond embrace,
he cannot stop the silent tears that slide across his face.
Bitter-sweet the memories of all the years now past,
the little boy is now a man - the time has gone too fast.

'My son always remember in everything you do,
that I am here, at any time, to help and guide you through.
Life can at times be difficult; the road is sometimes rough,
but, with our love and guidance, you are strong and wise enough.'

The son then left his father and the home he'd always known
to face the world of new, exciting challenges alone;
all fears and apprehensions he determined to ignore,
and set out on his new life upon a distant shore.

The father, in his wisdom, knows that in the years to come,
his son will understand the truth of all he's said and done,
and maybe in the future, when experience has wrought,
his son will teach a grandchild everything that he's been taught.

Patricia Denise Newman Comments

Amelia Maureen Rose 09 April 2022

Hello. For an assignment at my university, I made a video to go along with your poem 'A Villanelle To Lost Youth Poem.' Email me at if you would like me to take the video down or if you would like to use the video for anything.

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Patricia Newman 29 September 2022

I am intrigued to see this video, how could this be achieved?

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