Precious Life

To feast my eyes on beauty is all that I would ask

If God was to give me that

Blessed second chance

To walk amongst the worthy and hear their calming speech,

With my outstretched hand pressed forward,

In hope that they might reach

And pull my aching heart inside beyond the wasteful grim,

Of those that waste this precious life so quickly over,

And passed in such little precious time.


A Dream

As a dream is a story played in our mind, how does it stay there for all time?

How can something we cannot feel, become so reachable and so real?

It touches people if we write, staying there for more than one night

Lasting forever, which a dream could never do, if it was kept just within you



To be sick of life is such a sin

But a life spent with pain locked within

Cannot be life

Or, can it be?

Will you answer that or leave it to me?

If left to me then I will say

“God put me here and God will take me away

In His own time not of my choosing,

But whenever that is, let it be soothing.”


An Ideal

Flowing rivers, bubbling streams

Waving fields passed in our dreams

Always sunshine, never rain

Pity life is not the same

A Woman’s Pain

A woman’s pain on giving birth

When bringing man upon this earth

Is blessed by God but not by man

Who seeks to rule and not understand

The devotion that the woman will give

Facing death so the child may live

What would happen

What would occur

If he was not he; but he was her?


A Challenge

Life glows bright for those that are young

Paths to walk and songs to be sung

Don’t let it slip through your hands wastefully

Treat it with care and embrace it; gently

Choose your path wisely but don’t fret if your wrong

More than one chance will come along

Open your heart to all that is fate

Welcome the challenge before it’s too late



In sleep comes dreams, but are we alive?

Is it through them that we really survive

Could life be the nightmare and the dreams that we touch

Be the essence of all when life is too much


Echo’s Of War

Echo’s of war, loud in ones ears

Echo’s of war, cry out through the tears

Death is a thing that can’t be undone

Death is a thing where no-one has won

Show me your gun, show me your bullet

Tell the widow your reasons; why you done it

I’ll show you a grave, I’ll show a plaque

I’ll show you a man with no bones in his back

Give him your reasons

Give her your lie

Tell the others your excuses

Why they had to die


The Music Played

I was standing on the corner waiting for you

Waiting for that dance that we were going to do

The music played, and so did we

Never looking

Never wanting to see

We touched

We kissed

We thrilled and blessed

We loved and fell

But then grew apart

Was it two or only one; broken heart?

© 2012, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved.

Danny Kemp (14 Posts)

I am sixty-three years of age, married for the second time with two step-children and three grandchildren. My father died when I was sixteen but had probably summed me up completely by that time. He called me deceitful, and I'm not sorry that he did. I now use that characteristic to tell stories in both prose and, I hope. rhyme. My first novel was published in March 2012. The Desolate Garden is a spy murder mystery with more than a simple touch of romance. It has been likened to The 39 Steps and The Constant Gardener by reviewers and the film producer who's London based Company is converting my story into a film.

One Comment

  1. Danny Kemp (Author)

    Signs of a confused mind I think.

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